Page 11 of Pucked On Camera

We move together on the couch, a symphony of sighs and muted groans, each push and pull drawing me closer to a precipice I’m all too ready to tumble over. The world narrows down to thefeel of him, the taste of him, the relentless drive of his hips that promise a glorious climax.

Riley picks up speed as his thrusts grow deeper and harder, pushing me back into the cushions of the couch. He kisses my jawline, my neck, sucking gently and leaving marks in his wake. I can barely think straight under this sensory overload.

With one hand firmly on my hip, he guides me up to meet every forceful push while his other finds its way between us, stroking my clit with just enough pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body.

I gasp as he suddenly exits me and starts whispering filthy things in my ear about how much he wants me and how good my tight pussy feels. I bite my lip to stifle a moan when he slides two fingers deep inside me pumping them in and out and hitting my clit on every pass.

As soon as I’m about to beg him to fill me back up, he slides his cock back inside, filling that space once more, and pistons hard into me.

“You feel so damn good. That sweet pussy is all mine. You hear me?” he groans against my skin while looking down at where our bodies are joined.

“Yes,” I agree on a whimper.

As we move faster now, almost desperately seeking release, I bite his shoulder, leaving a mark that matches mine as we climb closer to our peaks.

"So fucking tight," Riley growls against my earlobe before biting down playfully on it himself. "I want to watch you come apart for me. Tell me when you're close."

"Okay," I pant out, meeting his eyes as I teeter on the edge. My back arches against his chest as my body coils tight until finally...

"Oh God... Riley," I cry out softly into the silence that follows our shared climax. It lingers for a moment before receding back into peaceful stillness filled only by our labored breathing.

The finale, it's triumphant and earth-shattering. We cling to each other, breathless and spent, the sounds of our pleasure slowly fading into the quiet of my apartment.

After a little bit, Riley shifts to get up, and then returns to me on the couch a few minutes later. The gentle rise and fall of his chest lulls me into a drowsy state. Wrapped in his arms, I let out a contented sigh, my ear pressed against his heartbeat. The warmth from his body seeps into mine, relaxing muscles still quivering from our frenzied moments on the couch.

"Comfy?" Riley's voice rumbles through his chest.

"Mhm," is all I can manage, too spent to form actual words. My eyes flutter shut, but my mind isn't ready to surrender to sleep just yet.

In the quiet aftermath and the dark night outside, doubts creep. Here he is, Chicago Blades' golden boy, wrapped around my small frame, in a living room that's seen more sweat from yoga practices than from moments like these.

I chew on my lip, an old habit when my thoughts spiral. Am I just another notch on his bedpost? No, the way he looks at me, touches me, it speaks of more. However, he doesn’t have a clue about the other life I lead, hidden just a few feet down the hallway.

"Everything okay?" Riley's fingers trace circles on my back.

"Perfect," I murmur, and I mean it. It is perfect, right here, right now. But perfect is a fleeting thing, isn't it? I've learned that the hard way, and the thought nags at the end of my bliss.

Contentment is a tricky beast, though. It teases you with stillness then jolts you awake with the 'what ifs'. As I drift off, nestled in the curve of Riley's protective hold, I push those worries away, choosing instead the comfort of his arms.

Chapter 6

Riley

I tiptoe across the cold hardwood floor, the early morning light shining through Amelia's living room, with a need to use the bathroom. As I see a shower come into view on my right, a sliver of an open door on the left catches my eye. My heart thuds against my ribs. Curiosity wins.

I peer inside, and it's like stumbling onto a film set—lights, camera, action, minus the crew. A backdrop stands against the far wall, colorful and vibrant, and the whole scene screams of an online production. Although, it’s the long green wig that sits on a foam head on a dresser that makes my heart drop to my toes.

My pulse races, forming a picture I can't quite believe. This is her stage, her platform. Questions churn in my mind, each onemore invasive than the last. This is who Amelia Brooks is when the camera rolls.

I step back, the image burning into my memory. There's no unseeing this, no unknowing. But what now? Do I confront her? Do I pretend this glimpse into her private world never happened?

With a shaky exhale, I back away from the doorway, the weight of my discovery heavy in my chest as I walk back to the living room. Her breaths are soft and even, the rise and fall of her chest hypnotic, but I can't afford to get lost in watching her sleep. With a finger, I quietly lift my jacket from the back of a chair and slip it on. The last thing I want is to wake her.

The air is stale with the scent of last night's sexual chemistry, a stark reminder of the line we crossed. It's not guilt that gnaws at me—it's curiosity, mixed with a dash of disbelief. She's right there, so close yet worlds away with her secrets that I just stumbled upon.

With every step towards the door, I creep out of her apartment like a thief in the night—stealing answers to questions I never dared would ever be revealed.

Outside, the chill bites at my skin, and it’s sobering. The city is just waking up, unaware of the turmoil twisting inside me. I've played games on ice my whole life, but nothing has prepared me for skating on the thin ice of intimacy and revelation.

---