Page 41 of Dirty Pucking Player

But if feels so right. My entire body lit from the inside out with the flutter of his mouth over mine.

Bash tears away from my lips and kisses his way up my neck to my ear. His hot breath tickles over the sensitive skin there, and I practically melt into his arms. The only thing keeping me upright is his firm hand on my hip and his knee wedged between my legs.

“When was the last time you were well and truly fucked, Coach?”

Oh, God.

Fucked? Two years ago.

Well and truly?

I can’t even think back that far.

And something tells me that what Bash considers “well and truly fucked” is completely different from what I have in mind, so far above and beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. If his real game is anywhere near his dirty-talking game and his arrogance matches his skills in the bedroom, I’m in big fucking trouble.

I shudder against him, and he reaches down and cups me between my legs.

Christ, can he feel how wet I am through my pants?

At this point, I don’t even have the ability to be embarrassed anymore. I’m like putty to Bash’s expert touch. The way those hands know how to handle a hockey stick, I can only imagine what they’ll do with me if given a chance.

He sucks the lobe of my ear between his teeth and bites down gently. The jolt of pain mixed with pleasure ricochets through my body, and I tighten my grip on his neck to keep from falling over on weak legs.

His hand curls against my pussy. “You didn’t answer me, Coach. How long has it been?”

All I manage is a whimper.

“What do you say, Coach?” He nips at my ear again. “Are you going to stay for dessert?”

God, yes!

“Yes.”

My response comes out more harsh rush of held breath than speech, but it seems it’s enough for him to hear me because he issues a low satisfied growl that vibrates in his chest and through mine.

He lifts me into his arms easily. I wrap my legs around his waist, but instead of walking us backward to the bed on the other side of the room, he presses me against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The world spins around me as he kisses his way across my collarbone. A hazy fog descends with every press of his lips to my heated skin.

He pauses with his mouth at the corner of mine, his hands tighten on my ass, and he pulls back. “You sure this is what you want, Coach?”

With a million reasons to say otherwise, only one word sits on the tip of my tongue.

“Yes.”

He stares at me for a moment, searching for any signs I’ll back out, but when I roll my hips against his hard cock pressed between us, he groans and releases his hold on me so I can lower my feet to the floor.

What’s he doing?

His hand slides down my side to the waistband of my pants, and he drags them down my legs slowly, letting his fingertips linger on my warm skin. I shiver at the light touch, and he pulls them off and tosses them across the room toward where I kicked off my shoes before dinner.

Liquid-whiskey eyes flare with heat as his gaze centers on the black lace between my legs. He licks his lips and reaches forward to stroke his thumb along the fabric, right below my clit. “Already wet for me, huh, Coach?”

I bite my lip and clamp my thighs around his hand.

He grins and flicks my clit with his finger, making me jerk. “Have you been thinking about my cock, Coach?”

“Bash!”

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