My arms snake up and around his neck. I whisper back to him, "Me too."
God, I missed this...him...the Zack that has opened up to me while we've been wrapped in our cocoon.
His kisses become more demanding and his hand drops down between my legs. On the first swipe of his finger between my wet folds, Zack groans with approval and kisses me harder yet.
I drop one hand down and wrap it around Zack's dick, which is warm and oh, so hard against my palm. I start to stroke him lightly, wishing he hadn't put the condom on yet so I could rub my finger over the tip and grab the moisture that I know is leaking out of him.
He responds by slipping a finger inside of me, pumping it a few times, and then adding a second. My hips circle and grind down against his hand, all while stroking him with more urgency.
"Fuck, Kate," Zack rasps out, and tries to draw his hips back from me. "That feels a little too good."
I squeeze him hard and with a husky laugh tell him, "There is no such thing as feeling too good."
"That's the damn truth," Zack grits out as he surrenders to my touch and his hips start thrusting against my hand again
Our breathing becomes labored as we kiss and grope and fondle each other. Finally, Zack tears himself away from me and spins me around in his arms, which immediately lock around my waist and pull me back against him. His erection presses in warmly against my back.
With his lips against my ear and in a rumbling voice he says, "Going to bend you over and fuck you from behind now.
Yes, please.
And Zack does exactly that."
He releases his hold on me and places one of his hands in the middle of my back. He pushes on me gently so that I bend toward the edge of the bed.
"Put your hands on the mattress, baby," Zack growls at me. "Support yourself that way."
Oh, how I love it when he calls me baby. It's an endearment. It must mean he cares for me.
My palms hit the mattress and I lock my elbows tight. I know this is going to be a bit rough, but I've come to learn over the last several days that is something that I enjoy from Zack. His frenzied and out-of-control motions, which show me just how much I mean to him.
Yes, he shows me with action, which will have to suffice since that's all he's really capable of.
Zack's large hands come to my hips and he pulls me back toward him a little bit. "Spread your legs for me, Kate."
I immediately spread my legs for him.
"Mmmmm," Zack groans as he strokes one of his hands from my hip to my ass and then down between my legs. "You look amazing from where I'm standing. Fucking perfect, actually."
God, the man gets an A+ in sexy talk.
Zack's fingers rub between my legs from behind, testing out my wetness and making me ache.
"Zack...please..." I beg him.
"Tell me what you need," he commands me.
"You."
"Where?"
He slips a finger inside me and curls it backward. My knees almost buckle from the sensation he's stirring up within me.
"Where do you want me, Kate?" Zack whispers as his finger comes out and finds my clit. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."
I push my hips backward against him, needing something more than what he's giving me. I shake my head and rotate my hips. "Zack...please stop teasing me."
He gives a husky laugh and continues to mercilessly rub against my clit. "Come on, Kate," he cajoles me. "Talk dirty to me. I know you have it in you."
My blood begins to rage and roars within my ears. Pressure builds, pulses, and while Zack's hand works between my legs, I finally tell him what he wants to hear. "Zack...I need you to fuck me."
I feel Zack's warm breath blow out across my back in relief, and with one hand still on my clit, he surges deep inside of me from behind.
Both of us groan loudly and deeply, but Zack goes the extra mile. Through gritted teeth he practically moans, "Christ...it should be criminal for something to feel this good."
Lock me up and throw away the key if this is a crime.
Immediately, he sets a strong, hard pace behind me. Pounding in with deep, wet strokes...one hand still working between my legs and the other holding on tight to my hip.
My body is completely reactionary to Zack. He's like pure, combustible fuel and within a few quick minutes, I start to fall prey to the flames he's fanning hotter.
I scream loud.
Really, really loud as I start to climax.
"Yes," Zack hisses from behind me, thrusting in even harder and prolonging the spasms of pleasure that are rocketing through my body.
When I reach that plane where I'm in a languid state of mind, barely cognizant of Zack still moving within me and where I wait until he follows right behind, I use that time to listen to the sounds we make together. I love his moans, the sound of his flesh sliding against mine.
Except now, I hear nothing.
I feel nothing because Zack has stopped moving within me.
I give a slow roll of my hips to encourage him, but instead he slowly pulls out of me. I try to turn my head to look over my shoulder, but then Zack is lifting me up, turning me around, and depositing me on the mattress on my back.
He climbs up on the bed, pushes my legs apart, and guides himself into me again so very slowly while he stares down at me.
"What are you doing?" I whisper in awe while he lazily starts to thrust back and forth.
"Slowing things down a bit," he whispers back. "Got that scream I wanted out of you. Now I want to take my time."
"Mmmmm," I breathe out as I succumb to the torturous pace he's set within me. "I like that too."
He gives me an easy smile, drops down on me a bit, and then laces his fingers with mine.
Then for the first time since we started having sex, Zack slowly makes love to me. And with every gentle movement, every soft word he whispers in my ear, with every rumble of pleasure he produces within me, my heart finally gives up the struggle.
It becomes Zack's.
Chapter 27
Zack
I wonder how in the fuck I've gotten to this place in my life. I'm in a pressure cooker...weighted in from all sides by heavy burden.
Taking a sip from the water bottle, I watch with fear as the stretcher is wheeled out onto the ice. A quick glance around the arena, which is quiet as a mouse, and I see fans watching with horror as the EMTs attend to our goalie, Max Fournier.
My eyes slide over to the right of our bench and I connect hard with Kate--she stands at the glass, her hands on Ben's shoulders as he stands in front of her. Her eyes are fearful and sympathetic and conveying to me that it will all be okay.
I'm not sure that's the case. Especially when Kate herself is one of the burdens I'm carrying.
She shouldn't be a burden to me. This glorious and amazing woman who has my head all kinds of fucked up. She easily enslaved my body. She totally has whetted my interest in her as a person. And now she seems to be fucking with my heart, because along with all of my other burdens, I find myself thinking about her and where she stands in my future.
The biggest burden in that is that I have no fucking clue where she stands. I'm afraid of her. Of what she makes me feel, and every instinct within me screams to run away from her.
But there are more important things weighing on me right at this moment.
Like the fact that the Cold Fury is on a very dangerous precipice and we are in extreme peril of falling in.
It's game seven of the series with Atlanta. While we steamrolled over them the first three games, they have fought, scrapped, and clawed against defeat, and in a move that has sports announcers shaking their heads, managed to win the next three games.
We are tied 3-3 and the final game is going to be decided tonight in the Cold Fury's arena.
It's not, of course, looking good for us. This game has been dirty and exhausting, and we've fought for every goal we made. The Sting is fighting hard too. They can taste a Cinderella upset and they probably want it
more than we do at this point.
The game is tied 2-2, and with only a little more than two minutes left in the game, Sting player Peter Dietra had a breakaway and was streaking down the ice toward Max. I sat on the bench and helplessly watched as Claude chased him down, and knowing that he'd never reach him in time, managed to jab his stick under Dietra's skate and pull him to the ice in an exaggerated penalty to save the goal. Dietra and Claude went skidding across the ice straight toward Max. They crashed into him and three bodies dislodged the net with the force of a sonic boom as they slid together in a pile of skates, sticks, and muscle.
Claude and Dietra immediately jumped up, threw the gloves down, and started fighting it out.
My eyes stayed pinned on Max, who rolled on the ice in pain as he tried to clutch his way past the bulky pads to grab at his knee. I knew it was bad. I knew he was coming off the ice. I knew, before the training staff even reached him, that one of the assistant managers was running back to the locker room to get Ryker.
It was definitely Max's knee, and whatever it was was severe enough that he could not get off the ice without assistance. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes there are injuries terrible enough to warrant a stretcher, and this just happened to be one of those times.