Page 16 of Her Power Play

I’m so sensitive, so ready, so primed.

My entire body trembles, but he doesn’t stop, not that I would want him to. I don’t. He groans against my throat. The vibration slides throughout my entire body. Then he speaks, and when he does, I come.

It flows through me like warm honey. I gasp, my fingernails digging into his shoulder even harder, no doubt scoring him there. He doesn’t stop moving, his hips continuing to grind against my clit, and then he stills inside me.

His dick pulses before he comes. He stills, twitching inside me, and I wonder how this is even real. I want to pinch myself to wake up from this dream. Because that’s what it must be, a dream.

Liam nips my throat, then shifts his face backward, and that’s when I straighten my head, my eyes finding his. My lips curve up into a lazy smile. I couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to. It consumes me because I feel deliciously sore and satisfied.

We stare at one another for a long moment in silence. I don’t know what to say, but a million things that I shouldn’t say fly around in my head. Like I love you, I want you, please come back, let me keep you, and never leave me—all of which I cannot say.

NINETEEN

LIAM

Bouch passes me the puck, and I block it before skating to the other end of the rink and taking my own shot. Practice. I fucking hate it. I know it’s a necessary evil, and I always come, but it’s not something I enjoy. It’s something I know is part of my job.

I like the game.

I like the sport.

I like the competition.

I like to win.

But today, I can’t get my mind off the cute little cupcake girl that I spent all night inside, and this morning too. She’s the sweetest I’ve ever had, and not just because every ounce of her smells like sugar. I’ve never felt this way before, not about anyone, but I can’t take my mind off her. She consumes me.

“What the fuck?” Sammy calls out.

My chin jerks, and I look down to see that the puck has stopped right in front of my skates. Fuck, I didn’t even see it coming. Sammy is already halfway down the ice, heading straight toward me, most likely to ask me what the hell I’m thinking.

If I tell him the truth, then I’ll never hear the end of it. How the fuck do I tell him that I’ve fallen in love with this woman whom I’ve just met, and I’m pretty sure she’s the one? I don’t think that’s something I can just blurt out.

“I’m just not in the zone,” I lie. Well, partially lie. I’m certainly not in the zone, but I don’t tell him there is a reason why. I’m not ready for that.

“No shit,” Sammy grunts. “You need to talk about it?”

My eyes widen, and I stare at him, wondering how I’m supposed to answer this. I don’t want to talk to anyone about this. Not yet, at least. I need to really figure out what the fuck we are, and I feel like a goddamn starry-eyed teenager for even thinking those words.

Sinking my teeth into the skin on the inside of my cheek, shifting it back and forth, I worry the flesh there. How in the hell am I going to avoid this conversation? Because that’s what I really want to do.

Avoid it at all costs.

“Not really,” I grumble.

He doesn’t speak immediately, but then he shifts closer toward me, his gaze searching my own. I’m not sure what he’s going to ask, but he doesn’t immediately. We stare at one another, and then I finally break the silence.

“Cupcake Girl?”

I open my mouth to deny it, but the words don’t come out quickly enough, probably because I would be a liar if I denied anything about that statement. And I’m pretty sure I’ve avoided and led enough in this conversation.

It is Cupcake Girl, and she is, without a doubt, what’s fucking up my game and my head.

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmur. “Let’s just practice.”

Sammy lets out a chuckle. “You’re fucked.”

I am.