Page 98 of Saddle Storm

“Damn right.” He kisses me hot and urgent. Then takes my hand and leads me down the hall, checking each door until he finds one unlocked.

Peeking in quickly, he pulls me inside and closes the door, locking it.

I glance around the space. It looks spacious, busy, and . . . important. “Silas,” I hiss. “Is this . . .”

“Coach’s office,” he says like it’s nothing.

“Silas.” It comes out in a harsh whisper.

He chuckles darkly. “It was either here or out in the hall.”

“What was?”

“I’m fucking feral for you right now, Storm. For the past two hours. Your possessiveness is my new obsession. And I want to taste it.” He leans into my ear. “I want to fuck it.”

Good God.

Suddenly, he’s not so clean-cut anymore. He’s a man obsessed with me. And it shows. It’s so raw and dirty and I want it all.

I want the man I saw standing beside the rink like he belongs. The man who’s back in the place he feels most grounded, confident. And with it all, he still only sees me. Only wants me.

A knot pulls on my stomach. “Do it. Now, Silas,” I urge before someone could come in and ruin this.

“I wish I could. I wish I could lay you over my bed right now. Make you mine for the taking. Tease you. Tie you up. Slip a finger inside you and make you scream out the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Tonight’s truth, Bee.”

I swallow, my need growing. “What’s that?”

He leans into my ear. “That you took one look around the arena . . .” He grins and it brushes against my skin . . . “And staked your claim.”

“It’s just a jersey, hotshot.”

He undoes the drawstring of my pants and stretches his hands under the waistband, gripping my ass. His breath is in my neck. “Do you know what that did to me, Bee? What seeing you in my jersey, making me your guy, watching me and only me, on a night I felt . . . unworthy?”

“Wait, wh—”

With a flick of his thumbs, my pants fall down my legs and I no longer care how he was feeling before. He’s not feeling it now. “No. I don’t know. Please show me.”

He undoes his belt and it’s so damn hot. The urgency. The possession. The growl he releases as he pulls me against his erection. Gripping my jaw with one hand he kisses me deeply. “Turn around, Sunflower.”

I’m breathing hard, hesitating.

He rests his hands over my head. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m—I’m too worked up. If we start—you better finish it.”

“I have no intention of not finishing, baby.”

“What if someone comes in?”

“Turn around.”

I comply—the way that seems to drive him crazy, and I hear shuffling behind me. He’s stroking himself.

“Lower them for me. Let me see that perfect ass.”