Page 135 of Rinkmates

I imagine his hand moving up and down his cock and a streak of electricity flares through me.

Puckster: This is what you do to me.

I don’t respond, instead, I’m listening to the rasp in his voice again and the wet flapping in the background again. Every partof me tingles when he moans for me, and I can’t resist slipping my hand into my panties, fingers working quickly over my clit as I crave that friction. Shit. This feels so good.

My phone buzzes again.

Puckster: Tell me, baby, are you touching yourself and thinking about me? That picture was so sexy, I’m so turned on right now.

I bite my lip, feeling a surge of pure thrill at his words. With one hand still pleasuring myself, I quickly type back a response with the other. “I’m touching myself while listening to those hot sounds you make. I’m so ready for you.”

But then my phone rings.

My heart races with nerves as I pick up, not sure if I’m ready for this but also unable to resist his deep voice begging for more. I’ve never had phone sex before. “Lia,” he growls, and I press my fingers harder against my clit. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

As he speaks, I hear that familiar sound again—the sound of him working himself over the phone. The intensity of it almost pushes me over the edge just from imagining it alone. I run my hand over my thigh, picturing it’s him, and then I go back to my clit. I wish he could be here and watch me. I wish he could see how much I’m loving this.

“I have my fingers on my pussy. I’m so warm, and soaking wet, Ri.”

“Are you petting it?” he croaks, his voice rough and strained.

“Yes,” I breathe.

A groan rumbles through my phone, it sounds like it came deep from his chest.

“I want to taste you. You taste so fucking good. I can’t stop thinking about my tongue on your pussy.” I can’t stop thinking about it too.

He moans again and my fingertips graze over my clit, swollen and throbbing. I can’t resist the urge to move my hips, grinding against my hand as I trace tight circles over my sensitive nub. I slid a finger into my pussy, gasping as I feel the warm, slick walls clench around me. In and out, in and out, matching the rhythm of his raspy voice in my head. My eyes flutter shut as I lose myself.

His breath hitches on the other end of the line. “Fuck, Lia. Tell me how wet you are for me.”

A flush creeps up my cheeks but I whisper, “So wet, Ri. I wish you were here to feel how wet you make me.”

He groans loudly at that, the sound sending a new wave through me. My fingers move faster now, rubbing tight. I imagine it’s Riley touching me, his strong hands knowing just how to play my body.

“I’m close,” I say.

“I’m there with you, baby,” he says, and I hear him pleasuring himself. I imagine his muscles tightening, how his hand moves fast over his pulsating cock, how he spills his cum. Oh my god. “I want to feel your mouth on my cock so bad.”

“I’d love to swallow your dick, Ri,” I say. “I can’t wait to kiss that cock of yours.”

“Say my name again.”

“Riley,” I say, and our heated moans mingle through the phone line as we both come so fucking hard.

I can’t wait for him to come home. Even though we won’t have much time together with the Stanley Cup game and my show coming up in three days, I really miss him.

I can’t believethe finals are starting in three hours. I’m a nervous wreck. I don’t want to bother Riley because he has the Stanley Cup final tonight, of course it has to be the same night as my show’s final. I wanted to see it so badly, and knowing we can’t be there to support each other just makes my nerves even more on edge. So I FaceTimed Rory.

He and Mom always manage to calm me down, and I know my little guy is watching every show. We FaceTime regularly, but since he’s only five, Trish, his Gran, told me he gets so upset every time we hang up that we agreed to limit calls to once a week. But we’ll finally get to live our lives together. It hurts like crazy that I can’t just hug him every other minute like I want to. I know Rory is hurting even more, especially since I understand how much mothers mean to their kids. That’s why I call my mom next.

She’s my best friend, and I need her right now—not just to ease my nerves before the show, but for some advice on the Riley situation.

I sit on a couch, chatting with her in Hungarian as Ivan stands guard nearby, keeping everyone at a distance. I take a deep breath, my fingers absently playing with the frayed edge of the cushion.

“I don’t know what to do, Mom. What if, in a few months, Riley thinks that I was his greatest mistake?”

It will crush me.

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