Dear Roomie (Rookie Rebels #5) - Kate Meader Page 0,69
and oh god oh god oh god, she was flying, breaking, falling.
She was a shaky, shuddering mess.
He held her gaze, his stare brutal and uncompromising. A step back, and she knew, she just knew he was going to pull that monk shit.
“Reid, don’t.”
His eyes searched her face, as if committing it to memory for some lonely time with his hand later.
“I should—” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Head to morning skate.”
Damn.
Ten hours later …
“So, Reid, Coach put you at center tonight. How do you think that went?”
Reid stared death into the reporter for a good ten seconds before answering. “How do you think it went?”
The scribbler—Jim Krugman from the Trib—remained unfazed. “There’s been some talk about your unusual training regimen. Its” … checks notes … “restrictiveness. Have you considered if you should be doing something different?”
“Such as heading to a bar and picking up someone to suck my—”
“I think that’s all the questions we have for Reid tonight!” The Rebels PR woman whisked him away before he could say something that got the team or Reid fined.
Or throw a punch that got him prosecuted.
24
The front door opened and Bucky ran to it.
A handsome but defeated hockey player stepped inside. Still dressed in his game day suit, Reid immediately fell to his knees to greet his canine friend. Kennedy leaned by the hallway wall and watched the reunion.
Reid kept his gaze on Bucky. “Was he okay tonight?”
“Uh-huh. I think he even recognized you on TV. Sorry about the game.”
The Rebels had lost 4-2 at home to the Montreal Royals. Reid had been playing at a different position than usual—though Kennedy didn’t know enough about the game to be able to say if that was a good or bad thing. He didn’t seem to get much on-ice time.
Now she was wondering if the Kitchen Sex Diaries this morning had thrown him off his groove. It had certainly thrown her off hers. All day, she’d been out of step, stumbling around in a lust-induced haze. Missing a street turn here, blanking out on conversations there.
Reid still hadn’t looked at her. Oh, God, he must be furious. “Has he been out?”
“Yeah, I took him out about half an hour ago.”
He stood and slipped off his jacket.
Let it fall.
This was not the typical neat-freak Reid. His gaze met hers and … oh.
Her body went on high alert. Something about the way his eyes burned into her got her blood pumping to all points south.
She took a chance. “Did what happened this morning affect your play?”
“Yes.”
He moved forward, pulling at his tie. Tore it off. Dropped it. Started on the buttons of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
Still he came, Terminator Reid. “Are you?”
That she got an amazing orgasm? Not really. That he had chosen to continue with this ridiculous self-denial? Yes, she was sorry about that. Suffering this much for your art—or sport—should not be allowed.
He halted inches away, his shirt open, that chest of glory on display, and she couldn’t help herself.
She reached out to touch him.
He shuddered under her fingertips and she went a little weak. To have this impact on him …
“Please,” she whispered.
Lightning fast, his mouth met hers in a clash of fire and need, only for him to break off to utter, “Say you want this.” His voice sounded wretched, torn from somewhere deep.
“I want this.” The kiss resumed, ratcheting up in heat and intensity.
I want this. I want this. I want this.
She had never wanted anything so much in her life.
With a strength that shouldn’t have surprised her, he scooped her off the ground. Her legs naturally settled on his hips as she found another angle of pleasure, her mouth against his, her core already pulsing with need against his hard-on.
He walked this new Reid-Kennedy combo back to his bedroom and pushed the door open. The landing on the bed was soft, which was good, because what was coming would likely be hard.
“Lift your arms.” Dazed and lust-struck, she did as she was told. He peeled off her tee and spent a moment gazing at her breasts, still cupped by her bra. “Beautiful.”
He placed a big hand flat in the center of her chest, his eyes burning midnight suns. “Tell me this is okay.”
“Yes. It’s more than okay. Please just do it.”
“Do what?”
“Touch me, Reid!”
He chuckled, the sound dark and chocolatey and rare, an epic turn-on. Carefully and far too slowly, he peeled her yoga pants down over her hips.