Page 80 of Hockey Wife

She sawed her body over his fingers, evidently desperate for more friction. “Oh please, oh God, yes. Please.” She was so wet, so hot. So perfect with her pouty bottom lip being dragged by her teeth and her hard nipples poking through the camisole. He had no idea where to look: her body undulating over him, her gorgeous lips parted in ecstasy, her sweet little pussy just begging for his cock.

That bad boy was dying to get in on the action. But this was Georgia’s show—his perfect, sensual peach of a wife. How fucking lucky was he?

But she’s not your wife. She’s here because of some fucked up quid pro quo, not because she wants you.

Yet her body wanted this. Her hot little ass wanted it. Those nipples and her dripping pussy needed it, and while he couldn’t take what he wanted, he was happy to give her the best his fingers could provide.

He circled her clit, spreading moisture, and there it was again—that shiver of pleasure, followed by Georgia’s raspy moan. She hitched back and forth, her movements agitated to the point that she rubbed against his erection. His cock was so damn hard, and that was the last straw—or would be if he didn’t switch her position.

He had a choice: get her on her back, finish her off with his fingers, or pull her over his mouth and get a taste that might keep him going for a while.

His body made the call for him. Shifting down, pulling her forward, spreading her to give his mouth the best possible access. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he was about to cross a line, go to a place from which there was no return.

“Dylan.” His raspy name on her lips was the push he needed. One hand on her sweet ass, the other on her inner thigh, and then heaven. Soft, heated flesh on his tongue, the tang of her like nothing he’d ever tasted. He held her still as he licked inside her, savoring each sweet drop that dripped down his throat. She started to shake. He speared harder with his tongue, then continued in long, languorous licks of her pussy.

She shook more. Moaned his name. Tried to get more friction, but he knew what she needed. His mouth eating her out like the best treat. He licked her little clit, sucked on it, alternating between licking and sucking and tongue-fucking until she came with clenched thighs and something like a squeak.

Of course, his wife’s orgasm sounds would be different than any other woman’s.

Immediately she lifted her body to give him air while she rested her arms on the headboard.

He squeezed her ass. “You okay?”

“No.”

His heart sank. Had he gone too far? Should he have sought further consent to put his tongue inside her like that?

“Georgia, I’m sorry.”

She pulled her leg over and settled at his shoulder with her legs tucked under her body. “For what? Giving me the best orgasm of my life?”

His heart soared. “Maybe?”

“Banks, I’m only mad because I’ve been missing out all these years. I had no idea it could be that good.”

He’d surprised her. Well, of course. No one who knew him would think he had those kinds of skills.

Her face was flushed, her pupils dilated, and her lips—Christ, he wanted to kiss her so badly. She was staring at him, and with the way her chin dipped, he thought that maybe she felt the same way.

She traced a hand over his chest, careful to avoid his bruises. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Her gaze moved down his body to where his dick was saluting the royalty in the room. His wife. He’d just been intimate with his wife.

And it was nowhere near enough. It wasn’t just an ache to be satisfied, his cock inside her, the crushing desire for release—it was more. It was a need for connection. For purpose.

This woman was feeling like his reason for … he didn’t know yet.

Tentatively, he reached for her, knuckles first, a brush against her naked hip.

She didn’t object. She moved her hand down to cup his cock, still encased in his briefs.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“He says hi back.”

A lovely laugh erupted from her as she palmed him with more pressure. “You’ll have to translate for me.”

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