“Well, not a date date,” I correct. “He’s upgrading our servers with a new installation.”
“An installation, I bet.” Matt snorts and takes my hand in his. “Don’t go back to the office yet. Unless you have to?”
I simply shake my head because the…flutternutters or whatever Jenny would call them have set in again, and I don’t think I can string words together.
“Good,” he says, his voice rough. He scoops my coat off the chair and tugs me toward the door.
Outside, we’re greeted with a blast of early December cold air. Matt stops and pulls the coat around my shoulders. “Come with me.”
“Where?” I croak.
He jerks his head down the block, where his apartment building rises up over the busy street. “We have some unfinished business.”
“We do?”
He moves fast, backing me against the bricks of the coffee shop’s exterior, his chest against mine, his lips brushing my forehead as he speaks. “We have some very pressing business to attend to.” His hands steal inside my unzipped coat to land on my waist. “Don’t you agree?”
A hot gasp escapes my chest as his mouth travels down to my ear, giving it a nibble. I’m clutching his jacket now, ready to do whatever he asks. And right here, probably.
But in a flash, Matt steps back, grabs my hand and marches me toward his building.
“Good day!” the doorman says as he admits us.
“It sure is,” Matt says cheerily as he guides me toward the elevator bank and leans on the button. “And it’s about to get even better,” he whispers when the doors part.
When the doors close behind us, he backs me up against the wall of the car. I have time to take one deep breath of his freshly showered scent before he attacks my lips with a hungry kiss.
My head thunks against the wood paneling as he deepens the kiss. This Matt isn’t taking it slow. This is the same Matt Eriksson who grabs the puck on a power play and makes a press for the net.
My inner goalie tosses her stick away and forgets to worry. I wrap my arms around his generous frame and hold on for dear life as his kisses travel to the sensitive skin of my neck, where his hungry mouth causes goose bumps to rise all over my body. The sweep of his lips toward my ear makes my knees buckle.
“I didn’t like that we were interrupted last night,” he whispers hoarsely between open-mouthed kisses to my rapidly heating skin. “Went to your office to apologize.”
So how’d you find me? I think to ask. But the words don’t make it out of my brain, and I just moan instead. His hands have gripped my hips and I can feel myself getting less coherent by the second. My palms wander between the unzipped halves of his jacket and down the ridges of his abs. He hisses, then leans in—
The elevator dings, announcing our arrival on his floor.
He groans and tugs me off the wall. “Let’s go, Hottie. Time’s a-wasting.” He steers me toward his apartment door and punches in the code at warp speed.
Inside, he lifts the coat from my shoulders and drops it on the floor. Then he does the same with his own.
“You need a coatrack,” I point out.
“Later,” he grunts.
I have one last rational thought: there are coatracks at Yorkdale Shopping Centre. But that’s it for thinking, because Matt kisses me again, and we’re on the move down a hallway. One possessive hand lands on my ass, giving it a squeeze that steals another ten IQ points.
Then the backs of my legs find a bed, and I…freeze. I just stop, mid-kiss, and ice runs through my veins where there was only heat a second before. Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. My lifelong crush wants to have spectacular sex with me, and I don’t have a clue what that means.
“Hottie,” he whispers, and his hands turn gentle. His fingertips skim lightly up my back and then down again. “What’s wrong?”
“Y-you m-make me s-s-so nervous,” I sputter.
He smiles, and it’s sweet. His knuckles sweep across my cheek and then he kisses that spot, too. “I know. There aren’t any drills for this.”
“Wh-what?”
His chuckle curls through my body like a flame. I didn’t know it was possible to be so turned on and so scared at the same time. “You’re out of practice, right?”
“Right.” It’s just that I’m starting to think I never had any game to begin with. He makes my body light up in ways so foreign to me that it’s clear I’ve been doing something wrong my whole life.
“So let me coach this round. I’ll call the plays. You just listen for the whistle.”
“Okay,” I say immediately.
“Your coach wants you to unbutton that shirt.” His smile is a little teasing, but also kind.
My fingers find their way to the buttons on my blouse and begin to obey.
“Good girl,” he whispers, sliding it off my shoulders and tossing it onto a chair I picked out at Crate & Barrel. He leans in to place a soft kiss at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. He moves downward, past my collarbone, tracing the line of my white lace bra with his lips.
The goose bumps are back. And the heat. My fingers find their way into his hair and tug his head closer to my breast.
His lips nuzzle me, and he lets out a groan. “Coach needs you to remove this bra,” he says huskily.
I hesitate, because I’ve always felt pretty underendowed. And it’s awfully bright in here…
“Coach is waiting, Hailey,” he says, kneeling in front of me. “Be a good recruit and lose the bra while I take care of this.” Thick fingers find the zipper of my wool trousers and drag it slowly down. The sound of the zipper’s teeth makes me gasp. With fumbling hands, I find the clasp of my bra and unhook it.
Matt isn’t watching as I ditch the bra onto the floor. He ducks down, his lips finding the skin just north of my bikini panties. He kisses me there and I feel a rush of desire everywhere. Then his eyes lift and he groans. “Fuck, Hailey. It’s gonna be an effort to go slow.” He reaches over his head and grasps his T-shirt by the back collar. “But warmups are important.” He hauls the shirt over his head and tosses it aside.
And, oh, the view! My mouth begins to water at my first sight of all that male perfection. He yanks my pants down and then stands up, where I blink at him, my eyes traveling all over his chest.
“That’s right,” he says. “Now touch me. Both hands.”
My greedy fingers leap to do his bidding. I skim my palms over his pecs, and his breath catches. I let my fingertips explore the ridges of his washboard abs. The dusting of brown chest hair thickens as it approaches the waistline of his sweats, and when I run my fingers over it, his stomach tightens.