Page 92 of Hockey Wife

She rubbed her nose against his and he took it for the invitation it was: another deep, tongue-tangling kiss. She bowed her back, seeking more of that lovely friction. His mouth, his fingers, that mat of chest hair against her nipples.

His cock pulsed in her hands. She stroked again, harder, just how he liked it. She wanted to know everything he liked, not just this one, tiny—or big—thing. She wanted to know her husband.

“Is this good?” She cupped his cock and moved her palm up and down, squeezing at the base then again at the head.

His lips parted. “So good.” One thick, callused finger glanced her clit and she almost exploded. Her body rose again, crashing into his.

“Dylan—oh God, yes. Yes.”

More kisses, his fingers inside her now, getting her ready. Her hand was coated with his pre-come and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His panting sped up, as did hers, and a coil of tightness built in her core. She tensed as sensation rocked through her, that sweet flood of pressure finding an outlet.

Riding his fingers, she arched again, seeking his mouth, loving it with her own. He continued to rub, gentler now but no less inflaming. Then his hand was gone, taking over where hers had stopped, back on his cock.

He watched her carefully as he stroked, and it took a moment for her to realize what was happening.

“You don’t want to be inside me?”

He closed his eyes, halted his stroke, and opened them again.

“You got hit with a fucking puck tonight.”

“Right. And now I want to be hit with your fucking cock.”

He squinted and she shook her head, laughing softly. “Sorry, that came out weird.”

“Kind of.”

“But the sentiment is the same. Don’t treat me like a fragile doll. I can handle you, Banks.”

To prove she meant business, she pushed his hand away and took over the job of pleasing him. Her job. A wife’s duty, but one she was happy to fulfill.

“Georgia,” he gutted out. “Not sure I can be inside you and not want to roar like a rutting beast.”

He was worried about his family in the rooms beyond. Maybe about his shoulder injury, too, though he’d never admit it.

“We can be quiet. Just slip inside me and lose yourself.” When he still hesitated, she moaned, “please.”

He leaned back and yanked at the drawer, extracted a condom, tore it open. She released him long enough for him to suit up, then stroked the gorgeous length of him and guided him to her entrance.

“You sure?”

She loved that he was checking in. That he still had the brain cells to do it.

She planned to leave him with none by the end of this.

“Yes. Fuck me, Banks.”

He was big and she was tight, and as he inched his way in, she tried to relax enough to take him fully. Holding his face, she pressed her lips to his, ready to take his groans and keep them inside her.

“Jesus, Peaches, you—fuck, you feel good.”

She threw her leg over his hip and pulled him into her. Slowly he rocked, in and out, finding a rhythm that filled the hollow ache and turned everything soft and golden. And all the time, his eyes never left hers, those deep brown pools of desire.

He gripped her ass and plumped it, holding her tight and still while he moved inside her. Each thrust found new nerves, new ways to stoke the flames. She didn’t expect to come. This was for him, but the sensation was building again, and suddenly it was for them. He moaned, so she kissed him, her rutting beast.

He withdrew a couple of inches, and they instinctively looked down to where their bodies connected. The sight of him, huge, slick with her, as he plunged made her pussy contract.

“Georgia!”

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