Page 9 of Pucking Dirty

"Depends," I rumble, chuckling. Christ, she's hilarious. "You gotta answer my questions first."

"What questions?" she eyes me suspiciously. "You don't want to know what other datapoints I use to pick my fantasy dream team, Whatley. Trust me."

Well, shit. Now, I kinda do want to know.

"Oh! You asked what else you should know about me, right?"

"That's one of them."

"Hmm." She taps her lips, thinking about it. "I just graduated and moved back."

"To take the job as our shrink."

"To be closer to my dad. But yeah, I guess that too." Her worried eyes meet mine. "Does it bother you?"

"Which part?"

"That I'm the new therapist."

"Nah, I'm good with it."

Relief filters across her face before her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip. "What about the rest of it?"

Telling her yes and ending this here and now is the sane thing to do. But as already established, there's no fucking way I'm doing that. Not going to happen. One way or another, Emilia Lariat is going to be mine. Coach doesn't have to like it. He'll live. But I want his daughter, and I fully intend to get her.

"Good with that part too, baby girl," I grunt.

"Good." She beams at me, her gold eyes bright. "Because I'd really hate for that rumor about your…activities to get out. I mean, if the bunnies knew what you guys do in that locker room?" She shakes her head, tsking. "You'd need more than a measly door to keep them at bay."

"It certainly didn't stop you, did it?"

"Did you just call me a puck bunny?" she asks, one brow arched. "I thought we already established that you don't do puck bunnies, Nash."

"Oh, I don't. But I can think of a few things I want to do to you," I say dryly.

"I just bet you can." Humor dances in her eyes as she slides from her stool. "Dance with me."

"Uh…" I glance around. "This isn't that kind of bar, Emilia."

"So? It can be if we make it one. I mean…unless you're afraid?"

It's a goddamn gauntlet meant to illicit a reaction. I know it is. But with that wicked smirk on her lips and the fire in her eyes, I'm moving before I even know it. I grab her hand, lacing our fingers together as I pull her toward the center of the bar.

The music floating through the bar isn't loud, but it suits our purposes as I pull her up against my chest and then spin her. A loud peal of surprised laughter burbles from her lips.

My teammates whoop and holler, cheering us on.

I try to tune them out, focused on the little minx in my arms as we sway back and forth, spinning around the bar like we're the only two in the motherfucker.

"You can dance," she says, smiling up at me.

I dip my head, placing my lips against her ear. "You'd be surprised what I can do, Emilia."

She trembles in my arms, whimpering faintly. And that fucking sound…Christ, that sound. I want to hear it while she's spread out beneath me, naked and pleading for me to let her come. If she begs sweetly enough, I'll let her. I'll keep her coming until she's so high on me, nothing else exists.

I don't know if she sees my thoughts on my face or if she's just incapable of behaving herself, but when I spin her again, she intentionally brushes her perfect ass against my cock, grinding back against me.

What little restraint I have shears in two.

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