Page 10 of A Major Puck Up

Not that I could perform right now if I tried. The man has me strung up. His tongue moves over my clit, achingly slow, like he’s savoring every moment with me, and god, is it unbelievably hot.

Another thing I didn’t plan on.

I figured that I’d have to kind of grin and bear it when I seduced him. Not because he isn’t good-looking. The man is gorgeous. And I chose him because he had a nice smile. That was the thing I noticed each time I saw him in photos with my father.

According to my dad, he’s the funny one. The fun one. The playboy of the group. Figured he was an ideal choice because, let’s be honest, it’d be nice if my first time didn’t suck. I’ve heard stories from friends who said most boys couldn’t even find their clit, let alone their G-spot.

But holy hell, Gavin sure knows his way around the female anatomy, and he’s hitting me right where it counts.

“Holy shit, that is…” I lose my words as he adds a finger and curls it upward. How in God’s name is he doing that? I feel…I can’t form a coherent thought. I blink a few times, hoping to ground myself. I’m supposed to be seducing him, not the other way around. “Gavin, please,” I beg, clamping my thighs down on his hand.

With a low chuckle, he nudges my thighs apart with his shoulders and holds them wide open. His dark eyes are molten as he watches me from between my legs. The sight is absolutely sinful. He’s still seated on his barstool, still in his crisp white button-down. Though he’s rolled his sleeves, and holy forearm porn, is that hot.

He splays one large hand across my bare leg, squeezing and kneading my flesh. “Need something, Peaches?”

Damn, I love that nickname. And I love that he has no idea who I am. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off at first, despite going with contacts instead of the big black-framed glasses I normally wear and styling my hair in loose waves instead of the bouncy, adorable natural curls.

Yes, on a regular day, I look like a sixteen-year-old Shirley Temple. I’m constantly carded, and for a long time, I was teased by the girls who pretended to be my friends because they were obsessed with my hockey star brother. Or my music executive father. Take your pick. Even now, people use me based on what they want. And honestly, for most of my life, I’ve let them, if only because it meant I’d be included.

Once my other brother started dating Lake, the hangers-on really came out of the woodwork. Suddenly, all of my supposed friends wanted to know if I could get them tickets to concerts. The students in my music program begged me to give her their demos or ask her to come to events on campus so she could listen to them.

Never mind how Lake’s appearance in my life only cast a bigger shadow over me and the music I was writing. Not that I ever told my family or Lake about my music.

Then, when Lake dumped my brother and started dating my dad, the comments and the way people treated me got vicious.

Right now, though, the last thing I should be focusing on is the way I lost my so-called friends left and right. Suddenly, everyone had a comment about my life. About my father. About me.

Tonight I’ve pushed aside that mousy girl who’s always hidden behind the scenes, watching life pass her by. I straightened my hair, then curled it into long waves. I traded my glasses for contacts, covered my freckles with foundation, and stained my lips a deep cranberry. The makeup and the dress both help me look my age, if not older, rather than like a starry-eyed teenager. But it’s the attitude that I think makes the most difference. I’ve finally stopped giving a damn. Or at least I’m giving the impression that I have.

I figured Gavin wouldn’t recognize me. He and my father are good friends, but their friendship has always revolved around meeting for drinks, and since my brother is a hockey superstar, it’s safe to say he comes up in conversation far more than me. He doesn’t come to family parties, nor was he around when I was growing up.

Right now, though, every ounce of his attention belongs to me, and damn if it isn’t going to my head.

To have a man as powerful, good-looking, entertaining, and charismatic—a man who, by all accounts, is the center of attention everywhere he goes—pay to have the bar cleared so he can have me to himself? That is going to my head.

The way he’s making me feel, though, can’t be normal. It’s like I’m about to come out of my skin, like I’m slightly ticklish but also euphoric. Is that—oh god—is that what an orgasm is? Am I?—

“I think—” I pant, gasping for air. “I think I’m coming.”

Gavin doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow. Eyes hooded, he watches me come apart beneath his fingertips. He wrings pleasure from me, and just as I’m balancing on the precipice, he leans down and sucks on my clit.

I thrash against the bar, hands splayed against the slick surface, unable to control myself. Head whipping from side to side and my body taking over, I kick him back, sending him hurtling toward the floor.

“Shit!” Gavin coughs out a laugh. “That’s a first.”

I scramble upright and find him sitting on the floor, his head hanging and his elbows on his knees.

Mortified, I grasp at the fabric of my skirt and tug to cover myself. “I’m so sorry.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He’s probably seconds away from hauling himself up and walking out.

My first male-induced orgasm—maybe my first ever orgasm—and I kicked him in the freaking stomach. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you okay?” I jump off the bar and land with a thud beside him.

Gavin makes a wheezing sound in response. My heart drops, and I cover my mouth, mortified. But when he tips his head back, his brown eyes dance with humor and his lips are pulled into a full smile.

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