Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Your center of gravity is still too high,” she says, winking as she circles me like a very sexy shark. “Figure skating has more lift in the frame than hockey, but only from the waist up. You still need to be grounded. Bend your knees more.”
“And suck in that gut,” Flo adds helpfully.
I play up my pout. “Don’t body shame. I’m totally at my fighting weight for hockey, man. They don’t want us too small.”
“Of course you are.” Remy slides up behind me, parking one hand on my waist as she guides my shoulders back with the other. “He just means you need to engage your core more.” Her palm is flat on my stomach now, sending confusing messages to my dick. He’s a simple creature who doesn’t understand the difference between figure skating lessons touching and touching after hours at Remy’s place. “There, yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her voice huskier than it was before. “Feel the difference?”
Boy, do I…
What I feel is her warm breath on my neck and an overwhelming urge to spin around and kiss her senseless. But I refuse to give Flo the satisfaction of proving he was right all along about me wanting more than friendship with a certain redhead.
I clear my throat, managing an almost normal-sounding, “Yeah, thanks. Think I have a future in sparkly spandex?”
“Getting there.” She gives my waist a final squeeze before gliding away. “Not bad for a hockey boy.”
Flo snorts. “And you two aren’t fucking. Not at all.”
We both laugh. Then Remy tells him to mind his own business and teach us something pretty, which he does, guiding us through a simple pairs routine that ends with me supporting Remy’s waist as she glides on one foot.
“The connection between partners is everything,” Flo explains, adjusting my hands on her hips before motioning for us to try again. “Strong but gentle, like you’re cradling something precious.”
I swallow hard, trying not to think about all the times I’ve cradled different parts of Remy. Her feet in my hands the other night in her bath. Her face when I’m about to kiss her like I mean it. Her ass when she’s on top and—
“Relax, big boy,” Flo scolds, interrupting my racy thoughts with a sharp tap on my fingers. “She’s not a hockey stick. She’s a partner, not a power tool.”
Remy’s laugh vibrates against my hands. “I don’t know. Power tools aren’t all bad…”
She’s clearly talking about her vibrator, the one we add into the mix sometimes when props feel like a good idea. The memory of the last time I put her “power tool” to use on her clit while fucking her from behind nearly kills me. But somehow, I survive the rest of the lesson, even managing to nail a couple of spins and a switch-leg-leaping-thing Flo teaches us.
By the time he heads out, leaving us alone with a flutter of his fingers and a coy warning— “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, darlings. Especially on ice. Remember, passion is fun, but broken bones hurt like a son of a bitch.”— my thighs are burning in places I’d forgotten existed.
But seeing Remy have this much carefree fun makes every ache worth it.
“Want to practice some more with better music?” she asks, once the door shuts behind our fearless teacher. “I have some fun instrumental stuff on my phone.”
“Hell, yes,” I say, even though I know I’ll have to hit the ice bath before practice tomorrow if I do any more damage to my quads. “We have the rink for another hour. Let’s make the most of it.”
“Sweet.” Beaming, she skates off to fetch her phone from her bag.
She puts on some sexy sounding classical before gliding back to me, taking my hand as she asks, “Want me to show you some more couple stuff?”
“Yes, please,” I murmur. “All the couple stuff.”
“Good,” she says, her eyes glittering. “That’s what I like to hear.” She teaches me a simple lift—nothing wild, just enough to get my heart pounding as her body rises against mine. Then she spins into my arms, laughing as I barely manage to catch her without toppling over.
“Okay, hockey boy,” she teases, steadying me with her hands on my shoulders. “Next up, a little pair spin, some stroking, and maybe…a death spiral, if you’re feeling brave.”
“Stroking sounds nice,” I say, gravel in my voice that wasn’t there before.
Her breath feathers out. “I made that too easy for you.”
“You sure did,” I agree, letting my fingers press deeper into her waist.
We’re not moving anymore, just standing in the middle of the rink while the last of the evening light diffuses through the windows, turning her hair to fire. Her palms are flat on my chest now, and I can see her pulse beating faster at the side of her throat.
I should probably ease back. Keep things light. Remember that this is supposed to be about fun, not complicating our already complicated relationship. But then her gaze drops to my mouth, her tongue slips out to dampen her lips, and all my good intentions melt like ice under a blow torch.