“Grant—”
“Touch.” His order was final, and he maneuvered her fingers to the very top of her clit, where his fingers joined hers in searching for that place—
He found it first, and his touch pushed more pleasure into Faith’s sex from a whole different direction. She was bombarded with sensations so wildly thrilling, she wanted to drown in them. Swim in them. She whimpered but let Grant place his fingers with hers. Let him gui
de her movement.
He lowered his chin, putting his lips at her ear. “Do you have any idea how fucking hot it makes me to watch you touch yourself?”
A whole different kind of pleasure filled Faith. She pried her eyes open and found his handsome face in the darkening shadows, creased with desire and intensity.
“Now you can find pleasure and satisfaction any time you want it, Faith. No more denying yourself.”
Emotion rolled through her, intense and sharp. Emotion she didn’t understand. She released the ladder and curved her arm back and around Grant’s head, pulling his mouth to hers. And gifted him with an erotic example of what she hoped he’d do to her when they had more privacy.
He drank her in, added passion to the kiss, and devoured her while his fingers parted, pushed Faith’s out of the way and shocked her clit with an orgasm that burned right to her core. Grant added pressure to her mouth to keep her from pulling away and muffled her cries as he drove orgasm after sweet orgasm through her body until she dropped back against him, limp.
Grant still had his hand down her pants when headlights turned the corner and started down the street.
“You, Miss Nicholas, have been saved by the cavalry.” He dragged his hand back and jerked her jacket into place a moment before Dwayne turned into his drive. And pushed the vibrating fingertips into his jacket pocket. “Because I was just about ready to do you in the front yard. Damn, you make me do the craziest thing, woman.”
Grant was teasing, but in her exhausted state, it struck her as extremely funny. She was holding herself up with the ladder, still laughing, when Dwayne climbed from his car, grinning.
“What are you two up to?” he wanted to know.
“Faith just lost at rock paper scissors,” Grant told him, taking Faith by the arm and sitting her on the front steps. “Now she’s got to sit on her ass while I finish the gables.”
“Hey…” she complained, then started laughing again. “That’s only because you wouldn’t let me go for three out of five.” And she added a sweet “The offer’s still open.”
That made Grant bust up laughing. “I promise to take you up on that another time. But not right this minute.” He grabbed the ladder and walked it to the next gable, telling Dwayne, “We’ll be ready for a show in ten minutes. Get your popcorn ready.”
“Okay, here we go, boys,” Grant called once the kids were in position for their last drill of the night. “Remember, you’re passing while you’re moving, so make sure to whip that puck hard to get it in front of your teammate. Then pivot, catch the shot from the next man down the line, and shoot it up the ice.”
He blew his whistle, and the kids glided into action. Grant floated on the edge of the rink and rolled his shoulder while his gaze focused on the kids’ feet and hands, on pivots and shots.
Dwayne paced the sidelines. “Stay low in your turns, boys. Keep movin’, keep movin’, shoot.”
“Talk it up, guys,” Grant told them. “You should always be talkin’ to each other out there. If you want something, call for it. Pick up the pace, boys. Giddyup, let’s go.”
“Giddyup?” Dwayne said, shooting him an incredulous grin. “Is that the shit they teach you in the big leagues?”
“Shut up.” Grant grinned. “Parker, move those feet. Whoa, Healy, what the hell was that? You control the puck, the puck doesn’t control you.”
That brought some laughter. “Good,” he called out encouragement. “Nice.” And as the last few members of the team passed up the ice, Grant clapped to get the team’s attention. “Other way, same drill. Speed, accuracy, focus. Go.”
His phone chimed. Without looking away from the boys, he answered, but instead of saying hello, he lowered the mouthpiece and yelled, “Jordy, you here to socialize or practice? Cut the bullshit. If I have to tell you again, the whole team’s gonna be doing sprints.”
A collective groan rolled through the group, and Jordy received a number of shoulder shoves, which shut him right up.
Smiling, Grant lifted the phone to his mouth. “Grant.”
“Hey.” A male voice that he didn’t immediately recognize sounded over the line. “Sounds like you’re as much of a hard-ass with teenagers as you are with grown men.”
By the time he finished speaking, Grant recognized his younger brother’s voice. “Do you mean on the ice or with you? ’Cause I haven’t seen you enough to be a hard-ass yet.”
“I know,” Patrick said, “that’s why I’m here to take you for a beer when you’re done.”
Grant heard stereo and turned to find his Patrick strolling toward the rink, one hand in his pocket, huddled in a parka. Patrick grinned and lowered his phone. Grant had mixed feelings about his brother’s appearance. On the one hand, he was the reason their parents had even entertained the idea of seeing one of Grant’s games. On the other, Grant really wanted to go straight back to the store, pack in some quality Faith time—preferably buried deep inside her, driving her to scream his name the way she had last night, then teaching her how to edit video and set up her YouTube account. And, yeah, then work on more screaming.