Page 83 of Center Ice
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, sinking down on to me harder and faster than before.
“I’m deadly serious. So are you agreeing, or are we stopping this right here?”
“You wouldn’t,” she says, eyes widening. Her reaction almost makes me laugh.
I pull her down on me rough and hard, hitting deep inside her so that her eyes roll back in her head. “Baby, there’s nothingin the world I want more than to see you fall apart on my cock. But I want that promise first, or it’s not going to happen.”
“I can just make myself come,” she says.
“You could, but it would be a sad replacement for coming with me deep inside you, and you know it.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “Now finish me off.”
“With pleasure,” I say, lifting her off me and setting her on the bed next to me.
“What the fuck, Drew?” she whispers, but it comes out more like a whine.
Instead of answering, I get on my knees, guiding her body around so she’s on all fours in front of me. “I told you I wanted to see this ass when I came inside you.”
I enter her swiftly, and she pushes back into me, her pelvis hitting my hip bones. Leaning forward, I run my hands under her breast, tweaking her nipples between my fingers as she pushes back into me over and over. “Now touch yourself,” I tell her.
In the quickly lightening room, I watch her bring her hand up to her mouth, then she reaches between her legs. And as she strokes herself, I feel her gripping me tighter from inside, and I know her orgasm is close. I pinch her again and she mewls out in pleasure, and then her soft grunts punctuate the silence as she slams herself back onto me repeatedly. And once she’s done coming, I reach forward, gripping her throat in my hand. “This pussy is mine,” I growl. “All of you is mine.”
“Yes,” she says, and she looks over her shoulder at me as her hand slips farther back and lightly grips my balls. “And you’re mine.”
As I spill myself inside her, that’s the only word left in my vocabulary:Mine. Over and over, on repeat. Mine.
Chapter Thirty-Five
AUDREY
“You brought hot chocolate?” Graham’s squeal matches the energy he’s had ever since he woke up and I told him we were going apple picking with Drew this afternoon.
Drew and I had talked a bit this morning about the best way to tell him who his father is, and we decided that it might be easiest if we were out doing something that felt family-like. Drew suggested apple picking, because he wanted to take Graham to the farm his family had always gone to as a kid anyway. Given that the location was meaningful to Drew, and we’d be able to find enough open space for the conversation, it felt like the right place. And now feels like the right time.
“Yep,” Drew confirms, as he pulls the paper cup back toward him before Graham, who is jumping around in his enthusiasm, can grab it with his outstretched hand and spill it. “It’s still a little too hot.”
I glance over at Drew, who’s balancing two larger take-out cups of hot chocolate in his other large hand. But all I can think of is the way that hand felt as he slapped my ass while deep inside me early this morning and, suddenly, I just want to be alone with him again. I wish he could spend the night againtonight, but I already know he can’t because their plane leaves early tomorrow morning for their first series of road games.
“Where’d you get this?” I ask instead.
“I made it.”
“You…what now?” In my mind, I imagine Drew in his kitchen—not that I know what it looks like yet—with several packets of hot cocoa.
“I made it. It’s a family recipe. I hope you like peppermint and Fluff.”
“What’s Fluff?” Graham asks.
Drew’s face transforms first into shock, and then to horror. “What’s Fluff???” He looks from Graham over to me. “You haven’t taught”—he pauses so quickly I think he must have just caught himself before sayingour son—“Graham what Fluff is? What kind of mother are you?”
I laugh. “The kind who’s not trying to give her kid a sugar high by adding even more sugar to something that’s already sweet.”
“That’s an outrage!” Drew says, mock horror in his voice as he turns and sets the to-go mugs on the kitchen counter. He squats so he’s at eye level with Graham. “Okay, so Fluff is this marshmallow spread, and it makes lots of things better. Like hot chocolate, and also peanut butter. If you’ve never had a peanut butter and Fluff sandwich, we’re going to have to fix that immediately!”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone. “C’mere, I’ll show you a picture of it. And when your mom puts in her grocery order this week, she can get some for you.” He glances up at me, and his face is so playful that for a moment I feel like I have two kids—until he drops his voice low and says, “Right, Mama?”
Holy. Shit.Never in a million years did I think I’d ever find it hot for a grown man to call me Mama, but somehow when Drewsays it in that smooth, deep voice of his, it makes me instantly want to jump him. And as he studies my response, I can tell he knows exactly what that word just did to me.
