Page 124 of Goalie's Obsession

When I reach her panties, I hook a finger beneath the band and tug.

My eyes lock between her legs and my cock throbs at the sight. She’s already soaked.

“Fuck, baby. I knew you weren’t reading that damn book,” I murmur against her sweet, warm skin. "You've been watching me chop wood through the window haven't you?"

She just smirks, arching her hips in invitation. “What can I say? My husband’s distracting.”

“Damn right I am.”

I drag the silky panties she bought just for our honeymoon getaway down her legs slowly, watching the soft stretch of her thighs, the slick heat glistening between them like a secret I’ve already memorized.

The firelight dances over her skin as I settle between her legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thighs, savoring every inch.

She gasps when I reach her center, but I don’t dive in—not yet.

Instead, I look up, watching her eyes flutter open.

“Let me take my time tonight,” I whisper. “We’ve got forever, baby. But I plan on worshiping you like it’s my last night on Earth.”

She bites her lip, breathless. “Then what are you waiting for?”

With a deep laugh, I slide my hands under her ass, lifting her closer, tilting her hips just right. Her slick heat is already coating my chest, the scent of her arousal thick in the air—salty, sweet, so fucking potent it makes my mouth water.

I don’t waste time.

I dive in and devour her like I’ve been starving for days. Tongue first, deep and filthy, lapping through her folds with messy, desperate strokes.

"Fuck, Lucy… you taste so fucking good, baby."

Her thighs tremble around my head, her heels digging into the bed as she moans, long and low, the sound vibrating straight down my spine.

I press my face deeper, flattening my tongue and dragging it up from her dripping entrance to her clit. The second I find it, I suck it into my mouth and flick fast, hard, and relentless.

She arches with a gasp, her hands flying to her breasts, tugging at her nipples as her hips rock against me in frantic rhythm.

“Connor—fuck—Connor!” she cries, the sound cracking on my name.

Her screams drive me insane.

How is it possible I got this woman to marry me? A dorky goalie from Iron Ridge? She was always the off-limits fantasy. My best friend’s little sister. Now she’s my reality. My wife. My future.

I groan into her, my cock straining against my sweats like it’s ready to burst. I reach down, wrapping my fist around the thick base, pumping slow and tight to keep the pressure under control. But she’s making it so damn hard. Every roll of her hips grinds her soaked pussy against my face, her clit dragging over my tongue, her slick painting my jaw.

She’s fucking my face like she owns it. Like she knows she can.

And shecan.

She can do whatever she wants, this woman. I don't care. So long as I'm right here with her.

Her grip on my hair turns savage, pulling me tighter, rocking harder, grinding until my nose is nudging her clit and my tongue is buried deep, fucking her slow and deliberate while I stroke myself, every pulse of her heat sending another drop of precum down my shaft.

I hum against her, and she shatters.

She screams—loud, messy, so fuckingreal—as she comes hard, her thighs quaking, her juices spilling over my chin while she writhes above me, shaking and gasping and gripping me like I’m the only solid thing in the world.

And Iam. I’llbethat for her. Every time.

I drag my tongue through her again, slower now, lapping up every drop as she trembles through the aftershocks.

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