Page 51 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

Her eyes spread wide. I smile devilishly, slowly pumping my fingers into her heat, slow and steady, enjoying her little gasps and her eyes rolling. I make two fingers three, press a thumb against her clit, pumping and pressuring. She bites her lower lip,one hand clamping my shoulder and then she lets out the long moan.

“Oh godddd.” Her body trembles as I finger her through orgasm. When the waves stop, she sits up, pulls her panties down the rest of the way, then grabs my belt. I say nothing as she pulls down the zipper and wraps her hand around the length of my cock.

“Yeah, I want you inside me.” Her eyes flare with a heat that melts me into hot sticky glue.

Heat travels down my spine, red hot and spicy as she races straight to my cock, making it throb. Holly smiles and turns around, dropping down to her hands and knees to show me the most glorious piece of ass. She glances back over her shoulder.

“Ethan?”

“I want to be inside you, too,” I confess as I cup her ass cheek, grazing a finger down the perfect crack and over the anus until I’m back at the dripping heat, pressing against it. She gasps, clenching my finger.

I’m squirming, desperate to be inside her right now. I grab my cock, place it against her raised core and push in. She’s slick with wetness but still holds me firm.

“You’re so tight.” My hands wrap around her hips as I push in deeper. “So perfect.”

Her head drops as she wiggles back into me. “Please fuck me,” she whimpers.

The words fuel me. Now that I’m inside her, I want to claim her, lay a claim that no one else can reach. I push my hips with a new determination. The sounds of my thighs slapping her ass fills the air, mixing with our moans as I drive my cock deep inside her—again and again. Each time I slide through walls of hot, sweet flesh that wrap around me, I can feel both our orgasms building.

It feels like I’m connected to her in every way—body and soul and I can only show her by taking her with a mad fervor. She’s wild, too, arching to give me more of herself, turning around to show me every reaction to the pleasure crossing her face. We move together, groaning and gasping, rocking as if we are one body.

“I’m gonna come again,” she growls. “Ethan, I’m coming?—”

The rest of the words are lost in a deep screech that makes me glad the next house is half a mile away. Her orgasm crashes on us in pulsing waves that sends her trembling and she squeezes me, trapping me in to experience all of the spasms with her.

I barely hold on for ten seconds before I’m groaning, jerking my hips into her as hot wet seismic waves wash over me. I fall on top of her on the couch. She chuckles and I smile, wrapping an arm around her. I let myself feel her. Her presence, her warm breath on my cheek, the feeling of satedness wrapping both of us in a tight cocoon.

All of my troubles fade whenever I look in those big brown eyes.

She’s myget-out-of-jail-freecard.

16

HOLLY

The smellof pancakes hits before anything else. It drifts through the air like a warm hug, wrapping around the edges of sleep and dragging me into consciousness. Not exactly the worst way to wake up. There’s a brief moment of confusion—because when did breakfast start cooking itself? Then the unmistakable sound of pans clattering in the kitchen makes everything click.

Ethan.

Sliding out of bed, I peek down the hall, half expecting to find the kitchen on fire. Instead, there he is, standing over the stove, completely absorbed in flipping pancakes, looking all relaxed in a gray hoodie, soft hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed, which, let’s be real, he probably did. We went at it late into the night and I wonder where he found the energy for this.

He looks perfect doing it as well. I swear, if anyone ever said"bad boys don't cook,"they clearly haven’t met Mr. Carter. He’s focused, too—with the same intensity he takes to the ice.

The counter is an explosion of ingredients. Flour dusts the edge of the countertop, and there’s an entire stack of butter cubes next to a bottle of syrup that’s practically glowing with promise. Everything about this scene screams domestic bliss,which is weird. But the good kind of weird. Like, who knew brooding hockey stars made pancakes at 7:00 AM?

“You made breakfast?” Words slip out before I can stop them. It's a dumb question, but honestly, I’m floored.

Ethan glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly—just enough to make my heart do that annoying flutter thing. “What gave it away? The smell or the sight?”

Okay, Mr. Sass.I see you.

“Both,” I say, sliding into a chair at the table, pretending like my knees aren’t turning into jelly at the sight of him looking like some sort of domestic god. “You’re full of surprises today.”

He just shrugs, turning back to his pan. “Don’t get used to it. I don’t do carbs like this often.” His tone is all nonchalant, but there’s something softer in the way he moves. Something careful. Deliberate.

Oh, and did I mention he’s makingpancakes? The guy who has protein shakes for breakfast like it’s an Olympic event is making freaking pancakes. Forme. I’m not gonna lie, it’s a bit of a power move, and yeah, it's working.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing toward the table. “Breakfast’s almost ready.”

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