Page 27 of The Pucking Proposal

Silently agreeing, we go quiet, focusing on our own pleasure as we watch each other intently. I wish I was there to see it in person, but this is good. So fucking good.

I can see her body getting tenser, every muscle going tight as her head falls back to the pillow. I force my hand to slow, not wanting to miss the sight of Joy’s orgasm. I wouldn’t miss this for a damn championship cup.

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby. Let me see you. Show me how you shatter,” I growl. My face is nearly pressed to the phone screen, and if I could, I’d crawl through the damn thing to be with her as she comes.

Her cry is loud and stuttered as she spasms violently, and I can see her pussy pulsing around the toy that she’s pushed in deep and held in place. Her fingers tap at her clit, drawing out her pleasure. “Yesss ...” she moans.

I’m done for.

I tried to simply watch, but my hand has a mind of its own, jerking my cock hard and fast. When she meets my hungry eyes with lust-filled ones of her own, I feel heat rush down my spine, through my balls, and up my cock. “Uhhh,” I grunt as cum erupts over my hand and shoots onto my stomach.

“Fuck, I want that,” she whispers, and though I’m still coming, I see her little grin as she watches me blow for her.

Catching our breath, we smile at one another.

“That was . . .” she pants.

“Fucking awesome?” I offer.

She laughs, slipping the toy from herself, dropping it off to her side, and relaxing heavily into her pillow. “Yeah, that.”

“Next time, I want to see your tits,” I tell her.

“You assume there’s going to be a next time?” she teases, but she draws a finger down her sternum, and even through her T-shirt, I can tell her nipples are hard as diamonds.

I throw her one of my signature arrogant smirks, hoping she’s as charmed by it as everyone else is. “Hoping and crossing my fingers and toes for it.” I hold up crossed fingers so she can see I’m telling the truth.

Her smile melts at the edges, going softer and less sure, but all she says is, “We’ll see.”

The buzz is wearing off, and she’s starting to think about what we’ve done. Or more likely, overthink about it. I can see it all over her face, but I don’t want to see her regret, so I jump up from the couch, taking my phone with me as I head to the bathroom for a towel to clean up.

“Wait! Is that where all the magic happens?” she asks as I walk through my primary bedroom. “Show me!”

“Hang on. I’ll give you the full tour.” In the bathroom, I clean up and then move the phone around. “This is my bathroom ...”

A few backtracking steps and I show her my bedroom.

“Your bed looks inviting,” she says.

I look at it again, imagining what I’d think if I’d never seen it, slept in it, or spent lazy mornings sprawled out across its king-size width. Truthfully, I haven’t given it much thought. “I let my mom pick out everything. I’m not really into that stuff.”

“You say that so confidently, as if it’s not a car dealership–size red flag.” Her brows are lifted like she’s teasing, but she might have a point.

“When I bought this place, it felt like a huge risk. I was smart and didn’t overbuy for what I make with the Moose, but there was this looming question of, What if I get cut tomorrow? So, if it were up to me, I would’ve bought the cheapest shit I could find and probably ended up with dollar-store sheets and folding chairs in the living room.” I grin, remembering my mom’s trip to Maple Creek when I closed on this place and how proud she’d been of me. “Mom made sure I was setting up a home to come back to. Told me it was good luck because if I lived transient, I’d be transient. She was right.” I look around my living room and the couch I was sitting on not ten minutes ago. “This is home. I have roots here now. The team, the town, the people. It’s home.”

“What would you do if a major team came calling and you had to move?” Joy wonders.

“I’d go, obviously. But I’d keep this place as home base. I’d have to.” I haven’t really thought about that in a while. The less likely a pro contract gets, the less often I think about it, but it feels strange to not be hustling for that dream.

“You could rent it out as an Airbnb and make bank,” Joy suggests. “People would pay extra if they knew it was the infamous Dalton Days’s place.”

I chuckle. “You trying to get rid of me already?”

“Nah, but I have faith in you. You’re having your best season ever, thanks to me.” The light in her eyes tells me that she’s waiting for me to argue, ready for the banter and anticipating my curse word–filled response so she can verbally spar back.

But she’s right.

“Absolutely thanks to you.”

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