Page 34 of Enticing the Enforcer
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I’ve always been good at following directions.
She gasps, clutching at the front of my button down shirt like she’s trying to hold herself steady, but I press in closer, caging her against the wall with my hips so she knows she doesn’t have to. I’ve got her.
My fingers glide over her slick heat, teasing the soft folds, and I bite back a groan because it kills me that we’re not going to have sex tonight. Not here. Not yet. But that doesn’t mean I can’t give her something. Doesn’t mean I can’t take this chance and show her how much I want her.
“You feel that?” I murmur against her lips, my thumb circling slow, firm pressure against her slippery clit. “So wet. That’s all for me, isn’t it?”
She whimpers, a sound that shoots straight to my cock, and nods like she can’t even find her voice. Her hips move on their own, chasing the rhythm of my hand, grinding down against me with this desperate little urgency that makes me dizzy.
I kiss her harder, swallowing every broken breath, every sound she gives me. My free hand fists in her hair, tugging her head back so I can taste the soft line of her throat, then her jaw, before I claim her mouth again.
I don’t care that there’s a party raging down the hall. I don’t care if someone notices we’re missing. All I care about is this: the way she’s coming apart under my hand, the way her thighs tighten and shake when I slide a finger inside her painfully tight pussy, the way she moans into my mouth like she’s giving herself over to me completely.
“Fuck, you’re tight.”
“Maybe it’s your massive fingers,” she replies, exhaling the words.
I move slowly at first, stretching her out, then ask, “You want more?”
She nods, eyes fluttering shut. I push in another and watch her face as she takes me in. “So good, Angel, you’re doing so good.”
I feel like a man possessed, wanting nothing more than to make her feel incredible. I know I probably won’t get another chance like this, not for a long time. So I’m going to make damn sure she remembers tonight.
12
Ingrid
I’m puttyin his hands.
Like completely lost to the sensation of this big, hulking, magic-fingered man.
Every nerve ending is on fire. Every brush of his fingers against me makes me forget the world outside, forget the music and the crowd and all the impossible logistics of what we’re doing.
I’m Ingrid Flockton, the biggest pop star in the world, and I’m getting fingered in a hotel alcove by a college hockey player. Yes, somewhere in my functional mind, I know this is wrong. It’s crazy. Dangerous in a million different ways.
But in the part of my brain that seeks pleasure? It’s the best moment of my life.
I ride him. Ride his hand, his thigh, his fingers pumping in and out. He’s rough. Not clumsy–God no.No. There’s skill in his movements. Strong. Sure. My hips buck without thinking. My chest presses against him, my hair tangling against my cheeks. Icry out at every brush over my clit, hot and sensitive–desperate, trembling, needing.
He says dirty things to me. Muttering how I’m tight. How good I’m taking him. How he can’t wait to feel me clench around his cock. He tells me he jerks off thinking about me. How he can’t wait to taste and feel my tits.
There’s no poetry there. No flashy lyrics or tender, sweet words. No. His tongue is filthy, and I want it in my mouth.
I can feel the tension in his body, the taut muscles beneath my palms. His other hand snakes up my back, gripping, anchoring me to him so I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.
“I’m close,” I tell him, my voice breaking under the intensity. Because if he stops, I think I may die. My eyes flick to his, searching, and I see that same stubborn, raw determination that I saw on the ice. It’s unbelievably sexy and hot.
“Come for me, Angel.”
He keeps calling me that and I don’t know why, nothing about this moment is angelic–although it may fall into the divine. Whatever it means, I don’t care. I can’t stop chasing his touch. My body is entirely his, trembling and pliant, craving the next stroke, the next push, the next spark of contact that will rocket me into oblivion.
I push up, clamping my teeth around his bottom lip in a mixture of protest and need, and crumble apart, shattering into a million glimmers of starlight. Every nerve ending seems to explode simultaneously, every shiver and gasp magnified, drawn out and infinite.
I cling to him, eyes squeezed shut, letting the sensation wash over me. His lips find mine, hot and insistent, tasting, claiming, holding me through it. I can feel his cock straining against my thigh, hard and heavy, and I want it. I want him. But right now, I just need this–need himto keep me together while I fall apart.
When it finally ebbs, my body still quivering, I feel the heavy press of his hand against the small of my back, steadying me. I lean into him, forehead against his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin, the heat radiating from his body, the strength in his arms.
