Talk about a pressure cooker.
“Let’s get you set up with a pair of skates.”
I whipped my head to the side. “Skates?”
Sasha flashed me a grin. “Yeah, it’s a Christmas party.”
Scanning the room, I realized almost every person was working on lacing up skates, either on their feet or one of the children’s.
Dropping my voice, I confessed, “I can’t skate.”
Like it was no big deal, he shrugged. “I’ll teach you.”
Even though I dug in my heels slightly, Sasha tugged me across the room toward a bench seat along the wall, and a cubby with a nameplate reading Gusev and the number thirty beside it.
Spinning me around with hands on my shoulders, he gently urged me to sit before dropping to his knees before me. Barely an hour ago, I’d been excited at the prospect of him kneeling before me. This certainly wasn’t the kind of “fun” I’d had in mind with him in this position.
Reaching under the bench, he produced a pair of skates.
I frowned. “Are those yours?”
Blue eyes sparkled. “No, babe. These are yours.”
“M-mine? But I don’t have skates.”
“You do now.”
At a loss for words, I stared at him, eyeing what appeared to be a brand-new pair of skates.
Sasha was unsuccessful at holding back a sexy smirk. “Cat got your tongue?”
Some of the tension holding my muscles rigid eased at his playful nature.
Tilting my head, I retorted, “I thought I was the cat?”
Pursing his lips, he nodded. “You know what? You’re right.” An arm snaked out, and his massive palm gripped the back of my head, pulling me closer. Voice growing husky, he murmured, “Don’t be a greedy girl, Gemma. Share that tongue with me.”
He closed the gap, fusing his mouth to mine, teasing the seam of my lips until I opened for him. Our chests were pressed together, and I could feel the vibration of his groan, even if I couldn’t hear it with the blood rushing in my ears. Fingerstangled in my hair, turning my head to the side so he could dive deeper, commanding the kiss. Whimpering, I gripped his shoulders, needing an anchor as lust made me lightheaded when he hooked my thigh over his hip and pressed the rigid outline of his cock right where I needed him.
Fuck yes, more of that.
“Get a room!” someone shouted, and I came back to my senses, tearing my lips away so forcefully that I fell backward into the open cubby.
Completely unphased, Sasha’s head whipped around, shouting back, “That’s rich coming from the guy who christened the sin bin at Comets Arena!”
“Yeah, well, at least the entire team wasn’t there watching on like we were a mating documentary on the nature channel.”
A feminine voice muttered, “Should have never written that book.”
A second woman chimed in. “Hush, you. If you never wrote that book, neither of us would have ended up here in Indy.”
Deciding it was best to keep a low profile after being caught making out in a crowded room, I didn’t make a move to sit up as the bickering continued with Sasha as an active participant, shooting barbs back and forth.
I yelped, jolting so hard that my head banged against the back of the stall when a male voice boomed, “If you idiots don’t cut it out, I’ll drag you down to the practice rink and have you skating suicides instead of enjoying a nice day off with your families.”
“Your wife was involved. You gonna make her skate, too?” a random voice called out, tinged with a hint of humor.
The resulting growl was so scary I almost pissed myself.
