Boss Girl (Minnesota Ice #2)

by Lily Kate

  “Joss.” He holds me tight against him, pulling his face away just enough to speak. “I can’t...”

  “Can’t what?”

  “I can’t wait a second longer.” He’s lined up against me, every curve of his body matching mine. “I love you.”

  My eyes fly open. I’m lost for a moment, blurry from battle, when I realize that I, too, have already fallen. I’ve fallen, and yet I’m still fighting to hold back, trying to keep some semblance of control over this whole thing.

  “You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers, “In fact, I don’t want you to. Say it when you want—if you want. Only if and when you mean it.”

  “But—”

  “No,” he says, and that ends it.

  I swallow, the darkening in his eyes begging me to wait. To let this moment belong to him, to the start of us.

  “Okay,” I tell him, my hands coming to surround his face. The quietest kiss seals the moment into a time capsule, one I want to remember when I am old and gray.

  A groan slips out of Boxer’s mouth as I arch against him, one hand slipping behind my back to ease my bra off. He drinks in the view for a long moment, and it’s only when I shiver under his gaze that he blinks back to reality. Lowering his mouth to my breast, he offers a murmur of appreciation, a caress, a taste.

  My stomach tightens and my eyes close, my hips lifting of their own accord as he begins to explore everywhere. He takes advantage of my raised body to remove the last bit of lingerie, leaving it on the floor with the rest.

  He moves downward, descending in patient bursts and showering every inch of my body with attention, just as he has promised. When he reaches my stomach, he peppers kisses in a line from my center down to my inner thighs, teasing, toying, skipping over all the places that need it most. Then he gives me a look with his eyebrow raised and a cheeky smile.

  “Please don’t stop,” I tell him. “You’re evil.”

  He issues a soft laugh, but it’s enough of an encouragement. First his hand, then his mouth. Gentle, giving—utterly selfless.

  Working in harmony once more, he circles me, pulls me higher until I’m crying out at the first waves of pleasure. My fingers find his hair, holding on as he drives me to new heights, only to guide me crashing to the depths below.

  By the time I’m able to feel, to see, to comprehend, he’s moved next to me and wrapped me in his arms. He holds me tight, the scent of us together swirling into one. I’m breathing in ragged breaths, and his match mine.

  I roll over, face him, a shy smile turning up my lips. “Wow.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He laughs, runs a hand through my hair. “Good. We’re just getting started.”

  “Well, of course.” I reach lower, between us, and run a hand over him.

  He closes his eyes and groans, burying himself into me—save for the fabric of his boxers. I sit up, but he stops me in the process. “No. Not tonight.”

  “But, you just—”

  “And I can’t wait a second longer.” His voice sounds strangled. “Please don’t make me wait longer. I need you. All of you.”

  I dodge his hand, sitting up more fully, and work off his boxers until he’s a free man. An impressive one, at that, and I pretend not to stare. Landon Boxer, in all his naked glory. More impressive than I could’ve ever imagined, and most certainly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Possibly the only man I’ve ever loved.

  I plant a series of kisses down his chest that have his hands fisting in my hair. He pulls tight against my scalp, and the tension has me on fire for more, to drive this man wild, to make him lose control.

  I reach his waist with my treasure trail of kisses and, despite his flimsy arguments, I circle him with my mouth. A string of hissed curses is enough of a confirmation that I’m doing something right. His head falls back to the pillow, eyes shut. When I rest a hand on his chest moments later, his heart is racing.

  “Joss,” he growls. “Wait.”

  Before I can argue, he pulls me up and onto his chest. We’re both naked, breathing heavily, and he presses into my stomach. This moment, this brief respite is the calm before the storm. His fingers skim my back and my head rests against his chest. It’s more intimate than anything yet.

  He dips his head into a long, languid kiss. The sort of kiss that brings tears to the eyes and has one wondering how they’ve survived so long without it, and how they could ever survive without it again.

  “Landon.” I blink, but one droplet escapes onto my cheek. “I love you. I love you, too.”

  “God, I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”

  He brings me into his arms and rolls us so that he’s perched over me, my face cradled in his palm. His eyes turn almost savage, possessive.

  “I’ve waited so long to have you.” From somewhere, he’s rolled on a condom, and there’s nothing but the weight of him against me now. “I need you, Joss.”

  We hold there, the last moment before everything crashes into a wild spiral. When he pushes inside me for the first time, our eyes are both open, locked on one another, his gaze surveying mine. I let him drink all of it in—the fireworks most certainly lighting in my eyes, my desperate gasp as the pressure intensifies, my clenched fists grasping at the sheets—until I can’t possibly keep my eyes open.

  I reach to feel him. I’m greeted with smooth skin, strong arms, and I latch on as he shifts and increases the friction between us. One thrust, and then another. He fits me—a perfect match.

  His lips meet my neck, suckling as he presses against me, raising my body so my back curves to a new angle. He drives harder, faster, murmuring sweet encouragement against my neck.

  “Stop thinking so much,” he says as I mumble nonsense. “And just feel.”

  Finally, I forfeit and let myself go completely over the edge and into his arms. We move together, and it’s no longer two of us, it’s one—a single rhythm, melody, racing toward an inevitable conclusion.

  Together we reach the edge, the precipice, and pause for one moment, trembling on top of the world, before he slides in one final time, and we crumble together into pieces. His release comes seconds after mine, and when he says my name, it drags out every last sensation in my body. Each and every wave until the pulsing subsides, and calmness settles.

  One of his arms drapes over my body, snuggling me close. My back is pressed to his chest, his lips resting near my ear. We don’t speak, don’t move; we simply savor the closeness. The closeness turns into a dream, and for the first time in a long while, my dream can never be better than my reality.

  If this is what love is, then I want it. No matter the cost. Forever.

  Chapter 35

  Boxer

  I’ve been awake since seven this morning, and I’m too afraid to move for fear of scaring the shit out of Jocelyn. I want to hold her tighter, but I’m afraid I’ll stab her with my current state of affairs down below.

  I want our first morning of being together to be romantic. Memorable. Perfect.

  Poking her in the back with my boner probably isn’t the way to get things started.

  Instead, I’d like to hold her, wake her with kisses, and, yes, make love to her all day long. Cancel our flights, forget about the world, and get lost in one another for hours on end.

  Unfortunately, it’s almost nine a.m.. I’ve been awake for two painful hours, watching the rise and fall of her chest, following the subtle curves of her body from head to toe with my gaze—looking, not touching. Her hair is spread out on the pillow like a gorgeous mosaic while sweet smelling perfume drifts from her sleeping figure.

  My hand reaches out of its own accord and lands on her shoulder, trailing down over her pale skin, making a happy little path down her arm. She shudders slightly, but doesn’t wake.

  My fingers land at her waist. She’s still gloriously naked, the both of us having made love two or three times throughout the night, one of us waking the other, then switching, until we’d
both been completely satiated and exhausted.

  Yet here I am, just hours later, in a state of agony waiting to see if she’ll wake up in time for us to make love once more. She shivers as my fingers trace small circles on her hip, and I have a sudden thought. A distraction from my single-minded focus on her body.

  My stomach growls, and if I were home, I’d be cooking her a homemade breakfast: eggs, bacon, English muffins, the works. We’re not at home, so instead I slink out of bed and move to the living area. It’s a ritzy hotel; Jocelyn booked it on the underwear company’s dime, and she spared no expense.

  I quietly place an order for a widespread array of breakfast items, realizing I don’t know what she prefers to eat in the morning. Better to order everything and let her choose. After all, with the amount of calories I burned last night, I’ll be able to finish everything she doesn’t. I’m ravenous. For food, yes, but first, for something—someone—else, too.

  A murmur sounds from the bedroom, and I make quick work of slipping back under the covers. She’s wrapped in my arms and pressed to me before her eyes open.

  “Good morning, gorgeous,” I whisper, along with a nibble on her ear. “How’d you sleep?”

  She shivers, a faint sleepy giggle coming from her throat as she throws an arm over her head and stretches. That long torso of hers is on perfect display as she turns to me, and I try to focus on her face, but her breasts are too distracting.

  I’ve been trying to hold back for two hours. I deserve an award for my restraint. And that reward is a long, unobstructed stare.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  I snap my head up and catch her grinning at me. “You’re like an art display.”

  “Then, you’d better look and not touch.”

  “Is that right?” I long to reach out, cup her in my palm, feel the warmth of her in my hands, but this game is suddenly sexy, and I don’t mind her taking the lead. “You never answered my question.”

  “I slept just fine,” she says, her voice low, husky. “But it wasn’t the sleeping that was the highlight for me.”

  I groan as she pulls herself to her knees and pushes me back on the bed. She has me flat on my back, her hands on my shoulders. Leaning down, she relishes in a tantalizing kiss, a smoking hot slip of her tongue driving me more insane than ever.

  I’d slid into a fresh pair of boxers when I got up to order breakfast, and as she reaches for them, I grab her wrist to pull her toward me. She broke the kiss, but I’m not finished yet.

  “No,” she says sharply, just a hint of a smile in her eyes. “Look, but don’t touch, remember?”

  I close my eyes, hissing a breath between my teeth as she presses my wrists to the bed. This is new. A new confidence that wasn’t there last night. Not the first time, nor the second, and even on the third round of loving that lasted until the earliest hours of the morning. Maybe it’s the threat of a looming goodbye that gives her a new urgency.

  “Oh, my,” she says, her hand running down my abs, coming to rest on my length. “You’re raring to go.”

  “I’ve been ready half the damn morning.”

  “Impressive.”

  She laughs, then bats her eyes flirtatiously before lowering her hands to the waist of my boxers. She pulls them down, inch by inch, until I spring free. I’m burning inside, itching to wrap my fingers around her waist and dig my fingers into the soft skin of her bottom, but every time I so much as flinch, she presses me back to the bed.

  “If you move,” she says, lowering her head. “I’ll stop.”

  I have a retort ready to go, but the second her lips surround me, I’m done for. My eyes shut, blackness swallowing me as she teases with every touch, every swirl of her tongue. She pulls me further and further down a path I never knew existed. As if the black and white world has turned colorful, the feelings and sensations more intense than ever.

  I can hardly hold back, but I refuse to let go this early. We’ve barely gotten started, and I need more. I need her, and I need us together.

  The doorbell rings. “Room service!”

  Her head shoots up, eyes wide. “Did you order breakfast?”

  “Oh, shit.” I sit up and yell at the door. “Come back later!”

  “Room service, we’ve got breakfast!”

  “Just leave it outside,” I yell again, wrapping a towel around my waist as I waddle toward the door like an awkward penguin. “We’re busy.”

  Thankfully, the guy gets the picture. Footsteps sound in the hallway, and I waste no time returning to the bed. Jocelyn’s laying there, like a beautiful cake on a platter—her cheeks pink, eyes blue, hair blonde—the picture of pretty.

  “When did you order breakfast?” she asks. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I growl. “Where were we?!”

  Her eyes flash dark as I drop the towel, and she takes one look below my waist. She sucks in the slightest of breaths, and it’s enough to turn me to steel.

  “Forget it,” I say, climbing onto the bed. She’s trapped beneath me, and I have no plans of letting up. “Let’s start over.”

  “I don’t want to start over,” she says. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”

  I lower my mouth, kissing her until we both lose our breath. I slide my hand down, pressing it to her stomach, then lower and lower until I can dip a finger inside of her. The moans coming out of her mouth have me on edge already.

  We stay there, melded together until she’s gasping for more. I roll on a condom and press against her, waiting there, teasing her as she had done to me earlier.

  Her fingers raise, press against my back to push me inside of her, but I hold steady. “Look,” I say gently. “But don’t touch.”

  “Don’t be difficult.”

  I laugh, but her lips find mine before I can respond, the heat of the moment too much to handle. If I don’t have her now, I might die.

  So I press into her, and together we sigh in relief. We’re lost in this moment, this basic need as our bodies fall in line and move together in sync. There’s a flow to this dance that’s entirely natural, as if the two of us are made for one another.

  Her hips tilt up at the exact angle that drives me wild, and I curse at the sensations because I know there’s no going back. When she cries my name, I let everything go and release, entirely and completely, until the world is black and I’m seeing bursts of sunlight that have me wondering if this is a stroke.

  But a stroke can’t possibly feel so damn good.

  When the waves between us subside, Jocelyn’s breathing slowing to somewhat regular bursts of air, I roll off of her, bringing her with me into a warm bundle on the bed.

  I kiss her neck, her hair, her back, feeling myself getting turned on all over again minutes later.

  “Really?” she asks.

  “Look, this hasn’t happened before,” I tell her, a little frustrated at my own stamina. “Which means it’s not me, it’s you.”

  She laughs, climbing out of bed and pulling on a robe. “Well, lucky for me, I hear there’s room service outside. I’m starving. And I need a shower.”

  “I think you look beautiful. Skip the shower and come to bed.”

  She rolls her eyes, then disappears for a moment. When she returns, she’s wheeling a cart back with all sorts of breakfast rolls, meats, and eggs. It smells heavenly, but it’s nothing compared to the goddess behind the tray. Long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, the robe revealing milky white skin that’s desperate to be touched. I can’t decide which I want to devour first—Jocelyn, or the food.

  Jocelyn reaches for a roll, so I follow suit.

  She smacks my hand away, and I give her a questioning glance.

  “Look, but don’t touch,” she says with a beaming smile. “We’re still playing our game. This is all for me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” I reach for her and tug her to bed. She barely manages to set the roll down before I have her pinned to the sheets and my lips to her breasts. She�
�s writhing and shrieking with laughter as I take her into my mouth.

  “Please!” she gasps playfully. “I just want a bagel.”

  “You’re lucky I love you,” I tell her, pulling my head up and nuzzling against her neck. “You can have all the bagels.”

  “Because I love you,” she says, reaching for the cream cheese. “I’ll share.”

  Chapter 36

  Jocelyn

  The shower sings over my shoulders, warm gusts of water washing away years of stiffness, frustration, hurt—solitude. Landon Boxer changed me last night, this morning. He broke open a dam I’d been keeping safe all this time, locking in the sunshine, the laughter, the tiny shred of Jocelyn Jones that used to know how to be silly. Fun. Outgoing and bright.

  We’d teased, laughed, made love, held each other until the sun began to rise. The whole evening to night to morning had been the stuff of magic. But now, we had to say goodbye. It might be only for a short while, but it was still too long. Especially now. Today. After all of this.

  Boxer would take a separate flight up to San Fran to spend tonight with his family, then back to LA to prepare for his first playoff game this upcoming Friday night. It’d be an intense week for him, and he’d already told me not to expect to see him. Though the frown when he’d told me this had made the news slightly easier to digest.

  I blush thinking of what he’d said next, something about making up for lost time after Friday, and as I towel off and slip into a new dress, I think that Friday night can’t come soon enough. Win or lose for the Lightning, I’m pretty sure I’ll score.

  I survey myself in the mirror and almost cry out of embarrassment at the sight there. I had let Lindsay take me shopping. She picked out a pink dress.

  Violent pink.

  I’ve never worn pink in my life, and I feel like a carnation standing here, twirling around. Like I belong in somebody’s wedding as the flower girl.

  Yet even so, there’s a small part of me that I’ve kept shielded from hundreds of days spent wearing nothing but black dress after black dress that admits it’s cute. Fun. Flirty. All things that Jocelyn Jones is most certainly not.