“What are you doing?” Her heated gaze takes me in. Oh, yeah, my sweet devil loves my body. She loves to tease it. Loves to wind me up and make me moan. She needs to feel in control right now? Fine. My Tess gets whatever she wants.
“Tess, I’m yours,” I say, taking her hands by the wrists and placing them palm-flat on my chest. “I’m yours. There will never be anyone else. Take me.”
She steps in, her hands smoothing over the hard planes of my chest, down my ribs.
I want her so goddamn much. My dick is twitching in my pants, turned on by her presence as much by her beauty or her touch. The truth is that I breathe easier just being in the same room. “I’m yours,” I say again, shucking my pants down my hips to the floor.
She looks at me, eyes wide, watching as I strip. “Puppy, what are you doing?”
“I’m giving myself to you.”
I step out of my pants, my dick hardening as her hungry gaze devours me. I love her eyes on me. I never want her to look away. I wiggle my toes at each heel, slipping out of my thin athletic socks, until I’m standing before the woman I love, naked except for my neoprene knee brace.
“I’m yours,” I say again, feeling the hold on my own control slipping away. I’m giving it all to her, every piece of me. I’m safe with her. All she has to do is hold out her hands and take me. “I want you to be the wild, happy Tess I met on the beach, all curls and confidence and killer curves for days. I want you to be powerful and free. That’s all I want.”
“I want that too,” she admits, her voice soft.
“Then be free with me,” I beg. “Tess, baby, I choose you. You’re my one. My only one.”
Her gaze takes me in, and I feel my body heat all over.
Slowly, I drop to my knees, gazing up at her, begging her with every piece of my soul. “If you want me, Tess, take me. Make me yours.”
I watch the column of her throat as she swallows. Then she takes a small step closer on bare feet, her hand reaching out for me. I lean into it like I did on my first night here, chasing her touch. She brushes her fingers through my hair, cupping the side of my head. I don’t bother holding back my groan.
“You want me to take you?” Her thumb brushes my temple.
I nod, turning my face to kiss her palm.
“Tell me what you want, Ryan.”
Reaching out, I take gentle hold of her hips. “My entire life revolves around me holding onto control—my diet, my exercise, the game, the puck. It’s not easy for me to let go.”
She nods, understanding in her eyes.
“But with you, it feels so easy,” I admit. “I trust you, Tess. I love you and I’m yours. Please, just end my agony and say you’ll be mine.” I say these last words as I sink forward, my face pressing against her stomach, my hands sliding down her hips to grip her thighs.
“Do you want to be my sweet boy?” Her fingers tease as they dance across my skin. “Do you want to know what it feels like to be claimed?”
I nod, words failing me as I watch her strip out of her T-shirt. She’s so goddamn beautiful.
“Speak, Ryan,” she says, shimmying out of her leggings and kicking them aside. She stands in front of me wholly naked, wholly mine. “Tell me what you want from me.”
I meet her eyes, losing myself in the forest greens and golds. “I want you to fuck me,” I reply. “Tess, please, baby. Show me I’m yours.”
59
Ryan kneels in front of me naked, his heart in his hands, giving me all his vulnerability. “Fuck me,” he says again. “I want you to do it. I want to be yours in all ways. I trust you. Tess, I love you—”
I silence his words with my mouth. Holding his face, I bend down and take what I need, kissing him with everything I have. I just spent one of the worst days of my life sneaking around trying to find a way to get out of the house without making a tearful goodbye. I was packing to leave. Troy had won. I would never do a thing to hurt Ryan. If that means I let him go, that’s what I was ready to do.
But Ryan is right. He deserves for me to be strong. He deserves for me to stop running, stop hiding from a man I left in all but name over three years ago. Troy can bring on the rain. He can drown me for all I care. I’m a good swimmer. And with Ryan holding my hand, I’ve already found a safer shore.
As usual, Ryan holds nothing back, kissing me with all his pent-up passion and need. He’s ravenous, devouring my kisses, his hands roving my naked body. I’ve never felt more loved than when this man’s hands are on me. He’s so gentle, even as he takes what he wants. He guides me to my pleasure every time, joyfully claiming his own. I’m safe in his arms, wild and free. He brings out the best in me.
“I love you,” I say against his mouth. “Ryan, I love you.”
“Thank fucking God,” he groans, his teeth nipping my bottom lip as he stands. Our angle changes, and now he’s pressing in, our warm flesh fitting perfectly together. “I love you too,” he says against my lips. “I’ve been dying to say it for days. I looked for you at my game. I wanted you there so badly. I wanted to tell you with my jersey on your back.”
I lean away, breaking our kiss. “Your jersey?”
He nods, biting his bottom lip in that adorable way he does when he’s nervous. “Yeah, I uhh…left you that stuff earlier,” he says, pointing to the nightstand.
I glance over my shoulder, my heart twisting in a little knot. I meant to open it before the game, but then I got the box from Troy, and it felt too painful to know what sweet, thoughtful thing Ryan left for me. “What is it?” I say.
“Tickets to the game,” he replies. “A parking pass and a WAG room pass.”
“What’s the other thing?”
His hands give my hips a little push. “Open it.”
Turning away from him, I pad on bare feet over to the side table, pretty sure I already know what this will be. I unwrap the tissue paper and hold up a Rays home game jersey. It’s a pretty aqua blue with thick black, white, and brick red stripes on the sleeves and along the bottom. The stingray logo rests large on the front, a few brand logos stitched to the chest, including a patch for the Winter Classic. A number 20 is stitched on both shoulders. I flip it around to see the big number 20 on the back, framed above by his name: Langley.
“Is this your actual jersey?” I say over my shoulder. “Like, the one you wear during the game?”
He nods.
I turn around, holding it up to my frame, my hand smoothing over the fabric. “Am I even allowed to have this?”
He laughs, flicking my hair off my shoulder and replacing it with his warm lips. “Yeah, I wore that one during the Winter Classic.”
My blood goes cold, my fingers holding tight to the jersey. “You wore it when you hurt your knee.”
“I wore it when I was looking for you,” he corrects.
“What?”
He steps in, the jersey pinned between us. “You were so in my head already,” he admits, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I had a split moment on the ice when I looked up through the glass, and I swear to God I thought I saw you standing there.”
“Me?”
He nods. “Yeah, you were watching me, cheering for me, and I thought my heart was gonna burst. I wanted it to be you…which means I didn’t see the hit coming.” He leans in, placing a gentle kiss to my lips. “Baby, I never saw you coming,” he whispers against my lips. “This is yours now,” he adds, his hand closing around the fabric. “No one can wear this but you.”
“Wow. This is pretty serious, Ryan.”
He nods again, his hands smoothing up my forearms.
“I admit, I don’t know a lot about hockey, but this is basically you asking me to go steady, right? Isn’t this like the sporty version of becoming your old lady?”
“Well, you are ten years older—ouch—” He laughs, rubbing the spot on his arm where I just punched him. “Tess, do you want to be my sporty old lady?” he teases. “You wanna ride my dick and cheer for my team and wear my jersey to my games?”
I’m still shaking my head at his low blow, but then I’m smiling and saying, “Yes.”
“You know what else wearing this jersey means, right?” he says, his face turning serious.