Page 81 of Fly Boy
“Tell me what you were thinking about that made you this wet,” he whispers in my ear, his words a command that makes me short circuit.
“You bending me over the boards, fucking me so hard that I’d see stars,” I pant, as the fantasy spurs on my desire.
He hums appreciatively, his hand presses farther down so his fingers swirl around my wetness, the top of my pants digging into my hips.
“You’d sound so pretty screaming my name in here, the way it would echo. Anyone walking outside would know you’re taking my cock like you’re desperate for it, enjoying it like the little slut you are for me.”
Somewhere in the distance, doors bang, and I jump. Wyatt yanks his hand out and stands back, swallowing thickly, his blue eyes almost black with how blown his pupils are. “I won’t tell you again, Pippa. Get your things.”
“Come with me.”
My legs shake with each step as we rush down the chute toward the locker rooms, balancing on the thin blades of my skates the hardest move I’ve had to do today. Wyatt’s hands are on my body, sweeping, grazing, ghosting across every inch he can and making it awkward to walk. Yet having him pressed against my back like he can’t get enough of me is heady and consuming, and I never want this to stop.
Shoving the door open, I dart toward the first wooden bench I see, dropping down and fumbling with the laces as I try to undo my skates. My fingers keep missing, my urgency making me sloppy, until Wyatt crouches in front of me, taking over and deftly undoing the tight ties before slipping my foot out, and eventually ridding me of my blades.
We strip, our clothes scattering across the empty locker room in a flurry, and I barely take the time to be thankful that Evan and I were the only ones scheduled for ice time today, following the championship last week. I’m too caught up in the gloriously naked man in front of me, tattooed skin shining under the florescent lights, his abs taut with restraint, the trail of hair that lines his lower stomach, merging with the pubic hair that surrounds his already hard cock.
I would have lowered to my knees, taking him deep into my mouth, but he has my legs wrapped around his waist, our naked bodies flush together as he carries me to the shower cubicle, turning on the water and letting it warm up. I sigh when he steps inside, the warmth of the water matching the warmth of his skin. Slowly, he lowers me to my feet, and I can feel every ridge, every bump of muscle on the way down.
His cock juts out between his legs, the tip already leaking pre-cum. I wrap my hand around it, pumping in languid strokes, his breath shuddering when my thumb smears the clear liquid around his piercing, relishing the way it feels. Dipping his head, he runs his nose up my cheek, nudging my face until we’re kissing again.
Strong hands start circling my back, the generic smell of soap from the dispenser filtering through my senses.
He’s washing me.
My insides squeeze at this sweetness of Wyatt, his caring and attentive side I find I enjoy just as much as his dirty side. His firm fingers dig into the muscles at the base of my neck, eliciting a whimper as he kneads the spot where I carry most of my tension. My eyes flutter shut, mind going blank, and I completely forget that I’m currently holding his hard length. I don’t even have it in me to keep pumping my hand, his ministrations on my shoulders are too good to do anything other than stand there and take it.
They lower, making me groan each time he rubs soap into a different part of my body, spending a couple of minutes showing the new location the same attention, turning me into a puddle of goo.
His fingers knead into my ass, pulling it apart and slipping between them. I gasp, my eyes snapping open, finding Wyatt on his knees, nosing the junction between my legs.
“I wanted to do this the night I flew you home from California. Wanted to celebrate your win with my face buried between your legs.” He swipes his tongue up my center, and I nearly stumble backward. My hand flies out, clutching fruitlessly at the wet tiled wall as he licks me like I’m the best thing he’s ever had.
He’s savage, delivering what I can only imagine has been on his mind for days. He’s a man possessed, groaning and grunting, making these sexy noises as he grinds my hips against his mouth, pushing his tongue deeper, using his grip to take from me, feeding off my desire like he needs it to survive.
His hands are back to massaging my ass, his fingers periodically grazing my hole, making me shake with pleasure.
The soap’s long gone, the slick feeling of his skin on mine rougher now as he circles the ring of muscle, his mouth sucking my clit, the pressure building me up until I’m so damn close only to move away, nipping the inside of my thigh.
“Wyatt,” I plead when he does it again, frustration coating my insides as well as out as he leads me so close to the edge, but never allowing me to topple over it. I need to come more than my next win. Fuck whoever said edging was fun. It is not. “I swear to God, Wyatt, if you don’t let me come, I’m going to—"
He spins me around with force, plastering me to the wall, the cold tiles making me hiss.
“What will you do, Pippa?” he taunts. Parting my cheeks, he kisses the inside of one. “You know no one has ever made you come the way I do. No one eats your pussy the way I do.” Hegives my hole a light flick of his tongue, and my face explodes with heat. I’m exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he stares at the most intimate part of me. “No one eats your ass the way I do.”
“God, I hate you,” I murmur, burying my head against my arm.
His chuckle is one hundred percent salacious as his breath washes over me. “No, you don’t. Not when I’m about to push into your tight little hole and fuck it with my tongue.”
Scorching pleasure rockets through me, much like the last time, as he laps hungrily against me. No one haseverdone this to me before him, the act sordid and lewd, but with Wyatt, it’s different. I want it, I crave it, I need more.
“I can’t wait to sink my cock inside this pretty little ass. Watch it stretch around me, sucking me inside, greedy just like your cunt,” he tells me matter-of-factly, and I shudder, anticipating building up at the same rate as my orgasm.
“N—now?” I stutter, and to my mortification, I push back onto his tongue, groaning when I feel him breach me.
He’s silent, enjoying what he’s doing, snaking a hand between my thighs and up to my pussy. His thumb strokes my clit, the soft brushes enough to send me over the edge. I slap my hand over my mouth, biting into the meaty part of my palm, stifling my orgasm as I pulse everywhere, my ass, my pussy, desperate to be filled by him.
On trembling legs, I try to turn as Wyatt stands, a satisfied look on his face. I lick my lips, starting to drop to my knees when I freeze, a loud knock sounding on the locker room door.
