Chapter Thirteen

“As long as you’re sure,” Emile said against her mouth. But he knew she was sure, and not just from her words. She really wanted this—wanted him—to try to be so bold, emphasis on try. It was endearing, but he’d been with plenty of assertive women, so he knew true bold when he saw it. But this was playacting. Amy thought if she played the role of an aggressive woman, she would be that woman. Yet somehow, this was much sexier than the smoothest, practiced woman who’d done this a thousand times.

“Do I feel sure?” She rolled her hips against him, making him harder than he’d thought possible, harder than he’d ever been.

“A good goalie is never surprised, but you have surprised me, chérie.” He teased her bottom lip with his tongue.

She pulled away the barest bit and smiled. Smiled! She had not smiled in a week. So, so beautiful. He trailed his hand down her cheek.

“Are you saying you are no longer a good goalie?”

“Non. Or peut-être. We will find out tomorrow night.” He had asked Packi to have one of his old sweaters ready for him to pick up at morning skate tomorrow. Packi had said it was a bad idea to give her his sweater, but Packi didn’t know everything. “I am not thinking of my goaltending proficiency now.”

“What are you thinking?” She ground her groin against him.

Mon Dieu. “I am thinking that I have wanted you for days.”

“Days? I’ve wanted you for about four minutes, and I don’t want to want to wait four more.” And she pulled back and put her hands inside his shorts, skin on skin.

“Doux Jésus, je viendrai dans vos mains.” He was breathing like an out-of-shape senior citizen in a marathon.

“What did you say? Speak English.”

“Come. Let me take you to my bed.”

“No. I want you right here and right now. You can take me against the refrigerator. Or I’ll sit on the counter.” She put her hands on the waistband of his shorts but stopped. Then a look of alarm came over her face. “Wait. Condom?”

Baise. For the first time ever, ever since he’d had sex for the first time at fifteen years old, he would have forgotten a condom. That scared him, but it didn’t scare him off.

“Oui. Of course.”

“Then get it.” She blushed and looked surprised at her words.

He smiled and bit his bottom lip. Maybe this assertiveness was an experiment. But he was happy to participate. What wasn’t to like about it? It’d gotten them to this place, after all. Besides, it was as exciting as hell, the demands mixed with blushes.

“Maybe you will put it on for me. For us?” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, found the little packet, and handed it to her.

She took the package, turned it over, and studied it intently—clearly looking for directions. Maybe she would write the steps down in her little book. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to let her do this until she had done that.

He took the packet and laid it on the counter. “Let’s unwrap something else first.”

“What?”

“You.” And he peeled off her sweater and stepped back to admire her. “Your breasts— charmant.” And they were—beyond lovely. Luscious, full, exquisite. He moved toward her, anxious to remove her bra, but thought better of it. Better to let her playact at being bold. “Ma chérie, you are so beautiful. Remove your bra for me so I can see more of your beauty.”

She hesitated, but barely. He thought of asking her to touch herself, but thought better of that, too. There were limits to what Bold Amy would be able to do. But just the image of that shot a fresh lightning bolt of desire straight to his balls.

When she reached behind to unhook her bra, he eagerly slipped his hand underneath the band. She shuddered, dropped her bra, and let her head roll back, clearly enjoying his touch. He gently lifted, stroked, and squeezed until she moaned. “So good.” Encouraged, he repeated the movements, but a bit rougher this time, and rolled her nipples between his finger and thumb. She slammed her pelvis harder against his and cried out.

He would have tasted her nipples then, but she said, “My turn,” and peeled his shirt off. “I want to touch you.” She ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and down his stomach. “You look so strong.”

“Non. You are the strong one—so strong.” And it was true. That she could even walk around after such an ordeal was amazing.

“We’re both still wearing shorts,” she said.

“Then let’s not.” He reached to remove hers, but she was faster and pushed his off his hips and settled her hands on his penis, stroking the shaft and teasing the head, driving him insane.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. Then she giggled. “And huge.”

He laughed, too. “Now you.” He pushed her shorts and panties off at the same time. When he brought his hand between her legs, she gasped and her knees buckled. He caught her, bent his head to her breast, and took her nipple in his mouth. When he sucked, she moaned. “When I do that,” he said, “do you feel it here?” He stroked the mouth of her vagina and slowly brought his finger to massage her swollen little bud, all the while his mouth tasting her nipple, pulling urgently with his lips and tongue and biting lightly.

She closed her legs tightly around his hand. “Please, please Emile. Don’t make me wait.”

And suddenly, he couldn’t wait either. “Je veux être à intérieur de tu.”

 “English, Emile. Tell me what you said.”

He squeezed between her legs and whispered against her ear. “I want to be inside you.”

“Yes!” She backed against the refrigerator and spread her legs. “Here. Now!”

He reached for the condom and peeled it on as he took a step backward, away from her, smiling and biting his lip. “I do not need a refrigerator, a wall, or a counter.” He held his arms out. “Come to me, chérie” He squatted a few inches. “Here, spread your legs and straddle my thighs.”

She looked doubtful. “I’m not sure . . . ”

“I am very, very sure.” With that he lifted her, sheathed himself inside her, and stood up, fully erect on his feet and fully erect and pounding inside her. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist, drawing him deeper. “Yes, that’s right, chérie.”

“You’re huge,” she repeated. “And you feel so good.”

“You’re not huge,” he said. “You’re tight . . . and wet. And you feel so good. I want you so much. Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to make this good for you.”

He cupped her bottom and moved her up and down against him and around him, making sure that her clitoris received equal attention with each motion. She cried out. “Oh, yes. Slow. Again. Hard.”

He laughed against her ear. “Hard is right, ma chérie. No one has ever made me so hard.” He could have come then, but he fought it, fought it harder than he’d ever fought to keep any puck out of any goal he’d ever tended.

It was only after she came and he let her rest a moment, then brought her back to full desire and made her come again, that he indulged in his own release.

And what a release it was. He shuddered and cried out her name as he emptied inside her. But still, he didn’t let her go or put her down. He stood strong and erect until they both calmed. Then he carried her to the couch and lay down beside her.

“I need a moment,” he said. “But I must have you again.”

When he began to fondle her breasts, she didn’t hesitate. She began to caress him, bringing him back to life. She seemed no longer like someone pretending to be bold, but rather like a woman who was going to take what she wanted.

And he was happy to give it.