Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
He tastes like chocolate and mouthwash, and a little bit of danger. He sounds like a grizzly, a hungry growl vibrating from his chest. It's…perfect. Completely perfect.
When I finally pull away, I'm breathless and so red I could be mistaken for an actual traffic cone. Trent just watches me, that wolfish grin back in place, like he's won something important.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he says, his voice rough.
I can't even answer. My brain has left the building.
He brushes his thumb across my cheek, slow and sweet, and I have to close my eyes so I don't lose my composure completely.
"You're a menace," I whisper. "An actual menace."
A loud bark of laughter leaves his lips before he buries his face against my shoulder. "You have no idea," he murmurs, his mouth moving over my neck.
I feel his tongue against my pulse and cling to his shirt like I might float away otherwise. For once, I don't care that I'm not supposed to be here, or that I could lose my job, or that tomorrow the whole team will know. For once, I just want.
And right now, I want him to kiss me again.
I tug on his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine.
The thing about kissing Trent, though, is that he doesn't do anything halfway. Not hockey, not eating, and definitely not kissing. What starts as a tentative, almost featherlight brush of his lips against mine quickly morphs into a full-on, oxygen-depleting, soul-melting kiss that turns my entire brain to mush. My nipples are hard. My panties are drenched. And my clit is throbbing so hard I might actually orgasm like this.
His hands are in my hair, his lips soft but greedy, and I'm so high on the moment that I don't even realize my phone is buzzing with another text until he pulls back, panting.
I try to catch my breath. So does he. We both just…stare.
For the first time in my life, I'm at a total loss for words. I can't even assemble a single complete thought.
He's the first to recover. He lifts a hand to my cheek, his thumb gentle against my burning skin. "Holy shit," he murmurs, his voice so low I barely hear it over the hammering of my heart.
I try to play it cool, but when I feel his erection against my ass, my voice comes out two octaves higher than normal. "Is that a side effect of the steroids, or are you just happy to see me?"
He laughs, and the sound is so warm and genuine that I feel it all the way to my toes. "Both," he says, grinning up at me. "But mostly the second one."
I try to slide off his lap, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he shifts so I'm tucked up against his chest, one arm draped around me like he has every right to keep me here.
"Should we…talk about this?" I ask, gesturing between us with one trembling hand. It's not like I know what to say, though. Trent just kissed me. Or I kissed him. Whatever. There was tongue involved.
He nods, serious now. "I've been fucking dying to do that since you joined the team." He leans his forehead against mine. "You're the best part of my week."
My heart is a rocket, launching into space. I have a comeback, but it evaporates when he drags his fingers through my ponytail and tugs me forward for a softer, slower kiss. This one is different—less about fireworks, more about promises.
I believe him.
And then my brain catches up.
"Trent," I say, pushing back just enough to think. "I'm your physical therapist."
His eyes sparkle, wicked and bright. "Not right now, you're not."
He kisses me again, and I almost let him win. Almost.
"I mean it," I say, breaking free with the last shred of my willpower. "This is—this is so against protocol. I could get fired. There could be a scandal. It could be bad!"
He blinks, then laughs. "I'm pretty sure protocol says you're not allowed to risk my life with fudge, either, but here we are, anyway."
"Trent!"
He gets serious, just for a second. "Baby, I'm not trying to get you in trouble. I was serious when I said I've been dying to do that since I met you. But if you want me to stop, just say the word. It might fucking kill me, but I'll stop. Okay?"
There's a challenge in his eyes. A dare.
I should say the word. I should walk away. But all that comes out is, "Why me?"
He cups my cheek, grinning, and it's so genuine I feel like I'm floating again. "You're smart. You're funny. You're the only person who tells me to shut up when I need to hear it. You're sexy as hell, especially when you're mad, or anxious, or feeling feisty. You have a big heart. And I've been wild about you since I met you. Is that enough reasons, or should I keep going?"