Page 55 of Daddies on Ice

A low noise answers in his chest that sends a ribbon of heat straight through my core.

He breaks away just enough to breathe, forehead resting against mine.

Our breaths tangle.

His thumb strokes the line of my jaw, and the gentleness there makes me dizzy.

“This is a mistake,” I whisper, my voice a bit shaky and husky.

“Probably,” he says, then he kisses me like he’s done being reasonable.

We stumble toward the bed without looking where we’re going. Thankfully, nothing trips us or prohibits us from reaching our destination.

My knees hit the edge of the bed and I plop down ungracefully, but neither of us notice.

Ash doesn’t waste time and follows me, bracing his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush me, never breaking the kiss.

Are we really doing this? Are we really taking this to the next level?

But then, his mouth travels to my throat and my thoughts scatter. His teeth nibble and tease my neck and collarbone, part pain, part pleasure.

His mouth retraces the path, soothing the slight sting from his teeth. His fingers slide beneath my blouse and another fire builds inside me.

My nipples tighten, waiting impatiently for his touch.

Every nerve lights. He pauses, like he’s listening for a no, and when it doesn’t come, his hand continues up my side, slow, deliberate, reverent in a way that unspools something tight in my chest.

“Tell me to stop,” Ash says again, voice gravel against my skin.

I answer by arching my hips against him, pressing our bodies even tighter together.

He groans.

The sound vibrates against my collarbone. The kiss returns, hotter, deeper.

My hands slip under his shirt and find heat and hard muscle.

He shudders, and the reaction knocks a small, shaky laugh out of me that has nothing to do with humor and everything to do with how impossibly good this feels.

His mouth opens against mine and the kiss becomes more heated, urgent.

We roll, and I end up straddling him, my palms on his chest.

My hair falls forward, covering us in our own private world. He looks up at me with eyes blown dark with desire. The sight steals my breath.

“This isn’t fair,” he says, his voice thick and rough with unquenched desire. “I came here to talk sense into you.”

“That going well?” My voice is more breathless than I intended.

His answering smile is quick and wicked. “Not even a little.”

The kiss pulls us under again. It turns messy and urgent, a push-pull of mouths and hands, of restraint applied and then abandoned.

His hands roam my body, mapping the curve of my back, the flare of my hips. My fingers open at his belt then close again, gripping fabric like a lifeline.

A low curse breaks from him when I shift my weight and the friction spikes. The sound travels through me like another touch.

The phone rings.