Page 89 of Slap Shot Scandal
More vulnerable than ever before.
Weston cups both my breasts in his large hands, massaging them. Dropping his head, he sucks one nipple, then the other into his mouth.
I close my eyes and give into the sensation, pleasure rippling through me.
Giving into him.
I’m tired of thinking, then overthinking. Right now, all I want to do is feel. Let Weston take the lead and just be.
Here, in the moment, with him.
He eases me down onto the bed, then grabs the back of his T-shirt and rips it over his head.
Abs for fucking days.
And I amsohere for it.
Reaching out, I tiptoe my fingers over the ridges of his abdominals. Making my way down to his belt, pulling the supple leather from the metal buckle, the loops. Unbuttoning his jeans, my mouth salivating.
This man is literal perfection, rivaling any sculpted Greek statue sitting in the Louvre.
“You’ve officially ruined me for all other men.” I trace the deep V of his hips, yanking at his pants.
He stills, eyes darkening. Leaning down, his mouth brushes mine. “Good.” His voice rumbles, deep and thick. “And I’m not done yet.”
Kicking out of his jeans, he crawls onto the bed with me, pushing me back against the pillows. Cupping my cheek, he touches his lips to mine in a soft, slow kiss. Sliding his tongue in, swirling around, taking his time.
Leaving me panting and needy. Wetness pools between my legs and I arch against him, desperate for friction.
“Aww, Hurricane—what’s the rush? We have all night,” he teases, his hand finding my core.
“You have morning practice tomorrow, right? I can’t keep you out past your bedtime.”
“I’m a big boy, baby. You don’t have to worry about that.” He spreads my legs, trailing his fingers through my wetness.
“What we do can’t affect the team. Your performance?—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Sshh. I’m zero percent worried about my performance right now.”
Brushing his thumb over my lower lip, I suck it into my mouth and his pupils dilate wider still.
“God, you’re fucking sexy, Hurricane.” He slides athird finger inside me, curving up to find my G-spot. I swallow down a moan, his lips tipping up into a grin.
“She likes that.” He drives in harder and my hips arch of their own accord, wanting more.
“Weston—” My eyes flutter closed as he works my pussy, edging me closer to the brink.
Then he slows and I whimper, thighs clenching.
“Eyes on me, Harbor. I want to watch you come all over my fingers.”
His dirty words turn me on even more, my pussy spasming around his hand.
“Don’t stop, Weston. Please—don’t stop.” My voice is breathy, pleading.
I’m fucking begging at this point, and I don’t even care.
“Such a pretty little pussy,” he murmurs, finger fucking me hard and fast. “Mine.”
