Page 110 of Blindside Sinner

“Sloan, baby…” He strokes my quivering bottom lip. “Tell me you want it.”

Another jolt from the vibrator rips the words out of my lips. “I want it.”

My tone is shaky because there isn’t a single part of me that isn’t trembling.

He strokes my hair, then leans forward and presses a kiss to the soft spot beneath my ear. “That’s a good girl. Oh, and one more thing—I don’t want you touching yourself. If we’re going to keep you dancing on the edge all night until the time is right, I can’t have you cheating, can I?”

In his pocket, he’s teasing the dial up higher. I just came like a fucking maniac not two minutes ago, but I’m already feeling that familiar tightening sensation again. I’ve given up worrying about the sweating because there isn’t an inch of me that isn’t soaked and I don’t care.

Almost unconsciously—whether because I want the orgasm so badly or because I just like defying him that much—my hand strays towards my center. Beck notices, and he’s on me in a flash.

He grabs both of my wrists, slams me into the concrete wall with his hips, and pins my hands above my head.

“No, no, sweet Sloan. You don’t come until I say so. Do you hear me?” When I don’t say anything, he leans forward to nibble at my lips. “Answer me. Do you hear me?”

“Y-yeses.” I can barely think, much less speak, because all I want is his face between my legs right now. I pant harder at the thought.

“Say it, baby. Say it so I know you hear me.”

“I won’t come until you say it’s okay.”

“And you’re not going to touch yourself.” He’s watching me. I can feel the intensity of it, too. “Say it.”

“I won’t touch myself. But—fuck, please, Beck. Please touch me now.”

He clicks his teeth. “Nope. And no one else touches you either, Sloan. Do you understand?”

“No one else touches me, either.”

At least I’ll have a reprieve while he’s on the ice playing tonight, because he can’t take his phone out there with him. And no matter what he says, he isn’t giving control to anyone else. He’s Beckett Daniels and he doesn’t share.

As he walks away, leaving me even more of a wreck than I was when we first arrived, all I can think is one single thought on repeat.

It’s going to be a long, long night.

56

SLOAN

I walk gingerly to the stands and park myself in my seat behind the bench. Warmup hasn’t even started yet, so the stadium is mostly empty, meaning I have a while to pull myself together.

Or at least, I thought I did. But when the first of the Wave players comes trooping out of the visiting team tunnel, I feel that wickedly sneaky pulse start back up between my legs. Moments later, Beck emerges, and the low throb spikes into a bolt of lightning centered right on my clit.

I squeeze the hell out of the seat armrests and let out the quietest, squeakiest “oh, fuck” I can.

“Are you okay, Sloan?”

I look over with my teeth clenched. The woman next to me—one of the other players’ assistants who rode the correct bus because she isn’t fucking her employer—looks over because her arm is on said armrest and I’m holding her wrist in a death grip.

I shake my head and let go. “Sorry. Had an, uh… an itch.”

She frowns in confusion as she rubs her hand over her wrist. I shoot a glare at Beck, who laughs and joins his teammates for warmups.

I don’t know where he’s stashed the cell phone, but I don’t get another burst of pleasure-tricity until the game begins. Beck gets a quick penalty and is sent to the box for two minutes.

From inside of his little glass cage, he shoots me his devilish grin a split second before he sends me almost through the ceiling with another power-pulse.

I moan involuntarily. The assistant whose wrist is still red from my pre-game kung fu grip gives me a wary side-eye. I don’t blame her—I look like a lunatic.

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