"But you don't want to talk tonight," I say.
"I want loud and slow," he purrs, his pale blue gaze flickering down to my mouth and up again. "We deserve loud and slow."
As soft as his voice is, Jamie's fingers curl around my tie as if he's thinking of how to use it against me. I don't know if this is romantic desperation brought on by the spell weddings tend to cast, or whether he's figured out one more way to say goodbye, and I can't make myself care. Anyone could see us here, but I wrap my hand around his and hope nobody is watching.
"It'll change things between us again."
Jamie nods. "I hope so."
"There's a limit to how loud we can be in a crowded hotel."
"My house."
"What?"
"Grab your stuff and meet me at my house," he says.
I'm so aroused I think I'd meet him in the middle of the ocean ifhe asked me to, but—
"Don't you have a room here? And a flight in the morning?"
"Yes and yes. Grab your stuff and meet me at my house."
I take my hand off him, and he takes his hand off my tie, and when he rolls away from me, I leave without saying goodbye to Harper and Simon. It's not my most polite exit, but talking to them like this would be worse, and I hurry upstairs while telling myself I'll take them out for another lunch. I don't know where Jamie went, but I have an entire drive to think about how quickly I can get him undressed when I see him again. A minute into it, I lower every window and pray the fresh air will make me think of anything else.
When I pull into his driveway, I think I've beaten him here, and I barely knock before I use my key to let myself in for the first time since I was summoned by his daughter. I'm nervous, the thrum of it so different from when I stepped into Taylor's house. I kick off my dress shoes and move to the kitchen to leave the rest of my things on the island. My duffel bag is barely out of my hands when I hear the front door open, and I will myself not to shake.
Jamie's arms are around me before it matters.
I'm still facing the island, and he nuzzles the back of my neck as he pulls the hair tie free and tosses it out of my reach. I moan when he drops his hands to my waist and rocks against my ass, and I almost ask whether he's been hard since we spoke at the reception or just since the freeway exit a mile or so back. Instead, I turn to find his bowtie gone and his shirt untucked and half unbuttoned, and I move to remember what desire tastes like on his tongue.
The kiss should be messy. Needy. It should leave us breathless and bruised. It's our first one since we were mad about it three years ago, and I'm not sure why it doesn't carry any trace of that rage tonight, even to remind us we're happier now. But it doesn't need to be anything other than the tender exploration it is, so close to asecond first time, and one we'll never forget.
He starts in on my buttons without pulling away, and I hold the sides of his face to make sure he doesn't change his mind about that. As soon as Jamie can get his hands on my bare skin, he does. There's time for me to finish with his shirt, but I haven't made it that far and I won't rush anything now.
"Upstairs," he breathes. "Let me take you upstairs."
It's a stunning request when I've been upstairs—when I've slept in his bed—so many times before, and I swallow hard. "Please."
Jamie takes my hand, and I'm dizzy with lust. I don't know why we've waited so long to do this, except that I know exactly why, and I hate the circumstances beyond our control and all the times we've been to blame. I need to tell him I'm done waiting for the things we can have just like this. I need to tell him we can keep this away from hockey and the press and everything we've been afraid of, because Harper already knows, and it would be okay if my family knows, too. I need to tell him we can be together sometimes because it's better than not being together at all.
I need to tell him before he hands me a pen and paper and asks me to make another list of rules because it's all he's ever known me to do.
In his room, Jamie lets go just long enough to turn on a lamp, and then he's kissing my neck as he pushes my shirt off my shoulders. "I want to see your body. All of it."
"You've seen my body."
"I want to see your body when I'm allowed to look," he says. "When I'm allowed to take my time with it."
"And I want to hear you while you take your time."
"Does that mean you won't put your fingers in my mouth again?"
I smile and finally get rid of his shirt, not shy about stroking his dick through his pants as soon as I'm done. "I'll put my fingers anywhere you want them."
He groans, long and loud. "I can't believe we're really doing this."
In search of more proof that we're really doing this, he kisses me, still far from rough about it, though there's something insistent now. Both of us are carefully possessive after years of knowing other people got to do this without restraint, but it's ours tonight. Jamie was lauded for his finesse on the ice, and he moves as deftly now, my belt and clasp and zipper no challenge, even while his tongue teases mine again. When I'm down to my boxer briefs, I can only assume he's racing toward naked, my hands chasing any warmth uncovered for me.