Page 51 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Seventeen

Raph

Her lips were softer than I’d expected, and she tasted sweet.

Like apples or cherries.

No . Like strawberries.

That thought had my lips moving into a smile against hers…and in the next instant my smile was fading because her tongue slipped out and brushed lightly against the seam of my mouth.

My cock was already hard.

That tentative touch of her tongue had it aching.

But it didn’t have me freezing.

Nope. It had me knowing that I needed to get into her bed before I fucked her right there on the top of the stairs. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered carrying her up at all, not when I could have just as easily dropped her onto the couch, fucked her hard and furious right then and there.

But…it was Beth.

And I needed plenty of space for her.

And I needed plenty of space to care for her.

She wasn’t a quick fuck. She was—God help me for the slippery, frightening slope I’d just dove headfirst down— more .

I’d known it when she passed out at CeCe’s.

I’d known it with the tears in my car.

I’d known it with the nightmare.

I’d known it with how she banked her fears and talked Pru down.

I’d known it over pancakes, over pretzels, over fancy grilled cheeses.

Hell, if I was looking deep and getting my head on straight, I’d known it from the first glimpse of those red lips, those curves, that velvet rasp of her laughter.

Fucking around. I’d been fucking around in my own misery, and that shit wasn’t going to happen again.

No fucking way.

So, our first time wasn’t going to be with her or me crammed into the cushions or spent bending her over the arm of the couch—though both of those quickly etched themselves on my mental list of things I wanted to do to and with her, joining in with my plans to fuck her on that little table in her entryway, on her kitchen island, on the hood of my car.

In the shower. Yeah, I also definitely had to have her in the shower.

But…bed.

That’s where I wanted her for the first time.

All spread out with plenty of light overhead so I could see every luscious inch of her.

So I moved, carrying her up the remaining stairs, looking through open doors until I found her bedroom, flicking on the lights and bringing us both across the space in efficient quick steps.

Then she was on her back on the mattress.

And then I was on top of her, my weight braced on my hands.

Hell fucking yeah.

“Raph?” she asked tentatively, and I wondered if it was more worry because of the pregnancy, because of the changes in her body, because she wasn’t sure what would or wouldn’t feel good in this moment.

So even as I pressed my nose to her throat, inhaled that soft fruity, floral scent, I made a vow that if the tentative came from that, then I was going to make it my fucking job to show her how beautiful she was, how much I wanted her, babies in her belly or not. “Yeah, sugarpie?”

A pause that had me lifting my head, staring into her face as she warred with something.

But just as quickly as I’d noticed it, the battle ended.

“Will you kiss me again?” she asked softly.

My lips tipped up. “Yeah, honey.”

Then I sat back.

Her brows lifted, dragged together. “Um, Raph?”

Fuck, I liked the sound of my name on her lips. My feet hit the floor and I kicked off my shoes. “Yeah?”

“I thought you were gonna kiss me.” Quiet words that had my dick twitching.

I reached for the button of my slacks, flicked it open, shoved them down and stepped out of them. “I am.”

“Just saying”—her voice was tinged with confusion—“that’s not you kissing me.”

“No,” I agreed, retrieving my wallet from my slacks, tossing it on the nightstand before working on the buttons of my shirt.

Her gaze caught on my chest as I peeled the fabric open.

Yeah, I liked that.

Probably too fucking much, considering I was a year out from being in a woman and just the feel of her eyes on my body brought me dangerously close to the edge of my control.

Probably too fucking much, considering I was nearly willing to go full striptease on her if it meant those hot blue eyes stayed glued to my body.

But I had a mind to kiss her.

I had a mind to kiss her somewhere very specific.

So I dropped the shirt to the floor, moved back to the bed, and instead of crawling up next to her and slanting my mouth over hers, I reached for the tag of the zipper that ran the entire inside of her boot and began sliding it down, revealing her creamy skin inch by inch.

“Raph?”

“Hmm?” I’d reached her ankle and shifted, pressing my mouth to the opening I’d created at the top, parting the leather and dragging my tongue down her leg, nibbling along the flesh of her thigh, dipping down behind her knee, finding a sensitive spot there that had her squirming.

Then continuing to part that fabric, kissing along her calf, that delicate bone at her ankle, slipping the boot from her foot.

A kiss to the top of her foot, to each of the toes polished in a bright red color that matched that red lipstick of hers that drove me crazy.

Lipstick I was going to finish kissing off her in short order.

But first?—

I let the boot drop, repeated my trek with my mouth. The zipper on her other boot slowly inching down, lips and mouth and tongue moving on her skin.

Teeth on her sensitive flesh.

The soft hiss of her breath. Her hips rocking on the mattress, seeking purchase as I moved, tugging the boot free, massaging her foot for a few moments.

The jersey had rucked up, exposing those panties, the curve of her belly.

And for once, it wasn’t a source of pain and grief.

It was beautiful, her body creating something that had been made out of love—love of a father and mother, love of a friend—her body protecting and housing and growing.

Because I was seeing that she was a woman who cared and gave and sacrificed herself.

Because I was seeing that , seeing that she very rarely took, and getting her to do so was a battle because it was so foreign to her.

Because I was seeing that I was going to have to be the man to give that to her.

Starting now.

Starting with this moment.

I wrapped my fingers around her ankles, tugged, drawing her ass toward the side of the mattress, positioning her so I could kiss her exactly where I was so desperate to.

“Raph,” she gasped, but I had her right where I wanted, right where we both needed, and that was on the edge of the bed, her pussy mere centimeters from my mouth.

Close enough that I could see the lace was soaked.

Close enough I could smell the tangy, fruity scent of her.

Close enough that I could reach for the waistband of her panties and yank them down her legs, let them fall free off her ankles, drop to the floor.

“Honey,” she began, hands pushing lightly at my shoulders.

“I’ve been out all day and haven’t washed up?—”

I dragged my tongue through her folds. “Tastes fucking good to me, sugarpie.”

She shivered. “Okay.” It was a whisper, a heated one, so I dragged my tongue through her labia again, tasting her, getting her used to my touch, watching her face and body to find the spots that had her squirming, trying not to get distracted by the round globes of her breasts peeking out from where the jersey was bunched up.

Already, my cock was aching.

Already, my hands were shaking.

Already, I wanted to cover her with my body, plunge deep over and over again and let blissful oblivion overtake me.

But I didn’t move from my knees at the edge of the bed. I just kept licking and stroking, and when I found a spot that had her hips shifting, grinding against my mouth, her lips parting, her moans slipping into the air, I arrowed in, put all my focus there.

“Raph,” she whispered. “Fuck, honey. That’s?—”

I sucked on that spot on her labia.

“Fuck. I—oh, my God— ” Her neck arched, head pressing back into the pillows.

And I kept going, sucking firmly and then darting my tongue to her clit, flicking and pressing there, bringing my thumb into the action so I could hit both her clit and that spot in tandem. Then I was barely in my own body at all, barely on the planet.

My next breath existed solely for the purpose of making this woman come.

Circles with my tongue. Suction with my mouth. Sliding into her tight wet heat with my finger. Fighting for control when her pussy clamped down hard.

“Honey.” Her body jerked.

I pressed it in, slid it out, circling her entrance, pumping slow and steady and?—

“ Honey.”

Another jerk.

“More?” I asked against her.

Her breath caught. Her cheeks went pink.

But then she held my eyes and nodded.

I grinned, slid in again, this time with a second finger, both scissoring and curling, finding the movements that had her body jerking again, “Honey” tumbling from her lips, her neck arching and head pressing back into the pillow again.

Her pussy clenched, and she surprised the shit out of me by her hands coming to my head, fingers weaving into my hair, her hips bucking against my mouth.

In one second, it went from me being in control, slowly and carefully building her need, to her riding my face and fingers, fucking my face, her cheeks flushed, eyes closed, fingers tightly gripping my hair, as though she were worried that I would pull away.

I wouldn’t.

I could be drowning, suffocating in her pussy, and I wouldn’t pull away.

Not until she came apart on my mouth and fingers.

Not until she cried out my name.

Not until she was sated and limp and?—

“Raph!”

I’d found a spot. A better one. Deep inside her pussy, and it had her shuddering, her pussy clamping, her back arching so that her tits popped free of the hem of that jersey. Hardened pink tips that called to my mouth, flesh that bounced and screamed for my hands.

I reached up, cupped her breast, molding it against my palm, running my thumb over her nipple.

“I’m—oh shit, baby. I’m going to— don’t stop.”

I’d rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

So I did it again, fingers still deep and rubbing that spot, mouth still working on her folds, thumb on her clit pinching and circling.

“Raph, fuck Raph. Oh, my God?—”

And…thank fuck that was enough.

A gush of liquid on my fingers, dripping down my palm, her pussy clamping around my fingers, my name, long and drawn out on her tongue.

Her body taut, taut, taut …

And then limp, her back going flat, legs no longer clenching my head and shoulders, fingers slipping free of my hair, falling to the mattress.

She tilted her head to the side, lids barely open.

Her lips tilted up. “Raphael Gomez, you have got some fucking skills .”

That had my lips tilting.

I leaned in, flicked out my tongue.

“Want to see them again?”