Page 24 of Power Pucking Play

I nod, putting on my shirt and grabbing my bag. “Sure. Whatever floats your boat.”

She closes her notebook with a snap, and this time, her hazel eyes lift to stare steadily back at me. "You know what would help me sleep at night, Mr. De Luca?"

"And what would that be, Miss Brookes?"

"If you would take my questions seriously, and stop trying to find an angle to make me uncomfortable."

I laugh, the sound echoing quietly off the white locker room walls. "Oh, I don't have to find angles to make you uncomfortable, Miss Brookes. You're capable of doing that all on your own."

"And why would you think that?"

"Because you know more up-and-close details about my, uh, ‘romance angle’ than most anyone else..."

I watch her reaction. The blush deepens, and my memories brush over that particular night.

How hard I made her come. The way she gasped my name, our breaths mingling in the heated haze of passion.

It was supposed to just be a fling, a distraction in the midst of chaos. But now those memories play in my mind like a favorite song stuck on repeat. Even if I keep pushing them out.

I lean against the cool metal of the locker, the swirling memories pulling me back to that reckless, intoxicating night.

That night, she was everything.

Responsive. Vocal. Utterly captivating as we spiraled into one another.

I remember the heat of her skin, slick and warm beneath my tongue. I remember how she couldn't muffle her cries that filled the room.

The moment she'd come alive beneath me, eyes wide and brilliant, every tremor and gasp echoing my own thrill of conquest.

Her taste...

Hell, I'll never forget it. Addictive as hell. Just like the woman who climaxed all over my tongue.

Then came the second act, when I slid the condom on and lifted her shapely legs over my shoulders.

Her pussy welcomed me, clenching fiercely as I thrust deep, losing myself to the blissful chaos.

The way her breasts quivered, mesmerizing in their movement, as she shattered around me—uninhibited, passionate—is a vision that refuses to fade from my mind.

It's a dangerous game, this dance with memory and desire.

The sensation of Lexi's warm walls tightening around me. The sight of her flushed skin. Those perfect breasts swaying with every thrust.

Each moment seems somehow embedded in my soul.

Even now, I can feel her warmth enveloping me, a haunting reminder of the connection we only shared for one night. It’s a song that I've been thinking about playing again. Even though I know I shouldn't.

Snapped from my musings, I glance up just as Lexi sighs heavily—her frustration evident on her pretty face, and I realize this interview isn’t just about capturing the essence of my life.

It’s a battleground where I can push her buttons and regain control. As a sports journalist, Lexi Brookes has almost always had the upper hand.

But this time, I’m not playing her game. She's playing mine.

“Tell me, Lexi,” I lean closer, lowering my voice slightly, “do those personal details include what happened that night, or is that just for your own personal archives?”

The corners of my mouth twitch upward as I see her defensiveness rise.

Closing her notebook, Lexi stands abruptly. “You know what, Mr. De Luca? I think that's enough for this segment of the interview. Why don't we take a break and come back to this later?”

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