To be the sole focus of another person. Someone he could trust to take care of him.
So, I crawled on the bed, hovering over him, and continued my slow, sizzling kisses over his scars. So many damn scars. I kissed the ones on his thighs while I gripped his hard length in my hand, pumping and stroking the silken heat.
A low growl and he reached for me, his fingers hurried, needy, but I flashed my eyes up to his.
“Let me take care of you, Cannon,” I said, my warm breath hitting his cock in my hand. “Just, tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” He’d taught me so much, but there was a ton I didn’t know.
“You could never do anything wrong,” he hissed as I teased him, but his hands relaxed at his sides. His hips jutted upward as I set my mouth on him, taking him inside me in a slow, tortuous sweep of my mouth. Up and down, I sucked and pumped and hummed around his cock until his entire body was coiled with need, and he growled my name.
I smiled around his flesh, pulling him out of my mouth with a satisfying popping sound. Then I settled myself atop him, taking him in and in, his heat sliding inside me, filling me until I could barely breathe. I threaded our fingers and pulled him upward until we were chest to chest, eye to eye.
And then I moved on him.
Slow, so agonizingly slow.
Each roll of my hips a tortuous raking of internal heat that thrashed and shuttered and pleaded.
An ache so deep I didn’t think I could ever soothe it.
“Goddamn,” Cannon hissed, his lips brushing mine. “You’re gorgeous,” he said as he watched me move on him, as his hands explored my skin with electric caresses.
I cupped his cheeks, keeping pace as I trembled around him, and kissed him. Drank in his sounds as if they could fill that spot in my soul he’d claimed. I kissed him deep and long, in time to the rhythm I’d adapted, riding him in long waves of heat and need and hunger. Dragging out the moment as long as either of us could physically take, drawing us right to that sweet, sharp edge, only to pull us back again.
And just as I felt Cannon harden more inside me, just as my own rising orgasm built and coiled and tightened, just as he clenched his eyes shut and threw his head back, I gripped his hair and drew back his focus.
Caught that dark gaze as I upped my pace, as I sank harder atop him, taking him fast and deep.
“Stay with me,” I pled, needing his eyes on me. Needing him to come with me. Needing him, all of him.
“Always,” he whispered against my lips as I sank atop him again, rolling my hips until I couldn’t hold myself together one second longer.
Cannon gripped me tighter against him as I shattered into a million tiny pieces. He devoured my moans, drinking them in as he found his own release inside me.
And I didn’t stop kissing him.
Didn’t stop breathing him in.
Not until we were forced to pull apart to catch our breath.
And even then, I wanted more.
13
Cannon
“Three, two, one!” The crowd counted down my penalty. Two minutes for roughing had been worth it. Then again, since we were up four to one against Detroit with only three minutes left in the third period, it was fair to note that it hadn’t been my first time in the box tonight.
I flew out onto the ice and positioned myself near the blue line as Briggs and Noble fought to get the puck out of our zone.
One of the Red Wings rubbed a little close on me as I maneuvered forward, so I gave him a little bump. The guy lost his balance and ran into the boards. Whoops.
Briggs drove through two of the forwards, moving the puck so quickly I had to focus, then shot it my direction when the Red Wings’ center took him on. I caught the puck and sent it flying toward Axel, then took off, careful not to pass the blue line until he brought the puck over it.
They backchecked, naturally, but Axel fired the puck at me just before they caught him. I caught the puck and took off toward the goal, beating the first defenseman with pure speed and faking out the second with a quick stop and change of direction. My heart pounded, and the roar of the crowd faded as I honed in on the goalie.
I’d played with this asshole for years, which meant I knew his moves, but it also meant that he knew mine. I drove glove-side, knowing his upper right pocket was his most vulnerable spot. When he moved to cover, I flipped to backhand and shot the puck stick-side.