Page 57 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

Nothing about that scares me, though. I welcome it. Want it. Crave it.

Crave her.

Propped over her on one hand, I line myself up with her opening, looking at her face as I ease inside her. She’s so tight, even as aroused as she is, and I want to make sure I don’t hurt her. But the look on her face when she meets my eyes is all pleasure. Slowly, I sink inside her an inch at a time, and her mouth drops open on a gasp, her hips lifting to encourage me inside as deeply as possible.

I set up a slow pace, keeping a close eye on her to see if I’m giving her what she needs. She feels amazing, and I know I won’t have any trouble coming when I’m ready, but I want to make sure we both enjoy this. I want to feel her pussy pulsing on my cock the same way I felt it pulse on my tongue. My mouth waters at the thought of feeling her pulse on my tongue again.

Soon, I tell myself. I’ll taste her again soon. Tonight. Tomorrow. But definitely within the next twenty-four hours.

She brings her knees up to hug my hips, her feet sliding around to my calves, and she uses her leverage to meet my thrusts, and even if she feels good, I can tell it’s nowhere near enough.

“Tell me what you need,” I whisper, dropping a kiss on her soft, pink lips.

A hint of a smile crosses her face and she gives a bare shake of her head. “Just this. Just you.”

I accept that answer—for now. Sliding my hands beneath her shoulders, I gather her close, because I think that’s what she wants the most at this moment. Touch. Contact. Connection. But I keep my pace as slow as I can manage because I know this’ll be over too fast for either of us if I speed up now, no matter how much I want to.

Her arms wrap around me, and she drags her fingertips up and down the muscles of my back, her palms flattening as they slide down, her fingers reaching for my ass. Her fingertips just reach the swell of my ass, and she digs them in, urging me on, and I can’t hold back anymore.

But I know this angle isn’t doing much for her, so I reach down and hook my fingers behind her thigh, bringing her leg up, tilting her hips back, and grinding down into her. She lets out a gratifying gasp, her fingers spasming where they still dig into my flesh, so I do it again. This time she makes a strangled, “Ungh!” sound, so I ease up a little, not driving into her quite as hard.

“Oh fuck!” she whispers into my shoulder as I keep going, faster now, and her pussy flutters around my cock, the first precursor of her orgasm.

When her hand slips between us, sliding between our bodies, I lift up, giving her room to take care of herself. “Fuck, yes,” I hiss, watching her fingers move frantically over her clit. Filthy encouragement falls from my lips, and I barely know what I’m saying, just needing to convey that I like watching her give herself what she needs, want to know how she touches herself, how she likes to be touched. The sight of my cock moving in and out of her while she touches herself is so hot, I about lose control right here and now.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I manage to hold back. She’s getting close, I can tell, and I don’t want to finish before she does and ruin her orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” she pants, and I open my eyes to refocus on her face. She has her eyes closed, her back arched, head pressing into the pillow, and her free hand tangled in the pillowcase. “Jesus. Troy. Please. Fuck. Don’t. Stop.” Each word comes out on its own panting breath. And if any part of me wanted to stop—which it doesn’t—I couldn’t possibly manage it while she’s begging like that.

I plunge into her again and again, giving her exactly what she’s asking for, no change in pace or pressure as far as I’m able.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!”

On the last syllable she comes, her pussy clenching around my cock, and my orgasm rips through me, impossible to hold back any longer.

After I finish, I collapse to the side so I don’t crush her, pulling her with me, and we both lie there panting for some indeterminate amount of time that feels like forever and no time at all. I feel like I could stay here forever, though. If she’d let me.

“That was …” she starts after a moment, trailing off.

“Yeah,” I agree. Because I can’t find the words either. It was … amazing. Mind-altering.

When I catch my breath, I dispose of the condom and wash my hands, grinning when I return to find her still splayed on the bed in the same position I left her in. She turns her head my way at the sound of my chuckle, giving me a crooked grin. “It’s not nice to laugh at me,” she chides. “Especially when I’m still naked.”

“I’m not laughing at the fact you’re naked,” I murmur, climbing back into the bed and kissing her.”And I’m not even laughing at you, really. It’s more pleasure at leaving you so well fucked you can’t even move.”

“Well, I can move,” she protests. “It’s just that I don’t particularly want to.”

“Mmhmm. Same thing.”

She chuckles too, but snuggles closer, and as amazing as the sex is, I think I like this part just as much, if not more. This connection. This … vibe between us that only seems to be growing stronger the more time we spend together. This is what I’ve been craving for so long, without even fully realizing it. It’s the nameless ache that’s been plaguing me for the last few years, especially when I spend time with Nick and his family. It’s always seemed like an impossible dream for me, though, given my luck with relationships. Nick and Tina got together before he made it big. She’s supported his career the whole time and would’ve even if he’d never gone pro. Me? I didn’t find that in college like Nick did. And it’s hard to tell if someone actually wants to be with me or if they just want the wives and girlfriends privileges of dating a professional athlete. Some guys love the attention from women whose whole personality is bagging a hockey player—take Dozer, for instance. And good for them. If everyone’s getting what they want, and they’re all on the same page, I don’t have a problem with it. But it’s never been what I’ve wanted. It’s always felt too superficial, especially growing up with my parents as an example and with friends like Nick and Tina.

With Anna? It seems like it might not be so far-fetched of an idea after all. Maybe retiring from hockey will be the best decision I’ve ever made, even though the thought of never lacing up my skates and taking the ice with my teammates again still seizes the breath in my lungs if I think about it too long. Intellectually, I always knew this day would come. And the last few years, I’ve watched it approach. But now that it’s here, it’s different. Easier than I thought in some ways, but harder in others, and it hasn’t fully sunk in yet since it’s the off-season. I feel like it’ll really hit me when it’s time for Nick and Dozer and everyone else to head back for training camp, and I’ll be sitting back and watching for the first time ever with no expectation that I’ll join them once I finish rehabbing an injury.

I think I need to figure out something to do with myself before then, or find some kind of distraction, so that I’m busy when training camp starts rather than sitting alone in my apartment feeling sorry for myself.

And maybe it’s early to be thinking this far ahead, but I feel like having Anna come visit—or me visiting her—would be the perfect thing to keep me occupied.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

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