COLLETTE
“I’m yours too.”
The words leave my mouth, and something shifts in his eyes. Something dark and hungry that he’s been holding back for months. His hand slides up my thigh, where my legs are wrapped around his waist, and the heat of his palm through my jeans sends a jolt straight through me.
“Say that again,” he says, his voice dropping low.
“I’m yours.”
His mouth crashes into mine. This isn’t the gentle, testing kisses we’ve shared before. This is months of tension, anger, and longing detonating at once. His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth and pull him closer with my legs, my good hand fisting the front of his shirt. He tastes like beer and want, and I can’t get enough.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“If you stop right now, I will actually kill you.”
“Just checking.” He grins, and then his mouth is on my neck, my jaw, that spot behind my ear that makes me gasp. His handslides under my top, fingers spreading across my stomach, warm and rough as I arch into him.
“Bedroom,” I breathe. “Now.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands, pulling me with him, my legs still wrapped around him. I cling to his neck with my good arm as he carries me down the hallway, his mouth never leaving mine. He kicks the bedroom door open and lowers me onto the bed. The same bed he woke up in a lifetime ago.
I reach for his shirt and pull it up with my good hand. He helps, yanking it over his head.And fuck.I’ve seen him shirtless before, on the ice, in the locker room corridor, but never like this.Never for me. Never with permission to touch. His chest is broad, his abs defined, the V-cut disappearing into his jeans. Bruises from hockey are scattered across his ribs. He’s beautiful.
“Stop staring and take your clothes off,” he says.
“I only have one good hand,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll do it.” He reaches for my top and pulls it over my head carefully, working around the bandage on my forehead. His eyes drop to my bra, plain black, nothing special. But the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m wearing something from a magazine. “Fuck, Lettie,” he says on a breath, unhooking my bra and letting it fall. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I shudder. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.About you.About what you look like underneath all that attitude.”
“And?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“Better than every fantasy I’ve ever had.” His mouth replaces his hands, his tongue circling one nipple while his fingers work the other, and my back arches off the bed. My good hand grips his hair, and he groans against my skin.
“More,” I demand.
“Patience.”
“I have zero patience. I’ve been patient for months. I’m done being patient.”
He laughs against my breast, and the vibration makes me squirm. His mouth trails lower, kissing down my stomach, his hands working my jeans open. He pulls them down, taking my underwear with them in one move, and I’m naked underneath him. He stops, kneeling between my legs, hands on my thighs, staring down at me like he’s trying to memorize me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing. I just need a second.” His voice is rough. “I’ve been picturing this for so long, and the real thing is so much better.”
“Fish.”
“Justin,” he corrects. “When we’re here, it’s Justin.”
“Justin.” The name feels intimate on my tongue, different from the locker room, the ice, the cameras.This is just us.“Take your pants off.”
He stands and unbuckles his belt, and I watch every movement. The jeans drop, the underwear follows. And ...
Oh.
Oh my god.
The Reddit reviews were not exaggerating. Big Fish is not just a nickname.