Page 9 of No Pucks

I take his hand, setting it on my cock, letting him feel me through the fabric. “I’ll like your lips around my dick.”

He drops to his knees, looking up at me through blond lashes. “Then feed it to me.”

“You little whore.” I’m opening my belt before I make a conscious decision.

He presents his tongue, but it’s not submissive at all. It’s an act of triumph. He won and he knows it. I don’t give him it all, unwilling to give him the win fully. I won’t let it be that easy for him, so I rub my tip over his upper lip, smearing my pre-cum there.

He moans and tries to wrap his lips around me, but I pull back.

“Not yet.”

His upper lip pulls in a snarl, telling me our whole encounter will be a fight.

I’m starved for it.

More than I even realized.

I’d held back my entire marriage, forcing myself to leave every primal part of me on the ice and out of my relationship. I’d nearly forget how much I crave this—that is, until I’d get close to another man, and every need would come rushing back.

I don’t have to ignore it anymore.

But I still hesitate. I’ve stopped myself so many times, but what do I have to lose? My career is ruined. I’m out of the league. I can be with men without risking anything. I’m divorced. There is nothing else.

I brush my tip over his beautiful, full pink lips, finally letting him wrap them around me. His eyes close as he moans, the hum vibrating pleasure through my cock. He grabs my hips so I can’t pull back, taking more of me into his mouth.

He takes his time, licking up my shaft, swirling his tongue around my head, taking me back into his mouth. I’ve never in my life gotten a blow job like this. Is this what it’s like to get head from someone who enjoys it? It’s like night and day. If this is how all guys suck dick, I don’t know if I can ever go back.

My fingers slip into his hair, encouraging and guiding. He looks up at me with steel blue eyes and a devilish smile, and I almost come.

My breathing hitches, and I tug him off. “Stop.”

His brows pull. “Nervous?”

I shake my head.

“Then what?”

“Out of practice.” I shrug, not wanting it to be a big deal. “Been a long time since I hooked up with someone and didn’t even know their name.”

“Logan.” He gets to his feet. “So I’m not the only whore?”

“Anthony, and no, you’re not. I’m just a—mostly reformed one.”

“Mostly?” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes.

Does he recognize me?

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Instinct takes over, and I dip my head to kiss his collarbone.

He shivers under my lips. “Too true. Why’d you reform?”

“Marriage does that to you.”

He nips at my ear, but I feel the hesitation in his every molecule. “You don’t have a ring on.”

“Divorced.”

He’s less stiff, but his nails dig into my hips. “Are you lying?”

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