Page 5 of Slap Shot Daddies

“Use me,” he says to me, his voice low. “Take what you need, baby.”

I blink at him. The words are dirty. One of his hands tangles in my hair, and the other steadies my hip, allowing him to drive into me harder.

I feel the coming tide of my orgasm hovering at the edges of my awareness, and I keen gently, moving faster.

“Come for me, baby,” he orders me, and as if my body is trained to answer his commands, I do.

The loud cry that I utter as pleasure rips through me surprises me briefly. I shake and twist against him, gasping and crying out as the orgasm has its way with me.

“God, that was amazing,” he praises me.

He grips my hips with both hands now, driving harder, making little shocks of fresh pleasure hum through my core.

Then, with a last couple of hard thrusts, he groans out his release, his muscles trembling slightly, his eyes closed. I look down at his handsome face, his long eyelashes catching the dim light shining in on us from the streetlights.

I feel a moment of savage satisfaction that I could reduce this god of a man to this kind of pleasure, that I could make him this naked and vulnerable with me.

“Thank you,” he says to me, his voice low. He opens his eyes, and runs a hand across my cheek.

“You’re welcome,” I say back, automatically, always polite.

“I need some water,” I say, hoping that this is a suitable excuse to break apart. I don’t know the rules of this kind of game very well.

“Sure thing,” he says, helping me rise off of him, and rolling the used condom off.

We fish around for our clothing, knocking heads once and giggling like teenagers.

Its a few quick minutes of bliss before we’re both exiting my Jeep, and I feel my entire face burning red hot from the embarrassment and the booze.

He looks at me for a moment, his head cocked to the side. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I should drive, though.”

“Don’t worry, you can crash at my place,” he says.

The first thing that registers as I slowly emerge from sleep is the rich, comforting aroma of freshly laundered sheets mingling with a distinctly masculine scent—woodsy cologne layered with hints of something fresh and invigorating, like mint.

The second realization hits me like a bolt.

This isn't my bed.

My head throbs with a dull, relentless ache that pulses behind my temples.

The pillow beneath me is far too soft. And my mind is still shrouded in a haze from sleep and the lingering effects of last night’s alcohol.

Suddenly, the memories flood back.

The party. The mysterious new guy. The electrifying kisses, the intimate touches, the Jeep.

I bolt upright with such speed that a dizzying wave crashes over me, compelling me to press a hand against my forehead for balance.

My dress clings to me, but my shoes are absent. Then I see them neatly arranged beside the bed, as if someone had gone out of their way to ensure my comfort.

My eyes scan the room. It’s a minimalist yet inviting space with deep blue walls that lend a cozy warmth. A few books are stacked haphazardly on the nightstand, and a solitary hockey stick leans casually in the corner.

On the dresser, a photograph captures a young boy, perhaps six or seven, his face brimming with innocent joy.

A sinking sensation settles in my stomach as the reality sets in.

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