The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

As Athena curls her furry, little body around my hand, trying to kill my fingers and bring them home to me to prove she thinks of me as part of her clan, Everly declares, “You’re a cat person.”

She says it like it makes all the sense in the world.

“Does that surprise you?” I ask, sinking deeper into the couch in my living room.

She’s right next to me, shaking her head. “The cat fits you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.

“Of course you would.”

“Of course you meant it that way,” I say as I hand wrestle the huntress I live with. “You’re a dog person, aren’t you?”

“Um, yes. But you,” Everly says, and she’s too delighted. “You foster kittens and you’ve been keeping that a secret. ”

I shrug. “Can you blame me? If I’d told you I fostered kittens, you would’ve had a field day with it.”

“You’re right. I would.” Her lips twitch with amusement. “Imagine if people knew what you’re really like.”

“What am I really like?”

She raises a hand. Counts off on her fingers. “A guy who fosters kittens. Who coaches underprivileged kids in hockey. Who asks his dad for help planning a date. Who cannot stop romancing me. You’re too sw?—”

I cover her mouth with mine before she can say sweet. I give her a hard, punishing kiss, letting go of Athena. There’s nothing sweet about this kiss at all. It’s rough and demanding, full of teeth and fire. I tug on her bottom lip, then let go. “Don’t make me give you too many orgasms again.”

“Oh, please. Punish me,” she says, then fiddles with the bottom of her T-shirt. “You know why I wore the shirt.”

“Because it shows off your sexy shoulder?” It’s such a gift to compliment her.

“Sort of,” she says, then tips her forehead toward the hallway. Don’t have to tell me twice. I offer my hand, then pull her up. Once we’re standing, she says, “I wore it because…it’s easy access.”

Oh, hell yes.

I scoop her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to the main bedroom in seconds. I set her down on the plush carpet and she turns, checking out the floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of the city, lit up and sparkling, from Richardson Bay to the Golden Gate Bridge. But nothing compares to the view in front of me—Everly walking over to my king-size bed. She sits on it and pats the mattress, looking my way. “Is this where you fucked my panties?”

Jesus. Her mouth. Her filthy mouth.

I stalk over to her, cup her chin, lift that gorgeous face. “No. I couldn’t wait. Fucked them on my couch.”

Her smile is filthy. “You dirty, horny man.”

“Yes,” I say unapologetically.

She teases at the bottom of her shirt. “Bet you fucked your fist, too, the night you found my lingerie in Seattle.”

“I fucking did.”

She nibbles on the corner of her lips, then asks, “Want to see all of that bralette ?”

That bralette.

Those words echo in my mind. “You wore that bralette for me?”

“Yes,” she says with a too-pleased smile.

“Want to show me, sunshine?”

It’s a question, not a demand. I’m not going to pressure her to take anything off. I don’t know if she’s stripping naked or not. She can take the lead.

“I do,” she says, then stretches out on the bed, shimmying up to the pillows. She’s still wearing her jeans and the shirt, but in no time she whisks off the jeans and she’s down to the shirt, and the panties that match her bralette—they’re red lace too.

I run a hand along her calf, savoring the soft feel of her skin. She takes the bottom of the shirt, slowly teases me with it and pulls it up, up, up, revealing her stomach that I want to kiss and lick.

I take her invitation and climb onto the bed right as she’s pulling up the top to show me her bralette. Cherry red, with a dainty ruffle along the top.

It hits me—this is the first time I’ve even had a peek at her tits and my mouth is watering. My chest is a furnace just from the hint of nipples under that sheer red lace.

“Like it?”

“Fucking love it,” I say, mesmerized as I roam my hands up her soft belly, push up the lace and free those tits. “Fuck me, they’re perfect.” They’re tight and the nipples are a dusky rose, and all I want to do is bury my face against that gorgeous flesh. I bend down, and suck on her right nipple, tugging on it, then drawing it between my lips. She gasps. And arches into me.

It’s fucking glorious, the way she responds. She grabs my head, determined to keep me right there.

Like I’d go anywhere else.

I move to her other breast, kissing, then flicking my tongue along the nipple.

“Max,” she moans, her fingers gripping me impossibly tighter, like they’re a vise, and she refuses to let go.

Good. I love that she wants this so much. Wants me this much. I spend several lust-fueled minutes sucking on her tits till she’s breathless and arching her hips, begging for me.

She pushes my head away.

I rise up. She sits, then reaches under her shirt, and performs the calisthenics that women can do, tugging her bra out one sleeve, then tossing it to the floor.

My chest floods with filthy gratitude. Is that a thing? I think it is, and I am feeling it in every cell in my body.

It’s not lost on me that our intimacy has been a striptease. Each time we’re together she takes off one more item of clothing. Every night she sheds one more garment. Shares more of herself. She’s down to nearly nothing, and this is huge for her. I want to keep earning the chance to please her .

She lies back down and pulls her shirt above her tits so the fabric is on top of her chest. She’s on display, and it can’t be easy for my woman. More of her scars are visible to me for the first time—the two jagged lines on her hip that I’ve seen, and now a hint of reddish-pink raised skin all along the side of her body. Those must extend to her back, the ones she’s most self-conscious of, the ones I can’t see now, and that’s okay.

This is her pace. This is what she needs from me. But this is what I can give her—the truth of my heart. “Love the way you look right now,” I tell her.

Her smile is instant and it’s mine. All mine.

I reach for her and slide my hands up her sides, touching the smooth skin on her right side, the bumpy skin on the left. I hate that guy who hurt her self-esteem, but I fucking love that he showed himself the door so I could kick it open. “In case you’re wondering, I’m calling you tomorrow. I’m dirty texting you tomorrow. I’m bringing you a London fog tomorrow,” I say.

She breathes out a long, shuddering sigh. “Fuck me tonight.”

And my clothes vanish in seconds. Then I run a hand up her leg and across the red lace of her panties. “Let me take these off too.”

“You better,” she says.

I slide them down her legs, taking my time, enjoying her being exposed to me. She’s glistening and the more I see, the harder I get. When her panties are all the way off, I bring them to my nose and inhale her greedily. “Fucking delicious,” I say, then, like the filthy man I am, I flick my tongue along the wet panel and taste her arousal.

She gasps, then shoves a hand between her thighs, playing with her clit .

Yes. Fucking yes.

I drop the panties to the floor and kneel between her legs, spreading her thighs. As she watches me, I stroke my dick. “Trust me, Everly,” I say, shuttling my fist down my hard length. “I want you even more than I did before.”

“Then get a condom, Max Lambert, and fuck me like you mean it.”

Yup. I’m even harder than I’d thought possible. Seconds later, I’m covering my dick, then hiking up her legs, pushing her knees toward those gorgeous tits so her pussy’s spread for me. “Look how wet you are,” I say.

“Do something about it.”

I notch the head of my cock against her wetness, then hiss in a sharp breath. I close my eyes. I need a moment. This is so fucking good. All this slickness, all this softness, all this arousal for me. I open my eyes and I sink into her, filling her completely.

Her breath comes in a staggered gasp. Then, I comply with her demand. I fuck her like I mean it. I grab her hips, jerk her down on my cock, then work her on my dick. She’s moaning and gasping, her lips parting, and it’s so damn good. And it’s even better when her hands fly to her tits and she plays with them.

“Mine. Those are fucking mine,” I say, possessiveness gripping me.

“Then touch them,” she challenges me.

With one hand holding her right hip, I thrust into her again and again, reaching for her breast with the other hand, playing with the nipple.

She shudders with each touch. She gets wetter. Her pussy grips me. I’m so turned on from her desire, but I want her to truly understand the depths of my lust. That nothing stops me from wanting her. That no scars will scare me away. I lean closer and rasp out, “Want to get you naked. Put you on all fours. Fuck you from behind. Touch you everywhere.”

I’m taking a chance but that’s my nature.

“You do?” She gasps, a little disbelieving, a lot turned on.

“I really fucking do, Everly,” I say, making a dirty promise I plan to keep. “You want that?”

She nods quickly, desperately. “Yes. Soon, I promise soon,” she says, and lets go of her breast to grab the neckline of her shirt. In one quick move, she tugs it over her head.

My breath halts. I’m floored. “I wasn’t expecting that,” I whisper.

“Me neither,” she says, her eyes wide, her voice nervous as she drops down to the bed. The view is no different for me. I can’t see her back. But I can see the courage that move took. The guts. She’s naked with me.

I lower my chest to hers, feeling her against me as I find our pace again, picking up the rhythm, thrusting deep, the way she likes it. She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me close.

“You have no idea how sexy you are,” I tell her, because it’s what she needs to hear, and because it’s true.

She tosses her head back against the pillow and unleashes the hottest groan ever. “Coming,” she cries out, shuddering.

Pleasure charges down my body in a hot, sharp, electric spike. I come hard, then collapse onto her, kissing her face, her neck, her hair.

She bands her arms around me, keeping me close to her for a minute till she whispers, “Give me a sec.”

I take my cue, ease out, and head to the bathroom, giving her privacy. When I return to the bedroom, she’s put the shirt back on. After she pops into the en suite, she comes back to bed, and I pull her next to me, then inhale the last traces of gardenias in her hair. Hair that I’m privileged to touch, that I mightn’t have been able to touch if those emergency responders hadn’t arrived when they did. All I can think is just in time.

I don’t say that though. I’m not sure that’s what she needs to hear. “So, when’s our

next secret date?”

“Better be soon.”

Perfect answer. “Ah, so you learned saying yes to me is your real favorite thing.”

She laughs softly. “You and your ego.”

“You like both,” I tease as I pepper kisses along her neck.

“Clearly. Since I’m not very good at saying no to you.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” I say, because I don’t intend to back down. With her like this, here with me, it’s hard to believe we can’t date. It feels like we could be so much more.

She might have said this thing between us can’t be anything more.

But I heard in her voice what she didn’t say.

And I see the emotions in her big brown eyes when we’re together.

I feel the way she melts in my arms when I touch her.

Most of all, I know we have to be a thing. She might not know that yet, but that’s okay. I’ll convince her with my actions that I’m worth saying yes to, one secret date at a time.

In the morning, she’s awake first, dressed in last night’s clothes. Groggy, I push up in bed, yawning and bleary-eyed. It’s six a.m. and there’s a kitten on my pillow.

“I have to work,” she says quietly. The skies are still dark. The sun hasn’t risen.

“I’ll drive you home,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I’ll call a Lyft.”

Athena stretches her front legs against my head and Everly laughs. “I don’t think you’re fostering this cat. I think you’re going to adopt her.”

I toss off the covers, swing my legs out of bed, and pull on some clothes. “You’re probably right,” I admit. “But I’m right too.”

“About what?”

“I’m driving you home,” I say.

When we’re in the car, one thought runs through my head — It’s what a boyfriend would do.