Page 30 of My One & Goalie
“Smells good.”
I glance over my shoulder. Rachel’s leaning against the marble countertop, the T-shirt skimming her upper thigh. My morning wood returns with a vengeance as my eyes skate up and down her body.
She’s a fucking knockout, with her long legs and the perfect amount of curves. Her hair’s tousled from last night, giving her a sexy vibe.
“You want sugar? Creamer?” I hand the espresso to her, and she takes the cup from me, our fingertips brushing.
“Both, please.”
“You got it.” I hustle to get the sugar and creamer for her, along with a spoon.
“Thanks.” She settles on a barstool, ankles crossed demurely.
Somehow, I manage to tear my gaze away and focus on making food. Cracking eggs into a bowl, I whisk until the whites and yolk turn a frothy yellow and then dump the contents into the pan. Rachel watches as I work, sipping her coffee.
“What?” I ask, spatula poised above the eggs.
“Nothing. I’m surprised you cook, is all.”
“Why? You think hockey players can’t cook?”
“I assumed you had a private chef or something.”
“I eat out a lot. But when I’m home, I like to cook. I’m not a gourmet chef, but I have basic skills. Besides, it’s not like making scrambled eggs is tough.”
She smiles at me, her cheeks turning pink. “It’s cute, seeing you all domesticated.”
I grin, warmth spreading through me. “Cute, huh? Most people don’t call me cute.”
“I’m not most people,” she teases, licking her bottom lip.
She’s got that right.
Rachel’s way better than most people. Kinder, funnier, sexier.
The kind of woman a man could fall in love with.
Fuck me.
It’s not even nine AM yet, and I’m talking about love. What the hell’s wrong with me?
Turning the stove off, I sprinkle cheese over the eggs, focusing on the task at hand. I serve the food and carry the plates over to the breakfast bar.
“Bon appetit.”
“Thank you.” She smiles up at me, her eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Without hesitating, I lean down and press my mouth to hers. She kisses me back, her lips moving against mine. Buzzy electricity hums through my body as my fingers twine in the silky strands of her hair, my thumb brushing the nape of her neck.
Sliding my tongue into her open mouth, we tangle together and all thoughts of breakfast are forgotten.
I lift her from the bar stool and she winds her legs around my hips as I carry her over to the kitchen island. Setting her down on the cool surface, she runs her fingers through the waves of myhair. I glide my palm up the inside of her thigh, all the way to the apex of her legs.
“No panties. Dirty girl. I like it.”
Her giggle vibrates against my lips and I swallow the sound, kissing her long and slow. I dip under the T-shirt, sliding my hand up to her bare breast and massaging the soft flesh. She moans as I roll her nipple with my thumb, bringing the flesh to a sharp point.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I murmur, easing her thighs apart with my other hand. I cup her core, trailing my fingers through her wetness. “Wet and ready.”