Page 77 of Good Boy

“Cheezus!” he spits out. “If I don’t fuck you right now, I’m gonna die, Jessie.”

I laugh hard enough to shake the mattress, but the poor man doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer. Too busy stroking his cock as he sheathes himself. Too busy guiding that huge dick to my entrance and falling forward onto one elbow.

The penetration is swift. One second I’m achingly empty, and the next I’m deliciously full. Blake moans against my neck and drives his hips forward. Then he retreats, a slow, torturous withdrawal until only his tip is inside me, an unbearable tease. My inner muscles clamp tight, trying to draw him in again, but he stays in that position for a moment, his gaze locking with mine.

“This is nice,” he says solemnly.

I swallow. “Would be nicer if you moved.”

“In a minute.” He brings his hand to my face and strokes it gently. “I’m enjoying this. Your cheeks are bright red. So are your tits.” He ducks his head and kisses one breast. “You’re so hot when you’re turned on.”

I grasp his ass and dig my fingers into the taut flesh, trying to push him deeper inside, but his body is unyielding. The Great Wall of Blake ain’t moving until he says so.

“Will you say my name when you come?” Warm, wet lips skate up my throat before hovering inches from my mouth. “Shout it if you can. It’ll make me crazy.”

Another laugh pops out. “Dude. I can’t control what I say during orgasm. It’s mostly gibberish.”

He kisses me, his tongue toying with mine until we’re both breathless. “You’ll say my name,” he murmurs, and I don’t know if that’s another question or him just stating a fact, but either way, I don’t have the mental capacity to decode it because he’s moving again.

God, he’s moving. Slow, deep strokes. So fucking slow. Unbearably slow.

“Damn it, Blake, fuck me,” I beg.

“Mmm” is all he says, and the lazy tempo continues.

My body screams for relief. Every square inch of skin is tight and prickly, and the pressure between my legs is one hard thrust away from detonating. But Blake is determined to torture me. His hips move at a snail’s pace, his expression not unlike the way he looks on the ice—sharp focus and a predatory gleam.

“You close?” His voice holds a taunting note, his lips curved in a slight smirk.

“You know I am,” I say desperately. I buck my hips, but that just makes him stop moving. Frustration streaks through me. “Please.”

“Please what?” He teases my nipple with rough fingertips.

“Please let me come.”

“Please let me come what?”

Confusion rises for a moment until I realize what he wants. “Please, Blake. Please let me come, Blake.”

A huge grin stretches across his face. “Okey-dokey.”

And then he thrusts into me so fast and deep that my lungs seize up. The punishing stroke rips the orgasm out of me. I gasp for air as a burst of ecstasy rocks into me like a shock wave. I hear things. I think it’s my voice. I think…yup, I’m moaning Blake’s name, over and over again. And I think he might be chuckling as he fucks me into oblivion.

But any amusement he might have felt disappears the moment he starts trembling on top of me. I’m no longer embarrassed about chanting his name like a meditation mantra, because when he comes, it’s with a hoarse, passion-drenched “Jess!” that echoes in the bedroom and vibrates in my heart.

***

Blake

Holy shitballs.

That wasn’t sex.

That was…something else entirely.

My chest is heaving as if I’ve just finished a four-minute shift on the ice. During a power play.

I collapse on top of Jess, the aftershocks of release still surging through my blood, tingling in my balls. Then I realize I’m crushing her, and I roll us both over so her soft, curvy body is sprawled over me like an electric blanket.

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