He lifted a brow. “Thought you said you were sure I’d be gone.”
“Hey.” She gave him a look laced with attitude. “I have friends.”
He laughed, then kissed her again, and all the humor instantly evaporated in the sweltering heat. The slide of is mouth, the stroke of his tongue, the way he moved her body against his… Fuck he was way better than any alcohol, any drug.
He broke the kiss, dragging in air and breathing out, “Holy fuck. Your mouth is wicked.”
“Oh-ho…” she laughed the word. “Just you wait. You’ve barely begun to see what I can do with this mouth.”
He groaned, his lids fluttered closed and his fingers clenched in her dress. “When are you done here?”
“Now,” she said. When his eyes opened again, she continued. “I’m done now. This isn’t my gig. The kitchen staff can clean up. Are you close to a Metro line?”
“Two blocks. Why?”
“So I can take it home.”
“I’ll drive you ho—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. That whole waking up together-morning after-driving her home thing…got really messy, really fast. She’d learned that young. “I don’t want messy,” she whispered, praying she didn’t hurt his feelings. “I just want you.”
He exhaled and held her gaze. When she lowered her hand he asked, “Do you feel okay driving with me? I mean, now? To my place?”
“Why?” she frowned, studying him again. He didn’t seem drunk. She’d developed an eye for that. “How much have you been drinking?”
“I stopped drinking hours ago. I meant safe. We don’t know each other.”
“Oh.” She grinned. Laughed. Stroked his cheek. “I moved to Europe by myself when I was eighteen. Lived hostel to hostel for years. Learned Krav Maga on the streets of the countries where it was born. The question, Mr. Big Bad Hot Hockey Star, is do you feel safe with me?”
3
Tate was having a hard time focusing on the road with Ol
ivia rubbing on him like a cat in the front seat of his truck.
She was twisted toward him with her mouth on his neck, her right thigh draped over his and her hand under his shirt, roaming his skin. His mind kept jumping ahead—to getting her home and how he should handle that. It felt like forever since he’d treaded these waters and sex etiquette changed so fast now-a-days. She was so damn young and hot, he was feeling more on the old and slow side then he’d ever imagined.
Should he take it slow or fast? Should he be rough or gentle? Should he ask her what she liked or just go for it until she told him she wanted something else?
Every question tightened the muscles along his shoulders. His mind kept darting to his teammates and their locker room talk. If even half of it was true, those young guys did some nasty shit in the bedroom. Did Olivia expect that? Did Tate even want to go there? Maybe. With the right woman…
Olivia scraped his earlobe between her teeth, and chills ran down his neck and across his shoulder, and Tate shivered.
“What’s your last name?” her voice was soft and sexy.
“Donovan.” His voice sounded like sandpaper.
“Donovan,” she sang softly, “what’s on your mind?” The tip of her nose traced his rough jawline. “I see wheels turned behind those sexy eyes and if you keep clenching you teeth like this,” she massaged his jaw in small circles, making Tate realize how sore he was right there, “you’re going to need TMJ surgery in a few years.” She paused, pulled back and looked at him, waiting. He felt the warmth of her stare on his face. When he didn’t answer right away, her fingers combed through the hair on the side of his head again, her nails gently scraping his scalp. “If you change your mind at any point, I’m not going to be pissed. I know how bitchy some women can get, but I’m not—”
For the first time since they’d started the drive, Tate pulled his hand from the steering wheel and gripped the thigh lying over his. He cut a quick look at her before returning his gaze to the road. “I’m not changing my mind, baby.” He laughed at himself. “I’m trying to remember my moves.”
She laughed, the sound light and amused as she dropped her forehead against his shoulder and rolled it side to side. “Oh, Tate.” She lifted her head. “You are so…God, I don’t know how to explain it. You’re just so…refreshing seems like a strange word, but it’s true. You’re so different, so honest. I just love it. I want to eat you up.”
The last three words could have been taken in any number of ways. But her deep, raspy tone made it clear she was thinking of the phrase with more hunger than affection. She confirmed that assumption after he put the truck into park, when she pressed a hand against the opposite side of his face, pulled him toward her and leaned in to kiss him.
He moaned into her mouth, groped for the seatbelt release and sprung himself. Then he turned, took her face in both hands and kissed her. Hard and deep.
God, he could get so lost in this woman. Hoped he could let himself get lost in this woman. After what he’d been through, Olivia felt like fucking heaven. So he shut down that nagging good-boy corner of his mind. He tucked away all his misgivings over bringing home a woman he barely knew for the sole purpose of sex, and let his own needs roll to the foreground for a change.