Page 32 of Pucking Amazing

“Who says it’s a routine? Maybe I’m just enraptured by your devastating wit and beauty.” His tone is light and flirty, but there’s an underlying sincerity in his eyes that makes my breath catch.

We move together effortlessly as the song builds, DJ’s strong arms guiding me. My body relaxes into his, letting the rest of the room fall away.

The song ends and DJ draws me in, his face just inches from mine. For a breathless moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, right here in front of all our coworkers.

I’m unable to move, my heart thundering with anticipation.

Suddenly Tyler is here, and DJ and I both turn to him. It looks like he wants to cut in, a flicker of uncertainty on his handsome face.

Then a reckless look crosses his features and before I know it, I’m sandwiched between Tyler and DJ, their hard bodies moving in perfect sync as the pulsing beat surrounds us.

Holy hell, is this really happening?

My head swims, the heat of the crowded dance floor nothing compared to the fire igniting between the three of us, hands and hips brushing in a tantalizing promise of what could be. I lose myself in the music, letting go of my inhibitions as I grind back against Tyler.

His strong hands grip my waist possessively, pulling me flush against him.

In front of me, DJ is all sinful hips and wicked grins, his dark eyes blazing with raw desire as he gazes at me. I can sense his hardness through our clothes, and he's not making any effort to conceal it.

He moves closer, pressing his body against mine, and my breath hitches at the contact. The intensity of the situation makes my head spin—a delicious dizziness fueled by the combination of DJ’s allure and Tyler’s strong presence behind me.

DJ leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “We’re not playing fair, are we?” His voice is a tantalizing mix of temptation and tease.

I manage to stammer out a reply, my voice barely above the music. “Who said anything about fair?”

Tyler’s hands tighten slightly on my hips, his breath warm against the back of my neck. The air between us is electric, the heady thrill of being desired by these two gorgeous men too powerful to resist.

I’m drunk on their touch, dizzy with arousal.

Part of me can’t believe I’m doing this, dancing with not just one but two professional hockey players on the team I work for, right in front of everyone I work with. But that part of me is drowned out by the rumble of DJ’s voice as he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“Mmm, you like being in the middle of a Tyler-DJ sandwich, don’t you babe?” he purrs, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

I bite my lip to stifle a moan, my core clenching at the dark promise in his words. Behind me, Tyler growls, his fingers digging into my hips. I can feel exactly what our dancing is doing to him.

Knowing I’m driving them both wild is a heady rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

It’s only when the band switches over to a slower song and the floor empties except for swaying couples that I’m finally hit with the reality of what we’re doing, realizing how visible we’ve become now that we aren’t surrounded by bodies.

Shocked at my own behavior, I mumble an excuse about needing the restroom as I practically sprint off the dance floor.

I burst into the blessedly empty bathroom, my chest heaving as I lean back against the cool tile wall. Closing my eyes, I try to calm my racing heart, to quell the ache of arousal pulsing between my thighs.

I stagger to the sinks and splash some cold water on my flushed cheeks, but it does little to extinguish the fire DJ and Tyler ignited inside me. The door suddenly swings open and I whirl around, only to meet the knowing eyes of Emma.

I flush crimson as Emma takes in my disheveled appearance, her eyebrows raising.

“Wow, Sydney, you look like you got hit by a hurricane,” Emma quips, shaking her head. “A tall, dark and handsome hurricane. Or two.”

Her eyes dance with mirth and maybe a hint of sympathy at my guilty, deer-in-headlights expression. She saunters over to use the mirror next to me, pulling out her lip gloss.

“What? No, I was just, um...” I stammer lamely, my mind scrambling for an excuse and coming up blank. “Fixing my hair! You know how hot it gets on the dance floor at events like this...”

“Mm-hmm, I’m sure there was a lot of steam out there, alright,” Emma jokes, her voice dripping with innuendo. “Careful, or you might fog up the mirrors.”

She winks suggestively.

My cheeks burn even hotter. Emma’s no fool—she clearly saw right through my terrible attempt at a cover story. Her eyes are all-knowing as she gives me a final pointed look.

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