Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,42

she’d expected after the hall, after the door.

Rather, it was sunshine on the tip of her nose on a summer’s day, heat caressing her collarbones, her shoulders, drifting down to her fingers.

Gentle and so fucking sweet that it made her eyes prickle.

Then his tongue touched the seam of her mouth. Her lips parted, and that warmth exploded into heat. His beard was roughened velvet against her skin, the most intoxicating abrasion of her life, and his tongue, when it stroked along hers, was a sleek, hot dart driving pleasure to follow in the wake of that heat. Her fingers wove into his hair, the soft locks like silk on her palms, needing him even nearer.

Even as the thought entered her mind, Ethan’s hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, his cock hard against her center, sparking through her nerves, sending pleasure coursing through her, despite the layers between them.

One hand slid up her side, and she groaned as those sparks spread, coalescing into a kind of need she’d never felt before.

And just as it was getting really good, just as it was burning so fucking incredibly and she found herself almost completely undone, Ethan pulled back.

“You are so fucking strong.”

The rest of her heart shattered into a million pieces, those shards floating through the air and reforming . . . to encompass him.

She stretched up and kissed him again.

Chapter Fourteen

Ethan

He was hard and aching, furious and in agony that Dani had been hurt, and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

But nothing eclipsed the feeling of the key turning in the lock, of the sudden pop of a door opening, of right.

This was right.

This was everything.

She pushed at his chest, tearing her mouth from his. He almost expected her to draw back, to retreat, but instead she stayed close, her forehead resting on his, her palm on his shoulder.

A tear dropped onto his shirt.

Shit.

“Did I—?”

She pressed her finger to his mouth. “Why is it so easy with you?”

“Because this is right.”

Her lips parted, her breath hitching, and he shifted, leaning forward to kiss her again, needing to kiss her.

It was a directive written into his DNA.

She slid her tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his. Desire pooled in his stomach, pressing his cock even more firmly against the zipper of his slacks. He really fucking hated himself for not having taken her directly back to his house. If he had, they wouldn’t be having this conversation in a car, wouldn’t be crammed in between the seat and the steering wheel, when it really would have been much better if they’d been horizontal—

“Why,” she asked, pulling back again, her hand resting on his chest, probably feeling the way it was pounding haphazard and totally out of control, “do you taste so fucking good?”

He groaned, rested his palm on her nape. “Because this is right,” he said again.

And as much as he wanted to kiss her again, to get lost in her taste and the feel of her body, he gently set her away from him, sliding her over into her own seat, sucking in a breath when she shakily pressed her fingers to her lips.

He wanted to kiss her again, to have her back in his arms.

But they were in an empty parking lot in the city, and it was after midnight, and he needed to keep her safe.

“Can I drive you home?”

Glazed eyes met his.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning, and we can have breakfast.”

“Or,” she whispered, “maybe you could stay?”

His cock somehow grew harder, and he nearly reached over the console and grabbed her again. Instead, however, he cupped her cheek, told her the truth. “I want that,” he whispered. “I’ve fantasized about that in six thousand different ways, but . . .” He trailed off at the disappointment on her face, and for a moment he wondered why he was being a Cub Scout, but then the answer was easy. She was important. She meant something. So, that’s why he’d drive her home, kiss her goodnight on the porch, and continue winning her trust.

Her face evened out, the warmth tucked back into cool. “You have the game tomorrow. You’ll need your rest.”

“No.” He turned on the car, navigated out of the lot. “I don’t give a shit about rest. I give a shit about you, and I don’t want you to do something that you might—” He couldn’t force out the word regret. “I don’t want to move too fast. I like you, Dani,