Page 45 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Jesus, Sammy,” I snap, realizing I’m breathing hard. “Sometimes, you just have to go for what you want, and ask for forgiveness later!”

Three things happen in very quick succession. First, his eyes dart down to my lips. Second, his hands move, one to my lower back, and the other sliding up into my hair.

And third, Sammy Braun backs me up into the wall and brings his mouth to mine like I’ve just given him an order he wouldn’t even think to disobey.

Sammy

Every second that passes with Finn in my arms, I think she’s going to pull back.

I’m not sure what would happen at that point. Maybe she would wipe the back of her hand over her mouth and say something like, “That. Yes—dothatwith Harper.”

But don’t want to do this with Harper, I think, swallowing Finn’s gasp, relishing the feel of her body finally,finallymelting in my arms. I want to do this with Finn, and I never want to stop.

Maybe she’d pull back, look me up and down, then give me five specific pointers on how to kiss her better. How to optimize the way I give her pleasure.

For some reason, that thought goes straight to my cock. The idea of Finn bossing me around, telling me exactly what to do for her—it makes me impossibly hard, and I have to fight not to press against her, to show her how excited I am for her.

Of course, another option is that she could pull back and bury her knee between my legs. There’s no doubt in my mind that Finn has taken self-defense classes, that she might be able to leverage my own body weight against me and get me on the floor.

Instead, she tips her head up, and I slip my tongue into her mouth, groaning at the sensation there, the taste of her. Kissing Finn feels like dunking my head in a chocolate fountain, eyes and mouth and nose filling up with something too sweet to bear—too rich to swallow all at once.

There are several voices in my head. One says that this is a terrible idea. Another says that I need to shut up and commit the feeling of this woman to memory. And yet another says something louder than the rest: Your key card is in your left pocket.

When the security pad on my door clicks and blinks green, Finn shifts, moving with me as I back her into my room. This ishappening.

Finn is in my hands. Against my mouth. I walk her backward until she runs up against the bed, the backs of her legs hitting the mattress. We kiss there for a moment, and it’s like standingon the edge of a cliff—of course it is. Finn is all about facing your fears.

I let my hands roam her body, skating over her curves and down to her ass, which I palm readily, groaning at the swell of it in my hands. Her body is intentional, each piece exactly how she wants it, which is, incidentally, exactly how I want it, too.

My hands wander back up as I kiss her deeper, then snag on the bottom of her dress shirt, where it’s tucked into her skirt. When I tug, it comes loose, and I reveal a strip of her warm, smooth skin. Without thinking, I thrust my hands under the fabric. It’s only her stomach—only my fingers against her hot, feverish skin—but it feels like more. The way Finn groans into my mouth, it makes itfeellike more.

And I want more.

It’s like my body doesn’t belong to me, and I’m dropping to my knees, lifting Finn up by her hips effortlessly and planting her on the bed. She’s wearing this little pencil skirt that’s pretty tight around her thighs, and I try to bunch it, push it out of my way.

When it doesn’t budge, I growl in frustration and turn my attention to another area in the meantime, kissing and biting the inside of her thigh. If I thought her stomach was bliss, this is different altogether. Like sneaking unbacked cookie dough. So sweet, so forbidden.

I hear the soft pull of a zipper then her skirt is loose. I waste no time pushing at it, bunching it around her hips and trailing mytongue up the inside of her thigh, to the junction of her, where she’s molten and already wet.

“Fuck,” I say, my voice coming out rough, and I realize it’s the first thing I’ve said since bringing her into my room. Instead of saying anything else, I surge forward, pressing a kiss to her against the soft, damp cotton of her panties, my cock groaning in pleasure at the sound she lets out.

I won’t say anything—I don’t want to alert her, or even my own rational brain, to the fact that what we’re doing right now shouldn’t be happening. So I say nothing. I just act.

Finn melts into the bed, her hips bucking when I roughly pull her panties to the side. I’ve been with plenty of women. As a professional athlete, it’s not hard to find someone who wants to come to bed with you. I’ve done a lot of practicing, and I’ve happily traded oral with any woman that was interested in giving me a blow job. Tit for tat. Pleasure for pleasure.

But this is not that.

I’m not about to put my mouth on Finn’s pussy because I expect anything in return. I’m going to do it because I need to. Because I might actually die if I don’t get to taste her, get to feel her squirming against my tongue. Because her on my hotel bed—her skirt around her hips and her legs on my shoulders—is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

When I find her clit with my tongue, she lets out a noise I want to catalog. Hot, needy. Something I never would have thought cool, composed Finn Asher capable of.

Finding the rhythm she likes, I circle her clit with my tongue, keeping them tight and hard, applying just enough pressure that her legs begin to shake. Being here with her is like being on the ice. Skating, the natural rhythm of it so natural to me that I could do it with my eyes closed. So natural to me that when she makes a little noise, something wanting and deep in her chest, I already know what she’s asking for.

What she needs.

I sink my fingers into her tight pussy, cock jumping at the feeling of her warmth, her walls tightening around me. I push once, curling my fingers, and she comes undone for me, clapping her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Growling, I lap at her, kissing and sucking until the last whimper of pleasure is off her lips. I keep my fingers buried inside her, thinking over and over that I want to get my cock into this woman, want to feel that friction, want to bury myself so deep that she’ll have trouble finding a part of her without me.

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