Page 188 of Cross Check

“It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.” I massage his scalp, smiling when he melts under my touch. “Normally I wouldn’t mind delayed gratification when it comes to an orgasm, but I want to come, Grant.”

“Yeah?” Grant loops his arm under my left leg, putting my foot on his shoulder. He does the same with my right as he scoots closer. “Ask me nicely, Lia.”

“What?” I sputter. “Are you serious?”

“You might be an authority figure on the ice, baby, but you’re not in here. You’re going to ask me for what you want, and I’m going to give it to you, because I know for a fact you’ve surrounded yourself with shitty men for most of your life, and that ends with me.”

The shred of control I keep wound tight unravels. I drop my head back, turned on in a way I’ve never been because, yes. I do want him to give me what I want, and I don’t care if that means I have to beg for it.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please, Grant? Can I come?”

“Of course you can.” He grips my thigh, each press of his finger a mark I’m going to wear proudly at our game tomorrow. “Anything you want.”

He follows through on that promise with his fingers and tongue, synchronized movements that make my toes curl. He reaches a spot inside me I’ve never reached myself, and I shift my hips so he can get deeper than anyone has ever been.

It’s intimate. It’s exquisite because it’s him. There are soft whispers spoken into my knee about how much he likes being here with me. Murmured awe when my back arches off the bed. A quiet wow, baby when he gently adds his pinky at the same time he circles my clit with his mouth, and a guttural groan when he puts his palm on my ass.

“I’m close.” I grasp the sheets bunched at my waist to steady myself. “Can you—I like when you touch my clit, Grant.”

“Like this?” he asks, pressing his thumb against me. “Fast? Slow?”

“Faster,” I whine, the white-hot pleasure beginning to build. “A little lower, and—yeah. Right there. That’s good. Please don’t stop.”

“Never. I can’t wait to taste you when you come, Lia.”

I don’t need anything more than that to spiral undone. The relief is instantaneous, a full-body sensation that leaves me gasping for breath. I squirm and chase the high he’s bringing me, giving myself over to him while he coaxes me through the orgasm.

“I’ve got you,” Grant whispers. His fingers slow inside me, but he doesn’t pull them out. “God, Lia. You’re so pretty when you give up control.”

I’m a trembling mess. Sweat at my hairline, limbs heavy. I’m hyperaware of my body, of the way Grant draws a second orgasm out of me. The prolonged pleasure surprises him, a proud laugh echoing in the crook of my leg as I melt into the blissed-out state of euphoria.

When he finally pulls away, he plants a kiss on my stomach. His mouth moves to hip, and tears prick my eyes. I turn my head to try to hide my emotion, but he’s there. He’s climbing on the mattress. He’s holding his body over mine, a hand on my cheek as I sniff.

“Lia.” Murmured worry wraps around my name. “Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?”

“You could never hurt me.” I blink, letting the fuzzy outline of his features comes into focus. “I’ve never had an orgasm like that before, and my body is adjusting to how much I liked it.”

“I liked it too.” He bends, pressing his lips to my temple. He touches his thumb to the corner of my mouth where my smile sits. “I want to make you feel like that every day.”

“It’s your turn.” I prop myself up and trail my hand down his chest. I stop when I get to his briefs and cup him through the fabric. “I want to taste you. Would you like that, Grant?”

He stands but doesn’t answer. His brings his underwear down his thighs. Grant doesn’t stop until he’s naked, and when he is, he looks at me. Eyes locked on mine, he spits in the center of his hand and wraps his fingers around his cock. He strokes himself, a rough jerk of his palm that makes the muscles in his neck flex with tension.

“Should I—where should I, um…” Grant keeps his arms at his side. I kiss his stomach, pulling a low moan out of him. “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

“You can put them anywhere. My hair. My head. My chest. Whatever feels right.”

“Anywhere?” He lifts his hand and rests it on my throat. “Is here okay?”

“That’s great.”

“And this?” The slightest bit of pressure, right at my windpipe. “Do you like that, Lia?”

“No,” I say, and his hand almost falls away. I put my fingers on his wrist, keeping him in place. “I love it.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

GRANT