Page 34 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

It's not just about my father's opposition anymore—it’s about losing myself in his gravitational pull on me and figuring out if it’ll work. It’s been there since his smirk first caught my eye since his jokes made me laugh despite the voice in my head screaming caution.

His hands move slowly up my back, careful and deliberate, as if he knows just how close I am to the edge. His touch is saying all the things we’re not voicing, all the risks we’re taking by being together in this dimly lit SUV.

"Rory," Wells breathes out, breaking the kiss for a moment, and it’s like he’s said my name for the first time. My heart feels too big for my chest, threatening to betray how deep I am in this.

This was supposed to be a one-night stand. Not a secret getaway in Chicago to come see him.

My father will kill me.

The whole Montreal Blizzard team will murder me.

I can’t find an ounce of rationality to stop me from doing this.

"We’re playing with fire, you know that?” I whisper, tracing his jawline, willing my hands to memorize every angle.

He smirks up at me, that boyish grin that's both wicked and inviting. “Best kind of game there is, Snowflake."

He’s fearless, unapologetic, and freaking exhilarating.

I like that about him.

I really like that about him.

"This is going to end badly," I mutter, a realistic voice in my head attempting to rival the pull of my heart. Images of Dad's disapproving glare flash before me.

If we ever went public, we wouldn't just rock the boat; we’d flip the damn thing.

"Maybe," he concedes with a nod, acknowledging the weight of the truth in my words. "But doesn’t something about this feel worth the risk?"

It does.

And his question hooks me in deeper. Because he's right. There's something in how he holds me, a certainty that pierces through the chaos. A hope that even though it’s wrong, we might be able to be happy.

Without another word, he leans up, bringing us face-to-face. His nose brushes against mine, and I close the gap, surrendering to the sheer need that I want him.

Plain and simple.

His hands tighten on my waist, locking me to him as if we're a single entity—and for the briefest moments, we are. The world outside, with its rules and rivalries, fades to a distant buzz. In the sanctuary of Wells' arms, I find a freedom I didn't know I was seeking.

The kiss deepens, and my fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer—if that's even possible. The urgency builds a silent crescendo that drowns out my doubts. I’m here now with him, and our collision course seems less like impending doom and more like destiny.

He slides my panties over, and his fingers brush against my wetness. I moan for him, which causes those digits to thrust into me as he begins pumping them in and out.

“Ride my hand, baby,” he muses, biting my lower lip. “And then when we get to your hotel room, I’ll show you—”

“Do it now,” I plead needily, and I feel zero shame in how it came out. “Let me ride your cock, Wells. I need it.”

“That’s what I want to hear. You ready for it?” he presses cockily, and if he were anyone else, I’d stop this shit right here. But I know he needs to hear it. I know he needs the security in me that I need in him- that we’re in this together amidst everyone else.

I fumble with his jeans in silent response, and he springs out hard and ready for me seconds later. Stroking him once, Wells responds by thrusting his tongue inside my mouth. He tastes so good.

Quickly, I position him to descend his length, and Wells removes his fingers. I’m quick to act to get what I need. His cock fills me to the hilt, and I throw my head back in pleasure because I need this like I need air.

Wells grounds his hands on my hips as I ride him. Our grunts and moans fill the small space of the SUV. The movie is still playing in the background as car doors slam shut.

I don’t care about anyone seeing us.

I have to have a moment to break apart with Wells because the attraction is that strong.

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