Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

“What—”

Ethan spun toward her, and for a moment, she thought he might tug her into his arms, yank her across the console, and kiss the shit out of her.

She would have liked that, too.

Not that she would have admitted it.

Because even though this man was beyond gorgeous, even though she burned for him, she dreamed and fantasized and touched herself pretending he was hers, that wouldn’t ever be.

He would destroy her.

It was as simple as that.

Despite that, she still wanted him to kiss her, still wanted to feel his body against hers, his hands on her skin, his cock thrusting deep. Throat going dry, her fingers actually cramping with the urge to touch because the thought of him inside her was intoxicating and dangerous when this man was so close—close enough that her pussy throbbed, that her nerves were on fire, that—

He didn’t kiss her.

He just set the stack of books on the back seat and faced forward again. Then calmly asked, “Would you like me to drive instead?”

“Wh-what?”

His hand came down on top of hers, squeezing lightly where it rested on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?”

Such an absurd question, she thought.

Of course, she wasn’t okay.

She was nowhere even near it, and how could she be when this man was so close, the spicy scent of him filling her car. She could smell the mint of his toothpaste on his breath, and it mixed with the tang of pine, the faintly biting, briny notes of the ocean. His smell made her want to move closer, to forget about him tugging her over the console and instead, to climb over it herself, to straddle his hips and—

“Whatcha thinking?” he asked, his fingers squeezing hers lightly.

And that little convulsion, the warm, rough hand engulfing hers . . . well, it had the last of her filter dissipating like so much smoke.

Which was the only reason she could account for later for why she just straight up blurted, “How much I want to fuck you.”

The air in the car went taut.

“What did you say?”

She was horrified, slowly dying inside, that death agonizing, a painful millimeter-by-millimeter creep until she had to physically stop herself from yanking open the door and running screaming through the parking lot.

It was her car, for God’s sake!

“You should go,” she whispered.

He didn’t move, except to squeeze her hand again, to unwind it from the steering wheel and bring it across the console.

“Eth—”

Her palm suddenly made contact with a hard cock . . . with his cock. Her fingers involuntary clenched, and he groaned.

“Dani?” he gritted.

“Yeah?” she breathed, her hand starting to move.

“I want to fuck you, too.”

Her throat seized. “I’m seeing that,” she forced out.

“But,” he said, gently peeling her hand away and lifting it to his mouth. The bristles of his beard tickled her palm, his tongue a hot brand. “I’d like to get to know you a little better first, okay?”

She was feeling a little dazed, and her words were equally as stupefied. “By grocery shopping?”

“Yup.” He smiled.

Her brain short-circuited. The sun was shining through the window, gilding his skin, bringing out a lighter blond, almost red undertone in his hair. His teeth were bright white, though she knew that the one, two right of center, was fake. He’d been hit in the mouth with a stick during the playoffs last season, and even through the mouth guard he wore, his tooth had been knocked out. Instead of doing what any sane person who’d just lost a tooth would have done, he’d played the remainder of the game and the double-overtime periods (during which he’d also scored the game-winning goal, NBD). But anyway, by the time a dentist had been able to get a look at him, it had been too late to save the tooth.

So, a fake one.

Which was a mental tangent she shouldn’t be going down right at this moment, with Ethan in her car, smiling at her, saying that he wanted to go grocery shopping with her of all things.

But the things she should be doing didn’t always factor in with what her mouth did.

Case in point, that instant.

“Did it hurt?” she asked.

His smile drifted away slowly, like a cloud floating across the sky, the wind morphing its shape, flattening it on one corner, dragging it up on the other . . . and then she blinked. Or maybe like when she’d been a kid staring up at the clouds, finding creatures and telling stories in the white wisps trailing over the cerulean blue, the sun got into her eyes, making her squint, and all of a sudden, the story was gone, the smile flattened.

But the potential of a new saga could be found in its place.

Fingers on her cheek. The lightest brush of his thumb across her cheek.

“Grocery shopping?” he murmured.

Her lips curved. “Your tooth.”

That pulled his hand from her skin, his pointer finger tapping the fake tooth. “Yeah,” he said. “It really fucking hurt.”

Dani raised her brows, surprise a tiny bolt of lightning zigzagging across her spine. “It did?”

His smile returned, and she found herself searching the lines, the bristles of hair surrounding it, the pink lips, the flash of white teeth for a different story . . . and found it, she supposed. She’d expected a macho reply, something about it not hurting because he was a big, tough hockey player who could take pucks to the body, sticks to the face, checks into the boards, and regardless of blood or bruises or teeth falling out, he got right back up, hopped straight onto the ice for his next shift.

“Yeah, it did,” he said, his gray eyes flickering with amusement.

“Oh.”

Silence. Then a light tap to her temple. “It looks like you have more questions in that big, juicy brain of yours.”

Nope.

The questions had all flitted away to subspace, twinkling along with the stars, pretty, but impossible to grab on to.

“That’s your nickname.”

His smile was a physical gut punch. “You pay attention.”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“No?”

“You just talk a lot.”

He froze,