Page 20 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

Trying to replace the warmth of the woman I’ve yearned to feel against me once again.

The only difference now is that we’ve both changed, grown, become individuals in this little society, who have ambitions, goals, and dreams.

I don’t know what my girl wants in this world, but damn.

She has to make a way so I’m in her life again. So that I’m a part of that equation, even if she damn right hates me.

My arms enjoy every inch of her as I move them down her body—those arms with hints of muscle at her biceps, the sides of her waist that curve so perfectly.Fuck, her ass.That plump, curvy fit ass of hers, I not only grip but push forward so she has no choice but to be plastered against me.

This woman is everything I’ve yearned for.

Our breathless kiss isn’t enough for me.

I need more of her.

So much more that I’m prying her lips with my tongue and diving in with her soft gasp. I go on an expedition, exploring and groaning at how she kisses me back.

I could kiss her forever and be happy.

Content.

Still this moment in time, so I never have to let her go.

To think I was going to pass tonight off and head back to the hotel.One time I agree to celebrate something and I meet my girl.

Kissing my girl.

Now I would do anything to go home with her.

To fuck her.

To remind her just how much I’ve missed her warmth.

“You two done trying to make me jealous?”

I swear it feels like cold water is being splashed all over my body after combusting into flames, yet I only slow down my lips instead of fully breaking the kiss.

I’m not afraid of confrontation.

I can fucking fight.

I’d do anything if it means keeping this woman in my arms.

Finally breaking the kiss between us, my eyes land on those blue ones first, enjoying how they express how much that kiss electrified her. She was brewing with life before, but now they’re dazzling like fireworks.

Whatever brand of lipstick is on those swollen lips is definitely kiss-proof because it manages to remain intact. Her hair really compliments her now that I’m admiring her beautiful, heart-shaped face, and I like how bold her makeup is.

“Pucking beautiful,” I mutter to her without realizing it.

Her eyes widen slightly before her gaze softens like I’ve given her my credit card to go on a shopping spree.

I’d do that if I get to see this face of hers again.

“You still use it.” She seems taken away by something so simple. I didn’t correct myself all the time, but it was an engraved habit when around her to say “pucking” instead of fucking.

Coach Johnson didn’t want her little girl swearing up a storm when hanging out with us teens, so we’d say puck or pucking, which always ended up making Mikayla laugh. It grew on me easily, and though I try not to correct myself around the team, they know it’s all because of my Heartbreaker Queen that I occasionally slip up for her sake.

“Of course I do.” It was important to her because it meant we could still hang out with one another. Everyone else could think it was stupid or childish, but if it meant I got to still be around Mikayla and come over to her house for family dinners, I’d change my entire vocabulary for her.

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