Page 54 of The Dare

A chunky girl in a too-tight dress.

“I’m not sure,” I lie. “But I know you’re not seeing one of those skinny chicks you’re probably used to, with their perfect, toned body.” I awkwardly place a palm over my half-exposed stomach. “See, no abs.”

“Who needs ’em? I’ve got enough abs for the both of us.”

I snicker, but the sound dies when he covers my hand again, this time pushing it away so that his palm is the one on my belly.

“You’re exactly what I want in a woman,” he says seriously,both hands now exploring my body. “Soft and warm…your thighs…your ass…fuck, thesehips—”

His fingers curl around said hips, which my incredibly obtuse male GP once described as “more than suitable for child-bearing.”

“Your curves kill me, T.”

Before I can respond, he grabs my hand and presses it directly onto his crotch. There’s no mistaking his arousal.

“Feel how hard I am?” He groans softly. “That’s all you. You’re the stuff of my fantasies.”

He’s either the greatest actor on the planet…or he means every word he’s saying. Either way, my body is responding to his heated gaze and the husky compliments. Cheeks scorching, breasts tingling, pussy aching. If he doesn’t start touching me again, I’m liable to self-combust.

“So…now…I can keep reassuring you how sexy you are,” Conor says playfully, “or I can give you an orgasm. Choose wisely.”

Anticipation shudders through me. “Orgasm,” I blurt out. “I choose orgasm.”

He chuckles. “Good call.”

I bite my lip when he slips a finger inside me. Not too deep, just a knuckle or two. Just enough to cause my entire body to clench around him.

A dirty smile curves his lips. He plays with me until I can’t stand it any longer and push against his fingers, silently begging for more.

Breathing hard, he slides down my body until he’s gazing up at me from between my thighs. Conor run his hands up my calves, over my knees, his lips grazing my inner thighs. He kisses his way to my pussy, sweeps his tongue over my clit,and I cry out from the bolt of pleasure he generates inside me. I grab fistfuls of the blanket and press my ass into the bed to stop from squirming.

“Feel good?” he asks, then resumes his wicked ministrations without waiting for an answer.

It’s the greatest feeling in the world, his warm, wet mouth exploring my sensitive, aching body. Breathy sounds and low whimpers fill the hotel room, and it takes a while to realize they’re coming from me. I’m lost in a haze, completely caught up in the pleasure he’s bringing. I rock against his eager mouth, then cry in disappointment when the heat of it disappears.

“Fucking hell, hold on,” he chokes out.

I feel the mattress shift, hear what sounds like a zipper. My eyelids flutter open in time to see Conor slipping one hand inside his boxers. Just as it registers that he’s stroking himself, his mouth returns to my pussy and short circuits my brain again.

With his tongue and fingers, he coaxes me to the edge again, while his free hand works his cock. I want to be the one helping him do that. I want his dick in my mouth. I want to taste him. I want to make him lose control the way he’s doing to me.

Conor suddenly groans against my pussy, his hips moving quicker. He sucks on my clit, panting hard, breathing out, “I’m coming.”

And that’s all it takes for the thread of tension inside me to snap. An orgasm, one with a level of intensity I’ve never experienced, shudders through my muscles. Even my toes go numb as I gasp through the pulsating heat that captures my every nerve ending.

Conor Fucking Edwards.

18

CONOR

THEWEDNESDAY AFTER OUR LOSS INBUFFALO, THE TEAMholds a meeting at the Briar arena. Our season’s over, and for some of the seniors that means shifting their focus to the NHL teams that drafted them and getting in the best shape of their lives for summer training camp. For others, last weekend was likely the final time they’ll ever suit up. Today, however, we’re here for Coach Jensen.

Hunter stands in the center of the ice where we’ve gathered for a little ceremony of sorts. Coach, sensing something’s up, lingers just outside our circle with a suspicious look on his face. It’s an expression I’ve seen Brenna don on more than one occasion. It’s almost scary how alike Coach and his bitchy daughter are.

“So,” Hunter starts, “we brought you here today pretty much because we wanted to say thank you, Coach. This bunch of degenerates and hooligans wouldn’t have made it as far as we did without you, and even though we couldn’t bring home the big trophy for you, you made all of us better. Not just better hockey players, but better people. And we all owe you a lot.”

“Like bail money, right, Captain?” Bucky pipes up, getting a laugh from the guys.

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