Page 23 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

This is bliss.

I’m sitting outside on the terrace of the Hotel Fredrico seafood restaurant, watching the surf roll in and listening to the rustle of the palm trees overhead. Beckham is sitting across from me, stretched out in his chair, the breeze ruffling through his chocolate-brown locks.

“I’m so excited for you to try stone crabs for the first time,” I say eagerly. “They’re so yum. Especially with cocktail sauce, which I like better than the traditional mustard sauce.”

A teasing glint enters those dark eyes of his. “So yum?”

“Okay, it’s not as good as my use of the word ‘bountiful’ earlier, but that’s exactly what they are. The meat is so sweet and delicious. It’s not like any other crab you’ve eaten. Now, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to devour the king crab legs I’ve ordered for dinner, but these are spectacular. Thank you for indulging me by ordering them. I know they’re expensive.”

An adorable crease appears on the bridge of his nose. “Cupcake, you know the price doesn’t matter to me. I’m sure you’re well aware of my contract. I can afford them and still have money for investments and savings.”

“I know, but I still recognize that this is a treat you’re giving me, Beckham. And I want you to know I appreciate that. And you.”

His gaze goes from teasing to soft. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary, Georgie. I know this about you. You never looked at me as an open bank account, unlike some women I’ve met. But to be fair, I just looked at them as a hookup, so I suppose it was an even exchange. Nobody saw the other person. Just their own selfish interests.”

Beckham has opened the door for me to bring up our arrangement. I want to get this conversation out of the way. I don’t want it between us as we begin this new relationship.

“Beckham, speaking of money, I want to make something clear. Now that we’re dating for real, I won’t be accepting the money Sofia offered me to fake date you.”

Beckham’s brows shoot up. “What?”

“I don’t want it. I’m not here with you for a paycheck, I’m here because this is exactly where I want to be. With you, as the man I want to date.”

He sits straight up in his chair. His face goes to one of complete shock.

Our server appears and sets a glass of Champagne down in front of me and a Diet Coke with lime in front of Beckham.

“Your stone crab will be out shortly,” she says, smiling at us.

“Thank you,” we both murmur.

As soon as she leaves, Beckham speaks. “Georgie. No. Absolutely not. I insist you have that money.”

I shake my head. “No. Because nothing about this is fake. Or a work task I have to perform. I’m here because I’m lucky enough to have met you. I’m here because you’re so different from any man I’ve ever met, and I’m here because you see something in me, too, and for that I feel lucky. So I will not take that money. I will not.”

“I want you to have it,” Beckham says, his voice firm. “I insist you take it. You need that money, sweetheart. I want to gift it to you to get your business going.”

“It’s too much.”

“It’s nothing to me. But everything to you.”

I swallow. There’s no arguing those words.

“You were willing to take it from me as a stranger,” Beckham says, his gaze pinning me. “Now I want you to take it from your boyfriend.”

I gasp.

Boyfriend.

I knew we wanted to see each other, and from the moment he declared he had feelings for me, I’ve been his girlfriend in my heart. But I didn’t dare say that word to him so soon. Not coming from a man who has never wanted to date a woman exclusively, let alone be someone’s boyfriend.

“That’s what I’ve been to you since the day we met, right here at this very restaurant,” Beckham continues. “Then it was fake. Now it’s not. But that agreement brought you into my life and I’m … I’m grateful. I’m grateful to be here with you. To have this chance to date you and be your boyfriend. So I want you to have this money. For taking a chance on a crazy deal that sounds like something out of a hockey romance book. Georgie, it’s yours. Now more than ever—now that I know you—I want you to have it. You deserve to give your business a chance. And nothing would make me happier than to see you use this money and become the successful artist that is locked inside of you.”

My eyes begin to fill with tears.

“I insist you have it,” Beckham says, his voice rough. “Take it, Georgie. No strings attached. It’s yours.”

Now a tear slips down my cheek, and he reaches across the table and wipes it away with his thumb, his rough, calloused skin brushing across my skin.

“Nobody has any idea of how special you are,” I say, my voice thick.

“Come on, tell me you’ll take it.”

I exhale. “Okay. I will. Thank you, Beckham. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. The fact that you wanted to give it back makes me want you to have it that much more.”

More tears slip from my eyes, and Beckham continues to sweetly wipe them away.

“So … you’re okay with being my girlfriend?” he asks softly.

I flash him the biggest smile. “I’m more than okay with it. I want to be called your girlfriend. And for you to be my boyfriend. As long as that doesn’t scare you.”

A teasing smile tugs at his mouth. “Do you know what would scare me more?”

I shake my head.

“The idea of you not being my girl.”

My girl.

“That probably doesn’t make you go as feral as MY WIFE, but I think MY GIRL has infinite possibilities on the feral chart,” he adds.

“Beckham?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s time for you to step away from hockey BookTok.”

We both crack up. He brushes his knuckles lightly against my cheek and then removes his hand, but not before looking down at it with a scowl on his face.

“What?” I ask, taking a sip of my Champagne.

“Cupcake, what do you put on your face?” he asks, turning his hand around to show me his knuckles. I smile when I see they have picked up the highlighter I put across the top of my cheekbones.

“Grumpy, that’s called highlighter. It gives me a pretty, glowy look.”

“It looks like something your ornaments would be dipped in.”

“Stop, it does not!”

He grins at me, and my heart dances inside my chest.

Another server appears at our table, carrying a pile of stone crab claws on a bed of ice. “Stone crab for the table,” he says, setting it between us. “Along with a bowl for your shells.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome.”

As soon as he steps away, I eagerly pick up a crab claw. “Now, in order to be fair, you should try it with the mustard sauce and then the cocktail sauce, but cocktail sauce is—”

“So yum?” Beckham interrupts.

God, I adore this man.

“Yes, so yum.” I pick up my crab fork and begin picking away at the precut claw, tossing the shells into the metal bowl and hearing them land with a plink. I retrieve a piece of the sweet, white, succulent meat and dip it into the cocktail sauce. Then I put it to my lips and take a bite, and a groan of pleasure escapes. I think my eyes have rolled back into my head, the crab tastes so decadent and delicious.

“Soooo good,” I manage, putting the napkin to my lips and blotting it.

Suddenly I realize Beckham is watching me, his eyes riveted to my face.

“What?” I ask, putting my napkin down in my lap.

“I think I’m getting hard just watching you eat.”

I laugh, and he laughs, too.

“Quit thinking about me as a sexual goddess—”

“Impossible. Not if you’re going to eat like that.”

I blush, and now he looks rather pleased with himself.

“I’m ignoring you.”

“Trust me. There’s no part of me that is ignoring you.”

“Stop.”

He laughs some more.

“Anyway, you need to eat one. Go on. It’s going to change your life.”

“That’s a pretty serious declaration for a crab claw.”

“I’ll back up my claim.”

Now he quirks a brow in interest. “How?”

Crap. How? I never think these brilliant thoughts through before they fly out of my mouth.

“I have no idea,” I admit.

A huge smile lights up his face. “This is why I adore you.”

“Because I say things and then have no idea what they mean?”

“Yes. You’re real. I love that about you.”

I think I’m so happy, I could burst.

He retrieves a crab claw, and I watch as he picks off the shell and tosses it into the bowl. Then he pulls out a piece of claw meat and dips it into the traditional mustard sauce before eating it.

Beckham’s face doesn’t reveal anything at first. Or within seconds.

“Well?” I ask.

He flashes me a smile. “You can’t stand not knowing what I think, can you?”

“No!”

“It’s delicious. You did not undersell it.”

“Now try it with the cocktail sauce, you’ll take it to another level with that.”

“What will you do for me if you’re overselling it?”

I feel my cheeks flame, and he flashes me a mischievous smile.

“Just shut up and eat it,” I finally say.

Beckham pulls out another piece of meat and dips it into the metal cup containing the cocktail sauce. He eats it, and then grins at me. “You’re right. The cocktail sauce is damn good with that.”

“I’m glad you like it. And that I didn’t oversell it,” I say, picking up another claw.

We chat easily as we plow through the claws, and I’m worried I might be too full for dinner by the time it arrives.

But when my king crab legs are placed before me, and Beckham’s New York strip before him, I decide I’m hungry all over again.

“You realize next week we’re going to be eating so much food, and here we are stuffing ourselves with a lush dinner,” I say.

“I fully realize that, and I stand by our choices.”

I chuckle as I crack apart my crab shell. I remove a piece of the meat and dip it into the cocktail sauce, taking a bite and thinking I’ve never had a better meal in my life. I’m eating by the ocean, with palm trees overhead, sitting with my boyfriend.

I’m so blessed.

As I’m eating, I become aware of Beckham staring at me.

I decide to be flirty. “Are you still getting excited south of the belt buckle by watching me orgasmically consume crab?”

“No. I’m staring at the piece of crab shell that’s stuck in your braid.”

“What?” I cry, patting my hair.

Beckham smirks and reaches across the table, pulling something out of my braid. He holds up the piece of bright red shell before tossing it into the bowl next to my plate.

“Nothing makes a man harder than picking crab shell out of his woman’s hair.”

I blush, and he laughs wickedly.

“S’cute,” he says as he cuts a piece of steak.

S’cute. I think I’m going to have to add Beckham’s version of cute to my vocabulary.

I eat a good portion of my crab, and Beckham polishes off everything on his plate, plus some from mine. We should be finished, but I can’t resist a slice of Key lime pie for dessert. When it’s brought to the table, I dive in, getting that combination of tart limes, creamy filling, and whipped cream topping with the graham cracker crumb crust, and let out a happy groan.

“This is so delicious.”

Beckham’s eyes are zeroed in on my mouth. I find my pulse quickening in response to the desire I see kindling in them.

“I want to taste it. On your mouth.”

Ooh!

“I can take this back to your room for later,” I suggest.

“Good girl.”

I giggle at that, and he flags down our server, telling her we need the bill and the Key lime pie boxed up to go. Before long, Beckham is rising from his seat, and comes around to help me out of my chair. As I put my hand in his and he helps me rise, I stand close to him, close enough to smell his cologne mixing with the salty air of the ocean, and all I want to do is bury myself in his neck and breathe him in.

Beckham clasps his hand around mine, and we make our way out of the restaurant and back into the hotel. We reach the elevator bank, and a group of people join us, but they’re all talking about Antoni Nowak and going to the basketball game tomorrow. Beckham slips behind me, drawing one of his arms around my waist, and pulls my back into his chest. Then he dips his head next to mine, his breath warm against my cheek.

“This is Antoni’s town,” he murmurs against my ear. “I kind of like that I can fly under the radar. And do things like kiss my girl while waiting for an elevator.”

Then his lips brush against my temple, sending goose bumps sweeping over my skin. I wrap my hands over his forearm, staring down at the tattoo art on his skin, marveling that I can trace my fingers over his ink.

I can do this because I’m his girl.

The elevator chimes, and as people come off, those of us waiting step on. Beckham ushers me to the back of the elevator, stepping behind me once again, placing his forearm securely around me and drawing my back flush with his chest. His warmth radiates through the fabric of my blouse, sending a shiver through me. I can feel his muscles. His heat. And the scent of him is wrapping around me and causing my pulse to pound in my throat.

Because I know soon this elevator will be stopping on his floor. We’ll be in his room.

Where his bed will be the main feature.

Normally this might put a bit of anxiety in me. Like wondering what will happen or what Beckham expects from me.

But that was before last night under the Christmas tree. We made out for hours, kissing and touching each other. Tonight we can go a bit further, but Beckham knows I don’t want to rush into sex straightaway. I told him I want to have all the feelings when I have sex again, and he respected that.

So I’m not anxious.

I’m actually excited to tumble into his bed and explore that body of his tonight.

Wherever that might take us.

Ding!

The elevator stops on the tenth floor, which is Beckham’s. We cut through the crowd, and he takes my hand in his and leads me out of it. My heart thuds against my chest with each step we take down the posh hallway, passing modern art paintings and sleek silver sconces, and finally Beckham stops at his room. He lets go off my hand and retrieves his wallet, removing his key card and tapping it against the lock. As the door clicks open, I realize I’m about to step into his hotel room.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Beckham allows me to step through first. The room is dark, and suddenly I see two glowing green eyes staring up at me from a table at the far end of the room.

“Oh! Minnie Pinny!” I exclaim.

Beckham flips on a light, and sure enough, a black tuxedo cat is staring back at me. I put down my bag with the container of Key lime pie on the dresser, and just as I’m about to move closer to Minnie, Beckham’s arm snakes around my waist once again, drawing my back flush with his chest. His head dips down next to mine, and suddenly his lips are close to my ear.

“Minnie Pinny is going to have to wait to meet you,” he says, his words warm and vibrating deliciously against my skin, “because I still don’t know how that Key lime pie tastes on your mouth.”

Ooh!

His mouth dips lower, and he begins to press a trail of kisses down the column of my neck. My pulse careens out of control as I feel the stubble from his five o’clock shadow graze against my skin. I move one hand up, snaking it behind his head, and he groans the second I touch him.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs into me, his breath now coming in a heated rush. “And the scent of you has been driving me crazy since the day I met you.”

Then I feel his tongue and teeth lightly graze my skin, and my whole body goes hot. My breath hitches in my throat, and to my surprise, a new feeling comes into play.

I feel desired.

Not by a man who merely wants sex, but by a man who wants me.

All of me.

His hand on my waist snakes underneath my top, lightly skimming across my stomach. Goose bumps sweep across my skin from the sensation of his rough, masculine hands so carefully gliding across it.

“Georgie,” he moans into my neck. “Your skin is so soft. You feel so good.”

My heart thumps rapidly when I hear the way he says my name. I wriggle around in his arms so I can face him. His eyes have a dazed look in them, and that sparks something in my heart. I can’t say what, but it’s something I’ve never come close to feeling before. The fact that he’s touching me like this, wanting me like this, saying how he has craved the taste of me, is sparking all kinds of different big feelings in me.

I put my hands on his face and draw it closer to mine, his lips mere inches from my own. “Kiss me here, Beckham,” I plead. “Kiss me on the mouth.”

His lips brush lightly against mine. Then his tongue dances across the seam of my lips, teasing me and sending a shiver through me. He parts my lips with his, and his tongue slips inside my mouth and tangles with mine in a passionate kiss.

A groan escapes his throat. “God, you’re sweet,” he murmurs between kisses. “You taste so freaking good, Georgie.”

I feel a tingling sweep through the pit of my stomach. I kiss him back, drinking him in, tasting the sweetness of soda and tartness of lime that is lingering on his lips. His scent wraps around me, I feel his hand sliding up the back of my blouse, toward my bra strap.

And I want his hands all over me.

The kiss intensifies, and his fingertips find my bra hooks. I suck in a breath, feeling his finger twist around it, and then he abruptly stops the kiss.

“Wh-what?” I gasp. “What’s wrong?”

Beckham rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard. I continue to stroke the hair at the back of his head, confused as to why he stopped kissing me.

He finally lifts his head, and I see his espresso-colored eyes have grown serious.

“Nothing is wrong. It’s all different,” he says, his voice rough.

Something has shifted in the way he’s looking at me. Here we are, in his hotel room, fully clothed, yet he’s staring at me with such a look of reverence, it takes my breath away.

“It’s different in the best way possible,” Beckham continues, cupping my face in his hands. “I feel things just from kissing you and touching you like this. Things I have never felt before. The way I care about you. The way I’m getting hard just from stroking your skin. The way everything about you is a discovery I want to imprint in my brain and keep forever. I know you talked about having big feelings, Georgie. This is my way of saying I’m having them, too.”

My heart explodes against my ribs from his beautiful words. I open my mouth to speak, but he quickly places his index finger over my lips to stop me.

“Before you say anything, nothing has changed as far as what I want tonight. I know the boundary you set about sex,” Beckham says. He gently brushes his fingertip over my lips with a feather-light motion. “And I will respect that, Georgie. We do as much or as little as you want tonight. I won’t do anything to rush it. This is happening fast, and I don’t expect you to change your mind because of how I feel. We have all the time in the world to take that step. Because what we are building is the most important thing to me. You are the most important thing to me.”

Then he replaces his fingertip with his lips, kissing me sweetly.

As he lifts his head and gazes down at me once again, this time grazing my cheek with his knuckles, something shifts inside of me. It’s unexpected, and it takes me by surprise—in the best way possible.

“I know you said you are having big feelings,” I say, my voice quiet. “And I am, too.”

Beckham’s eyes lock on mine, but he remains silent, waiting for me to say more.

“And yes, this is happening fast—for me,” I admit. “But I’m not scared of it. I feel nothing but joy when you say these beautiful things to me.”

“I mean them,” Beckham says, his voice firm. “I’ve never said these words to another woman. I’ve never wanted to. Until I met you.”

“That means everything to me,” I confess. “And it causes feelings inside I don’t want to hold back.”

“What?”

I stare back at him, my gaze unwavering. “I want to have sex with you.”

“Georgie, are you sure?” Beckham asks. “I don’t want to make love to you and have you regret it later.”

I’m flooded with more emotions. Beckham is so caring and concerned about this next step not for himself, but for me. For how it might impact us and what happens in our future.

And in this moment, with all these new and wonderful feelings starting to grow inside of me, I know this is exactly what I want to do.

“When I had sex the first time, I was a teenager and curious. The experience was bad. I vowed to wait for the right man to come into my life for the next time, and I have waited years. I’m having big feelings, Beckham. And they’re all for you. I’m ready for us to go further. It’s a contradiction from what I said before. But I didn’t expect to feel the way I feel when you touch me. Look at me. Or kiss me.”

Then I do something I never dreamed I’d do tonight.

I take a step back from him and begin to unbutton my blouse. Beckham’s lips part in surprise as I slip out of it, casting it aside on the king-sized bed. I’m wearing a pink balconette bra, one that pushes up my breasts a bit to make them look bigger than they are, and Beckham’s eyes shift to my chest. His own chest rises and falls, and my pulse accelerates when I see his response to my body.

I reach my fingers around the back to the hook and undo it, letting the bra fall free. I slowly remove it, standing bare-breasted before Beckham.

“Christ, Georgie,” he whispers, his voice practically hoarse. “You’re so beautiful.”

I step closer to him, linking my hands around the back of his neck, pressing my body into his. As my pelvis meets his, I can feel not only how hard he is, but that he’s massive.

And my body grows tight and hot with this realization.

His mouth claims mine in a hot kiss, desperate and seeking. Then his hand finds my breast, his whole hand covering it and squeezing it and causing a cry to escape my throat, one that he swallows quickly with a greedy kiss.

Suddenly hands are everywhere, with each of us exploring and grasping and desperate for this intimate discovery of each other. His mouth is on my jawline. My neck. Moving down the column of my throat, where his lips press against my pulse point.

“I can feel your pulse racing. That is making me even harder,” Beckham says, his voice low.

Then he flicks his tongue there, causing me to gasp.

His mouth moves lower, to my breasts, and then he’s kissing and sucking and I’m starting to fall apart in his arms. I reach for the bottom of his T-shirt, peeling it upward, desperate to see all of him. Feel his skin and skim my hands over his athletic body.

The shirt is cast aside, landing next to my blouse.

I move back a bit, so I can take him in. I carefully run my hands over his pecs, eliciting another shudder from him. Everything is cut and muscular, and his abs are like nothing I’ve ever seen. Completely chiseled. His biceps are powerful, as are his shoulders. I lean in and press a kiss against his chest, then another, my hands and mouth exploring him this time.

“Georgie,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Don’t stop touching me.”

When I hear how much he wants me, when his voice tumbles past his lips with nothing but desire from my touch—and my touch alone—I feel empowered. Full of more big feelings.

And I know making love with him tonight is the exact thing I want to do.

I move my hand lower, down the fine trail of hair that leads to his athletic pants, and I pull on the drawstrings. Beckham’s head drops back, and a deep moan escapes him as I feel him for the first time.

My God, I’m caressing him. Something I never did in those fumble-through sex experiences back in high school.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m a woman, who has met a man who makes me feel cared for. Cherished. Desired.

And it’s time to make him feel good, too.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask as I move his waistband past his hips.

Another violent shudder races through him. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Beckham consumes me with his mouth again, the kissing hard and fast and deep. I feel his fingertips on the button of my jeans, and before I know it, I’m out of them and his pants are off. I run my hands lower, down to his thighs, and I’m amazed at how rock hard and muscular they are. They are huge.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur into his skin, kissing his chest again. “Like a statue. So perfect.”

His fingertips move from my stomach to my panties, dancing around the straps of pink lace.

“You’re perfect too,” he says, kissing me again.

But this time, he slips a finger underneath the panties and finds my most intimate spot.

Pure, white hot heat shoots through me as I feel him touch me. Stroke me. Caress me.

I move my hands around his neck, clinging to him as he moves his fingers rhythmically, as if knowing exactly what I need. My breathing picks up, and so does Beckham’s intensity. I begin to pant. Gasp. Shake.

“That’s it, you’re turning me on so much, sweetheart,” he tells me.

“My God,” I cry out. “Beckham!”

“Ride it,” he commands. “Ride it hard, Georgie.”

I move against him, and then his mouth swoops down onto mine, capturing my cry of orgasm just as it tears through me. I shatter in his arms as wave after wave of pleasure hits me.

Beckham guides me back onto the mattress, his weight pinning me to it as he wraps his body over mine. We’re kissing, and my hands are in his hair, then stroking his back, as I try to regain my breath.

Then his mouth leaves mine, and he begins kissing me gently all over my face. My temple. My eyelids. The bridge of my nose, finally landing on my lips for a sweet kiss.

I feel adored.

Treasured.

Loved.

“I … I … I’ve never felt that way.” The words tumble out of my mouth, but I’m speaking about more than the orgasm I just had.

He props himself up on his elbows so he can look into my eyes. “Never?”

“No.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up into a satisfied smile. “Then I better make you orgasm a lot to make up for that.”

He lowers himself down for another kiss, which goes from sensual and slow to quickly heated and furious.

“Get your condom,” I plead against his hot mouth as the feelings begin to build inside of me again.

Beckham gets up, and I watch as he strips out of his boxer-briefs. My mouth pops open. Dear God, the man has the greatest ass I have ever seen. Gloriously sculpted from the years of skating he has done. He truly is a magnificent male specimen.

I turn and slide off my panties, discarding them on the floor next to his boxer-briefs.

He retrieves the condom out of his wallet and quickly moves over me again, his mouth seeking mine, our tongues hot and desperate.

“Give me the condom,” I say against his lips. “I want to put it on you.”

A groan escapes his throat. “Do it.”

I tear it open, and with anxious hands, slowly place the condom on him, which causes him to writhe with pleasure and bury himself in my neck.

“Nobody touches me like you do,” he whispers into my skin. “Nobody.”

Happiness travels through me at a rate I have never known. Beckham positions himself over me, and before we come together, I stop him with my hand.

“Wait, I have to know one thing,” I say, putting my hand to his cheek.

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to take it like a good boy?” I tease.

Beckham bursts out laughing. I’m laughing, too, and the moment is absolutely perfect. We’re having sex that is emotional and intimate, something we’ve never experienced with anyone before, but we’re still laughing and having fun.

“Oh, I’m going to take it like a good boy,” he says, dropping his mouth back on mine. “I’m going to go very slowly. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I put my palm to his cheek, touched by his concern for me. “Okay.”

Beckham moves forward, and the second he’s in me, I gasp from the sensation. It’s me, it’s Beckham, sharing the most intimate experience in the world with each other.

“Are you okay?” he asks quickly, pushing himself up to look at me. Concern is etched on his face.

“Yes,” I nod. “Keep going.”

And he does. The second he’s fully in, I’m lost to him. How this feels like a completely new experience, how the emotions are tied to the act, and how we are one in this very moment.

“Christ, Georgie,” Beckham groans. “You feel so damn good. So, so good.”

Now the laughter is gone. Our eyes meet, and as he begins to move, I know he wants that connection with me. To see what is in my eyes.

My eyes grow teary. He knows me so well. I’m sure he’s able to read what I’m telling him.

That I have no regrets about us making love tonight.

That he’s making me feel so special and wonderful and cared for, just as I hope to make him feel, too.

And the final thing?

I’m already starting to fall in love with him.