And they roared in, taking over, like fire eating oxygen.
Tate shifted out from behind the steering wheel to get closer. The next thing he knew, he had Olivia on his lap, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her dress over her hips. She was warm and smooth and toned. And their tongues spiraled as his hands curved over her ass.
Tate broke the kiss to suck air. “Jesus Christ.”
Olivia’s hands were already working his belt open, yanking his shirttail from his waistband. Then her hands were on his skin and fuck he couldn’t think.
“Olivia…” He grabbed her hands, squeezing them tight, more to keep his own hands still them than to halt her movement. Because he wanted to feel her hands on him. Wanted to feel her mouth on him. Wanted—so badly—to feel her pussy around him. “God damn.”
She made an impatient whimpering sound, dipped her head and kissed him, hot and hungry. “Want you,” she said between licks and kisses, “Can’t wait… This is insane…”
Think, Tate.
Think.
“Let’s…” he said, breathing hard, “let’s…slow down…”
That sexy sound came again, this time against his throat, where her teeth and tongue created tingles along his skin and opened a faucet of lust straight to his groin. “Right…” she breathed. “Right…” She pulled back and her hair fell into her eyes. “You make me crazy, Donovan.”
“And you make me feel so fuckin’ alive.” He brushed her hair aside and framed her face. “The only time I feel this electrified is on the ice, during a game.”
Her smile softened and her body swayed into his. “That has to be the sweetest thing any man has said to me in…God…years.”
He couldn’t even fathom how that was possible. She had to have men all over her in Europe.
Chest to chest, arms wrapped around his neck, she leaned close and whispered into his ear, “Now take me inside where I can thank you properly.” She bit his lobe, shooting a sting down his neck, followed by the warm stroke of her tongue and tingles. “Or…not so properly. Which do you prefer?”
He closed his eyes, let his hands slide down her body, gripped her hips to hold her still while he gave into the urge to rock against her. Pleasure spilled between his legs and he gritted his teeth on a growl at the same time Olivia arched and echoed his pleasure. The synchronicity was electric.
When her lashes fluttered open and her pretty blue eyes landed on his again, he said, “I’ll take everything you’ve got, baby.”
He slid with her toward the passenger’s side, pushed the door open and stood, setting her on the ground and pushing her skirt down at the same time. When she was steady, he stepped back, looked down at the disarray of his clothes and laughed.
Grinning, Olivia buckled his belt and straightened the tail of his now-untucked shirt. She cocked her head and surveyed him with a look that made him grin like an idiot.
“Maybe just one last little fix right…” She leaned in, reaching for his head, but instead of fixing a few stray hairs, her weight shifted and she fell into him, pushing all ten fingers into his hair, laughing. With her face pressed to his neck, she murmured, “Yeah, right there. Perfect.”
Her breath tingled against his neck. Her sweetness warmed his heart. And for the first time in way too long, he felt full. Content. Happy. Tate circled her in his arms and held her against him. Her head tucked perfectly under his chin. Her curves heaven against his body. She felt so goddamned perfect in his arms it hurt. “Where the fuck have you been all my life?”
“Mmmm,” she stepped away then walked backwards while Tate steered her toward his townhouse. “You’d have to name the year. I’m pretty nomadic.”
“Okay…where were you in…” He named a year as she twisted out of his path and fell into step beside him. He swung an arm around her shoulders.
“I was a junior in high school,” she said, threading her fingers with his where they lay over her shoulder, then wrapped her other arm around his waist. She was so loose, so easy, so relaxed. So comfortable in her own skin. She didn’t worry about her clothes, her hair, her makeup. Didn’t seem nervous about the night ahead. Tate was both mystified and envious. “You?”
“First year of my minor career.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“So you’re about thirty? Thirty one?”
“Thirty one,” he said, pushing away the uncomfortable thoughts his age always brought. How much further along in his personal life he thought he’d be by now. “What about…”
He named his first year in the majors.
“Umm…” She had her eyes rolled to the sky as they walked through the gardens. “Must have been Yugoslav…no, that was the summer before…” She pressed a finger