Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice pushed himself up on his side of the bed as he if were doing a pushup. It was something he's done for years every day when there's a morning skate; a way to wake up ready mentally and give his body a physical warning sign to prepare the boilers, because he always hit the ice hard.
He reached for his phone to silence the alarm just as Jamie stirred next to him. The light of the day trickled through the blinds of the window above his headboard, scattering fractions of light throughout his dim room.
Jamie stretched out onto her back, one arm raised above her head and her chin high in the air as little noises escaped through her throat and a smile crept across her face.
Patrice lay on his stomach, his chest elevated as his elbows were bent beneath him and watched her wake.
She was so beautiful.
Her olive skin, her kinky hair and big top lip, rosy pink. The most perfectly cupped, round succulent breasts, her nipples stiff and pressed up against the thin line of his long sleeved shirt she wore. He watched her stomach rise and fall, slow and steady, enamored with her body and the way it worked. The way it did things, like helped her breathe, or digest her food, or moved the blood around her body. The way it made him feel things he was worried he never would; the drop in his gut when he longed to graze his hand over her chest, the sweat that threatened to break through his brow when he imagined pulling himself up on top of her and into her.
He had never been so attracted to someone.
He thought about her constantly; replayed times they had spent together, her sighs and gasps, her laugh, her moan. He couldn't get enough.
He smiled as he watched her lip twitch and she stopped her stretching, sighing in her sleep. He slid his hand up the front of his shirt on her, spreading his fingers delicately across her warm stomach, and then bringing them together and running his palm from one hip to the other, then moving it up alongside the side of her ribs, wrapping his fingers around her side.
"Mmm," she sighed, raising her other arm above her head and stretching again. Patrice pulled his knees up under them, sitting on them like a kid in front of his favorite TV show. He watched her press her butt into his bed and arch her back off of it, furrowing her brow and turning her head towards him. He ran his hands all over her stomach and up between her breasts, tracing her collar bone and wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck, supporting her stretch.
She opened her eyes, smirking at him and his attentiveness and letting a little laugh slip through her finishing stretch.
"God," he breathed. "You're so beautiful, mon amour."
"Patrice!" She laughed, turning her head away from him and holding his hands as they gently formed around her neck. He loved her tendons, the shape of her collarbone, how the width of his hands were the perfect size to hold her chin up and touch her shoulders. "I just woke up," she tried to justify.
"Doesn't matter," he grumbled, leaning forward, still bent on his knees and placing a sweet kiss on her temple.
She giggled.
"I'm all groggy and probably have sleep in my eyes," she laughed, rubbing her eyes, her talented, thin fingers paying close attention to her tear ducts. "Eye schmootz are hardly beautiful," she joked.
"Doesn't matter," he roughly repeated, his mind working on a one way track. He lifted her jaw with his nose and kissed her neck with passion.
A moan escaped her lips, and that was all the permission he needed.
He wrapped a strong arm around her side and pulled her into the middle of the bed, pulling the sheets down her legs and notching his fingers in her underwear, sliding those down to her shins too. She giggled as he bent her legs back and pulled them off of her toes, making both their memories flash back to the night they first slept together and the urgency with which he removed her tights. He was in a similar mind-set now; unstoppable. Patrice Bergeron was a desirous man, and he handled his desires like he handled his obligations: with an relentless thirst for the satisfaction of completing the task and completing it to the best of his ability, with the diligence and learned skill of a professional.
On this morning's list of things to do was to pleasure his girlfriend.
To ride the power of her body beneath his lips and fingertips.
"Patrice," she breathed heavily as his fingers found her. He leaned forward enough for her to reach up and take hold of his face. As she grabbed at his ears and tried to bring him forward on top of her he passionately joined her for a kiss and then eased her back onto the bed, his free hand wrapped around one of her thighs, stroking her lean leg. She obeyed him and lay back into the pillows, her mouth open in pleasure and her eyes clamped shut, breathing his name.
She was in no state to deny him the way he was working his fingers.
"Oh Patrice," she moaned as he lowered his head and kissed between her legs, her hands wringing the sheets in knots on either side of her and her toes curling and legs flexing. Although he wasn't completely sure of what to do with his face between a woman's legs, another stroke of his tongue resulted in the repetition of his name being moaned and a rough seizure of his hair in Jamie's tight grip, a sign that he was catching on just fine.
He decided he would become an expert in this area by the end of the morning.

Jamie didn't even care if she was being un-lady like; she had to collect herself before she could move.
She lay in bed in the same position Patrice had left her in; on her back, her legs spread, her hands resting on either side of her face on the pillows, palms up. His long sleeved shirt was wrapped tightly around her, a direct result of her writing in pleasure. It hitched up under her arms, revealing her lean, tan stomach.
Her heart rate was still slowing.
"Oh my god," she breathed again, only loud enough for her to hear.
She rolled onto her side and swung her knees off the side of the bed, looking into the bathroom to see Patrice bent over the sink, washing his face. He still donned his dark green Polo pajama pants from last night and had still neglected to put on a shirt. She could hardly stand the sight of his smooth belly descending into his pajamas without shivering in want.
She stood and pulled up her black underwear, making her way to the bathroom, and wrapping her arms around his trunk from behind.
He blindly felt for the sink tap and turned the water off, grabbing the towel he had laid out for himself next to the sink and bringing it to his wet face. He held the towel to his face with one hand and reached around his back to secure Jamie as he raised to his full height.
"Liked that, eh?" He asked her, turning around and leaning back on the marble sink. She blushed profusely and wrapped her arms around his middle again, resting her head on his chest and rubbing her cheek into his powerful muscle.
"I've never done that before, y'know," he said, a bit smugly. "I think it went over pretty well," he joked, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding the back of her head to him and kissing her hair.
"It's a shame I find your cockiness so attractive," Jamie laughed, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him.
"Oh you like it, huh?" He asked, leaning forward and wrapping his hands around the back of her thighs. He lifted her up and with a cry of laughter she wrapped her legs around his trunk.
"What, your turn now?" Jamie asked, wrapping her arms around his neck, her elbows leaning on his shoulders as she held his face between her palms and excitedly kissed him.
"I wouldn't say no," he shrugged, carrying her to the bedroom and laying her down on the bed, him right on top of her. She giggled and ran her hands up and down his chest as his phone vibrated on the bedside table. He caught a glimpse of the clock and groaned in French, letting his forehead fall to rest on her shoulder.
"What, mon amour?" She purred, massaging his shoulders and pinching the back of his neck.
"I have to go; morning skate," he grumbled, slinking off the end of the bed and moving toward his dresser, well disciplined. He pulled out a pair of boxer briefs, stepping out of his pajama pants and sliding the grey cotton underwear up his legs. He layered on a pair of athletic shorts and then stepped into some socks and a pair of sneakers.
"You're going to freeze," she objected, rising from the bed and sitting on the edge of it, her legs crossed.
"Nah, Ferry's picking me up," he said as he quickly crossed the room to confirm via the new text. "Nope. I'm picking him up," he said, pocketing the phone and pulling on his Bruins Hockey shirt from last night. He leaned forward on the bed, planting his hands next to Jamie's spot and crashed a kiss into the side of her cheek.
"Let me start you a shower, mon amour," he said, smiling as he turned his face to meet her and kissed her again on the lips and once more as they shared a chuckle.

Patrice crammed another knife full of cream cheese on his plain bagel, lathering it on thick as he heard Jamie move about in his room getting dressed from her shower. He let the bagel gently fall back onto the plate as he cut the other half of his tomato and grabbed another handful of spinach out of the cold bowl of water where he had it cleaning in the sink. He pressed the juicy tomatoes into the cream cheese and layered on the spinach where he'd take a bite, lifted the breakfast concoction to his mouth, and chomped.
"Omh," he groaned, pleased with himself for deciding on a bagel.
"Good?" Jamie chuckled, making her way out of the bedroom and catching his love affair with his breakfast sandwich. She wore skinny jeans and a cashmere camel colored sweater, buttoned fully up the front. He saw her white tank poking out around the bottom of the sweater, and looked to tried and see if he could find her straps underneath the soft camel material.
He couldn't.
Women were so mysterious, sometimes, he concluded.
"So goo," he said, a mouth full of food. She laughed, leaning back on the counter, next to him. She watched him look at his athletic watch, take another bite and nod, as if the motion would help him chew faster.
"I gotta pick up Ferry still," he mumbled, his hand in front of his mouth as he tried to pry the bread from the front of his teeth with his tongue.
"Hey..." Jamie asked, biting her lip as she looked up at him, as if fighting a smile.
"Whu? Wanna bite?" He asked, offering her his bagel. She laughed and politely declined.
"Could I maybe meet you at the Garden after your practice? Maybe we could go out for lunch?"
"Yeah?" He asked, his eyes growing wide and his crooked smile showing.
"Yeah, I dunno... I have an easy work load today," she smiled, shrugging. "And, Emily's moving here by the end of the week, so, we might be kind of crunched on alone time for a little while," she justified. She didn't know why she was so embarrassed in front of a man who had literally kissed every part of her body, but, she felt shy, like a blushing school girl, asking him out to lunch.
"I dunno if I'm allowed in or anything, but, I thought maybe if I were you could show me around and introduce to me to some of the guys," she said, biting her lip.
"It's 'if I WAS allowed in'," he corrected her, holding up a playful finger.
"What?" She asked curiously.
"That was an improper use of the subjunctive," he said, his face breaking into a smile as he pointed at her. "HAH!"
"Oh my god..." she whispered, bringing her hand to her hair. "You're right..." she laughed.
"Yes!" He said, fist pumping and shaking his hips in a celebratory dance. "See? I'm not just some meathead hockey player! I looked that stuff up!" He proudly announced, jabbing his thumb into his chest.
Jamie could not stop laughing at him. She was so in love with him, how bad he was at being bad at something, but also how much he longed to connect with her, to get on her level of academia, how much he desired to be looked upon as an equal in their bilingual battle.
For lack of anything else to do, Jamie cupped his cheeks and brought him down to kiss her.
"You're adorable," she told his lips.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she nodded.
"Adorable enough for you to still take me out to lunch?" He asked, an eyebrow cocked as she released him.
"Yeah," she blushed. "I'm not sure if I'm allowed in, but if I WAS maybe you could show me around..." she said, giving him a playful smirk.
"Yeah; yeah of course, Jamie," he said, laughing in happiness at both her desire to become more involved in his hockey life and his grammar policing. He pulled her in for a half hug and planted another kiss on her cheek. He stepped back and pulled on his hoodie and then his winter coat. He fished for his wallet and thumbed through it.
"Let me just... --for a cab..." he mumbled, counting a wad of ones and fives.
"No, don't be silly!" She said, pushing his wallet away. "I'll find my own way there; there are things like public transportation, you know," she joked.
"The T? Jamie you can't take the T," he said, chugging his glass of water and tipping the glass in the sink full of dirty dishes.
"And why not?"
"I dunno, it's dirty," he complained, shouldering his gym bag and feeling his pockets for his keys.
"Oh, don't be such a prima Dona," she said, pushing him toward the front door. "It's not like I'm making YOU ride it," she winked, hanging on the front door frame as he stepped outside of his apartment.
"Oh, very funny. Be nice to me; I was nice to you this morning!" He sang, waving his keys at her as he turned to make his way downstairs.
"Practice ends at 11:30!" He called up through the stairwell in French. "Just enter on the south side and hit the executive office, I'll tell Greg you're coming!" His voice echoed throughout the building and in her ears.