Page 22 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

OVERTIME

Lucy

I ’m drowning in him.

The heat of his body, the press of his mouth, the way his big, rough hands grip me like he’s barely holding on to whatever control he has left. They slide down to my ass and squeeze.

Bennett Wilder kisses like he plays—intense, reckless, and all-in. And I am absolutely, completely wrecked.

He drags his mouth down my jaw, his breath hot against my skin, and my knees nearly give out.

“Damn, Lucy,” he rasps, his hands sliding up to grip my hips, pressing me closer, his fingers tightening when I deliberately shift against him.

Oh. Oh.

I can feel him, thick and heavy against my hip, and a thrill shoots through me so fast my pulse stumbles.

He’s big.

Like, big big.

A strangled sound catches in my throat, and his head lifts just in time to catch the expression on my face. His eyes darken, amusement flickering behind the hunger.

“Problem, Quinn?” he murmurs, his voice rough with heat.

“That depends,” I manage, my breath coming fast. “Are you planning to use that thing to kill me?”

His sharp exhale is almost a laugh, his forehead drops to mine for a second before he tilts his head, mouth finding mine. “Not tonight.” His lips curl. “Unless you beg.”

Oh, hell .

I barely get a chance to react before his hands are suddenly on my thighs, and then—oh wow—he lifts me like I weigh nothing, and presses my back against the wall.

I gasp, arms locking around his neck, but he’s solid, steady, his strength is so effortless I could probably let go completely and he wouldn’t even notice.

His hands slide lower, gripping beneath my ass, holding me up like I belong there.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I always have.

My heart slams against my ribs, a rush of heat licking through me, and I need more. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him back to my mouth, and he groans into the kiss, his grip tightening, his hips shifting just enough to remind me exactly what I’m dealing with.

A broken sound escapes me, part frustration, part please .

His answering growl is low and dangerous, his lips trailing down my throat as he walks us toward the bed.

“We need to slow down,” he mutters, voice wrecked, but his hands contradict him, kneading my thighs, sliding beneath the hem of his jersey that I’m still wearing.

“No, we don’t,” I argue, already reaching for the hem of his shirt, ready to get my hands on all of him.

He half-laughs, half-groans, and drops me onto the mattress, and before I can move, he’s on me, his weight pressing me into the bed, his incredibly skilled mouth finding mine again.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, like we’re making up for every moment we spent resisting this, every second wasted not doing this.

Is this what weeks of bickering gets you?

We’re combustible.

Simmering between us is a kind of all-consuming chemistry that refuses to be ignored.

I tug at his shirt again, desperate to feel his skin, to map every inch of the muscles I’ve spent too much time thinking about.

He leans back just enough to smirk down at me, catching my wrists, pinning them above my head.

“Slow down, Luce,” he murmurs, his voice all gravel and heat.

Not Lucy, or Quinn like he calls me when he’s teasing. Luce . I melt a little more.

“We’ve got all night,” he reminds me.

My stomach flips, my breath catching as his eyes rake over me, taking in the way my body arches beneath his.

“Then stop talking and start proving it,” I whisper.

And with a deep, wicked chuckle, he pulls the jersey off from over my head.

I help him with my bra, because I’m impatient like that, and with a flick of my wrist, toss it across the room.

He groans appreciatively, taking in the sight of me.

His lips trail down my neck, slow and lingering, like he’s savoring every inch of me. I’m already breathless, fingers tangled in his hair, body arching into him as his mouth finds the curve of my breast.

A thought edges through the haze of pleasure, unbidden but insistent. I need to know.

“Bennett…” My voice is uneven, threaded with need but underscored by something else too.

He hums against my skin, nuzzling the swell of my breast, his stubble sending a shiver down my spine. “Mm?”

I swallow, my fingers tightening slightly in his hair. “Are you… are you seeing anyone else?”

His mouth stills for half a second before he exhales, a low sound against my skin. Then, he lifts his head, just enough to meet my gaze. His blue eyes are stormy with desire.

“You think I’d be here, doing this, if there was anyone else?” His voice is rough, laced with something almost offended.

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, he’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss over my heart, then lower, his hands framing my waist as his mouth continues its sinful descent.

“No one else,” he murmurs between kisses. “Not for a long time.”

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips from my lips. Relief crashes through me—sharp, undeniable. Everything I’d told myself about being careful, about the parade of puck bunnies at his disposal fades away. I trust him.

My fingers curl against his shoulders, dragging him back up so I can kiss him, deep and desperate.

“Me neither,” I whisper against his lips. “No one else.”

His groan vibrates through me, his grip tightening like that answer is exactly what he wanted to hear. Then he kisses me again, stealing my breath, before moving lower. He kisses his way down my chest, my stomach… He’s a man on a mission, and there’s no way I’m stopping him now.

Bennett settles in, clearly understanding the assignment. His mouth is everywhere—teasing, devouring, worshipping.

I’m already breathless, already coming undone before he even really starts, my body thrumming with anticipation. He’s got this wicked, knowing smirk like he enjoys watching me unravel beneath him, like he wants to take his time with it.

“Bennett…” My voice is shaky, a plea I barely recognize.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my skin, pressing a slow kiss to my inner thigh. “We’ve got all night.”

And then he shows me exactly how much patience he has. His mouth is sinful, his touch nothing short of devastating.

I lose track of time—of everything but the way he makes me feel. It’s overwhelming, consuming, like I’m coming apart and being put back together all at once.

When the pleasure finally crests, it steals my breath, leaves me gasping his name like a prayer.

He kisses his way back up, his weight solid and warm as he pulls me against him. His thumb brushes my cheek, his lips pressing soft and lingering against mine.

“You okay?” His voice is hoarse, edged with something that sounds like pride.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, still floating, still buzzing, still wrapped in him.

“More than okay,” I murmur. “That was… wow.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His arm tightens around me, tucking me against his chest like he’s not ready to let me go just yet. And honestly, I don’t want him to.

For once, I let myself stop thinking. Stop overanalyzing.

For tonight, I just let myself be his.