Page 75 of Dirty Pucking Player

How am I ever going to let this go?

How will I ever say goodbye to him when this ultimately ends?

It’s something I can’t think about right now. Not when the tension in my body is coiling tighter and tighter. Not when Bash’s lips move back down to meet mine. Not when the man is absolutely destroying me with the pounding of his cock while filling a void in my life I didn’t even realize was there until he stormed into my arena.

Not when this is all I want.

It shouldn’t be. God knows it shouldn’t be, but it is all the same.

I really am going down in flames, and Bash is the one dragging me there just as he’s dragging me closer and closer to a mind-bending orgasm.

With everything he has in him.

Bash doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s all or nothing every time he hits the ice and when he touches me. Whether he’s in a game or we’re alone and in his room at the Prestige or here in my office where anyone could walk in at any minute, he gives it his all.

I dig my nails into the flesh of the back of his neck. He tilts my hips to a new angle, allowing the head of his cock to drag in just the right spot inside me.

“Oh, God. Fuck! Right there.”

He groans in satisfaction and redoubles his efforts. His hand tightens in my hair, jerking it back. Determination tightens his jaw and sweat beads on his brow. He’s a man on a mission. One to ensure both of our pleasures.

And my building orgasm has overtaken my body and reached the boiling point. The pressure and heat low in my belly explode like a thousand fireworks detonating at the same time. My pussy clenches around his cock as he drives into me over and over, harder and deeper, racing to find his own bliss.

“Fuck, Coach.” His hand tightens on my hip. His thrusts become erratic. He groans, stills, and then collapses against me as the little aftershocks of my orgasm twitch my body against his. His heavy breathing tickles the hair at the nape of my neck, sending a shiver through me. “Fuck.”

He releases his grip on my hair and pushes his hand through his own as he pulls back from me. His darkened, hooded eyes find mine, and a knowing grin twitches his lips. He leans in and drops his forehead to my own and presses a flutter of a kiss to my lips. “Now, tell me again that what we’re doing doesn’t turn you on, Coach.”

“Bash…” I shake my head and breathe him in. “What the hell are we doing?”

* * *

BASH

It’s not the first time she’s asked me this. The same question came from her lips the first time we kissed. It’s no doubt circled in her head every moment we spent together since I got here.

And I’ve been asking myself the same thing.

Only I don’t think she’ll be satisfied with my answer. Most women wouldn’t be.

Women want commitment. They want to know where things are going before they even take the first step, and Greer and I have never had that. All we’ve had is the hot and heavy need for each other and the tension between us that crackles with more energy than anything I’ve ever felt on the ice.

We’ve had the rush of an illicit affair. The clash of personalities that’s combustible in the bedroom. But we’ve also developed something deeper, something I can’t ignore or deny. The problem is…I still have no idea what that means.

I reluctantly drag my head back from hers and brush my thumb across her cheek. “Are we really going to have this conversation right now?”

It’s kind of a buzzkill when we just had mind-blowing sex. I’d much rather bask in the afterglow of an explosive orgasm and enjoy the feeling of her hot pussy still wrapped around my cock.

Greer sighs and lets her hands drop from around my neck. I can feel her pulling away emotionally just as well as I can physically. She’s shutting down. She’s letting all the reasons this shouldn’t have ever happened overpower the reasons it should.

“Don’t overthink things, Coach.” I pull my semi-hard cock from inside her and step back so I’m still standing between her spread legs but also keeping her from moving away from me. “Just don’t.”

If she walks away, I don’t know if I can get her back. Not when my answer to her question is a very big, I don’t fucking know.

I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with these types of feelings, and Greer should know that. She shouldn’t expect me to be able to suddenly become someone I’m not.

She pushes at me, urging me back and slides off the desk to reach down and grab the rest of her clothes. “We need to address it at some point, don’t we? Otherwise, what’s the point?”

I shove my dick back into my pants and run a shaky hand through my hair. “What’s the point? How about the fact that this”—I motion between us—“feels incredible? How about the fact that both of us have been enjoying ourselves far more than I think either of us ever anticipated? How about the fact that this makes you happy?”

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