Page 86 of Fractured Faceoff

Hell, I didn't think anyone had.

I reached out, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The room spun around us; the world narrowing down to just the two of us. Every touch, every kiss, was a revelation, a secret language that only we understood.

His mouth moved higher, teasing and tasting, drawing out a gasp from deep within me. I arched against him, my body responding to his touch with a mind of its own. The lines between us blurred, the boundaries I'd so carefully constructed crumbling away under the onslaught of sensation.

Alive.

Desired.

Seen.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, a dance on the edge of a precipice, where one wrong step could send everything tumbling down.

But for now, I didn't care about the fall. I only cared about the dance, about the feel of his lips against my skin, about the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. And so, I let go, surrendering to the moment, to him, to the wild, reckless beat of my heart.

“Fuck, Isla.” Jared’s voice was a low growl, resonating through me like the distant rumble of thunder. His eyes, dark and hungry, held mine captive. “I want to taste you.”

A whimper escaped my lips, unbidden and raw. The sound echoed in the space between us, a testament to the need coursing through my veins. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

His hands hooked into the waistband of my underwear. He tugged them down, his gaze never leaving mine. The cool air hit my skin, sending a shiver of anticipation up my spine. I was bare before him, every inch of me laid out like an offering.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my pussy. When his tongue made contact, I gasped, my hands clutching at his shoulders for support. He licked me, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every drop. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

“You taste like sin,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against my flesh. His words were dirty, whispered secrets that sent a flush of heat spreading across my skin. “Like something forbidden and sweet.”

His tongue delved deeper, exploring every fold, every sensitive spot. I writhed against him, my hips moving of their own accord, seeking more of the pleasure he offered. He gripped my thighs, holding me in place, his strength a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch.

“Jared,” I breathed, his name a plea and a prayer. The room spun around us, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. His mouth, his touch, his words—they were all-consuming, leaving no room for thought or reason.

“That’s it, sugar,” he growled, his voice a low rumble. “Let me hear you. Let me taste you.”

His words were a catalyst, pushing me closer to the edge. I could feel the tension building, the coil of pleasure tightening within me. Each stroke of his tongue, each whispered word, drove me higher, closerto the precipice.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So fucking sweet.”

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words. All I could do was feel—the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the intensity of his gaze. I was lost in him, in the moment, in the wild, reckless beat of my heart.

And then, with a final stroke of his tongue, I shattered. Pleasure coursed through me, a wave of sensation that left me breathless and trembling. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, as the world around me splintered into a million shards of light.

Jared pulled away, his lips glistening with my desire. He held my gaze, his eyes dark and hungry, as he licked his lips, savoring the taste of me.

“How do you taste?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. Before I could respond, he leaned in, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. I could taste myself on his lips, a heady mix of sweet and sinful.

He broke away, just enough to whisper against my lips, “Mmm, just as sweet as I imagined.”

A shiver ran down my spine, his words igniting a fresh wave of heat within me. I watched, breathless, as he reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt off in one swift motion. The sight of him, bare and unguarded, sent my heart pounding against my ribs.

His body was a landscape of hard-earned muscle and scarred history. I let my gaze wander, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the defined curves of his chest, the ridges of his abs—each a testament to his dedication and resilience. Scars marred his skin. A particularly jagged one caught my eye, a harsh contrast to the smooth expanse of his chest. I reached out, my fingers gently tracing the raised flesh.

“Hockey’s not a gentle sport,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he watched me explore his body.

I didn’t respond, too absorbed in the feel of him under my fingertips. His skin was warm, almost feverish, and I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my touch. I let my hands roam, learning the dips and valleys of his body, the rough and smooth textures that made him uniquely Jared.

He stood still, letting me explore, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his eyes. He was holding back, giving me control, and the realization sent a surge of power through me. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the scar on his chest, feeling the shudder that ran through him.

His breath hitched, a low growl escaping his lips. “Isla,” he whispered, my name a plea and a promise on his lips. The sound sent a thrill through me.

I reached for his belt, my fingers fumbling with the buckle. Jared’s breath hitched as I tugged his pants down, freeing him. His cock sprang out, hard and ready, and I wrapped my hand around the base, feeling the heat of him pulse against my palm.

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