Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,45

more taste, Harlow.” He leans in, urging my knees apart with those big hands to make room for his even bigger body. “I’m starving.”

I’m shaking my head the entire time, and I’m pretty sure somewhere deep inside there’s a part of me that really wants him to stop. But she’s not the one breathless and leaning back over the center console, sliding one knee fractionally higher. She’s not the one watching as he pushes my dress aside so I’m open and exposed to him again. So that we can both see when he drags his thumb through my slickness in one stroke… and then, eyes blazing, brings it to his mouth.

“Wade,” I manage on a broken breath.

“Yeah, Good Girl?”

“What do we have on the calendar for tomorrow?”

His brow arches, the corner of his mouth kicking up with it. “Errand in the city, but pretty easy day.”

“Good.” Hooking my fingers in his jeans pocket, I tug him closer. “Because you’re not getting any sleep tonight. Now get in the truck.”

Wade

A bossy Harlow is a sexy Harlow.

Almost as sexy as playful, teasing Harlow.

But nothing compares to daring Harlow.

When she opens her legs for me while I’m driving down that dark, deserted backroad outside of town and lets me slide my finger deep, in and out, until she comes apart all over my hand… Jesus.

I almost lose it right there.

But even going thirteen miles an hour for half the ride, we eventually make it back. And then up to our room, where I have Harlow against the door—inside our room, but barely—on the desk, the bed—not the pull-out—beneath the shower and, for a while, on the floor with my back against the inside of the closet.

I get my mouth on her again, and with the number of times I make her moan, my ego should be wearing a super-suit and flexing in front of a mirror. Instead, he’s flipping a puck on his stick, staring at me expectantly.

What are you going to do, Wade?

Yeah, I got Harlow to agree to the full week. But even if she actually gives it to me—and that’s a pretty big if, considering she sort of was under duress—she’s going to be worried about after.

Which is why, after giving my body a workout more intense than any game I’ve played in pro hockey, instead of sleeping, I’m awake, running my fingers through the dark silk of her hair as she sleeps against my chest.

I must finally drift off, because the next time I open my eyes, it’s to a room bright with sunshine streaming in around the drapes and Harlow watching me with sleepy eyes from my chest.

My heart does something I haven’t ever felt before. It’s so good, so full it almost hurts.

“Okay. One week,” she says softly.

Taking her arms, I haul her up my chest.

We’ll start with one. But I’m going to make it so good, no fucking way will she want it to end.

Harlow

For all my resistance, I’m already seeing the benefits of being Wade Grady’s temporarily real, fake girlfriend. The man has been holding back in no small way. But now that he’s not skating the line between real and fake, it’s like some restrictor has come off. And this Wade is undiluted, pure dirty-talking charm and charisma.

This Wade doesn’t keep his hands above my waist or limit our contact.

This Wade doesn’t just wrap his arms around me from behind… he buries his face in that spot between my shoulder and neck and does this low growl thing that has me squirming in his arms and the poor couple in the elevator with us laughing into their hands.

This Wade throws me over his shoulder and carts me, wriggling and squealing, across the hotel lot to the grassy strip where we stretch before our run.

This Wade watches me with the kind of heat and intensity that leaves me a little breathless and a lot hot… and wondering what kind of defense I would have had if he’d shown me this true side of him from the start. Not enough.

“Keep looking at me like that, Good Girl, and you can forget running out to the orchard. The only workout you’re getting today is back in that bed.” He does that lip-biting thing again, but this time there’s nothing scripted about it. It’s authentic as his eyes rake shamelessly over the length of my legs, fixing on my running shorts-covered ass.

I shiver, averting my eyes and grinning down at my shoes.

It isn’t until we start our run