Puck & Make Up (A Rush Hockey #7)

Chapter 13

Thirteen

Fox

H er tight little cunt is squeezing my fingers like a vise and that’s fucking beautiful.

Just not as remotely beautiful as her face is when she comes apart.

The flush on her cheeks spreads down her throat, across her chest, making me desperate to taste those tits again, to have the hardened peaks of her nipples on my tongue. I want to have her moans on my tongue, want to feel her grinding not just against my palm, her pussy clamping around my fingers, but I want her beneath me, want her pulsing around my dick as she cries out.

But…patience.

We skipped a lot of steps tonight, kissing to getting my mouth on her—and though my brain is spinning with the urge to crawl between her thighs and fuck her hard and fast, I know we should wait.

Only…

I don’t anticipate her next move.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I can never anticipate her next move.

One second, she’s lax as I’m lapping up the evidence of her desire, the taste of that sweet pussy on my tongue as I war with myself, never wanting to move, but also desperate to fuck her.

And the next, I find myself flat on my back.

Dessie clambers on top of me, the slick heat of her cunt brushing my stomach, the head of my cock, and then she’s lowering herself onto me.

“Fuck,” I groan as the tight sheath of her comes down over me in one smooth movement.

“Yes, God ,” she moans her palms settling on the middle of my chest, her ass hitting the tops of my thighs as she seats herself fully onto me.

“Condom,” I grit out, reaching for her thighs, intending to tug her off me.

“Fuck.” She goes still, her eyes going wide. “I’m sorry. I?—”

“No, sugar,” I say. “It’s okay. I’m clean. I just…this is a big step.”

Her throat works and my eyes nearly roll into the back of my head when she pulses around me. “I’m on the pill,” she says, “and I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to stop.” Her hips shift ever so slightly, rocking against me, her gaze connecting with mine. “I’m clean too. I—” A breath. “I was tested after—” She shakes her head.

“Sugar,” I murmur, cupping the side of her throat. “It’s okay.”

I know it’s stupid. But I don’t want to her to stop either.

I’ve never gone bare with any other woman, never taken this risk, never allowed myself to be this vulnerable, but with Dessie…it just seems right.

This is the woman I love, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.

And it doesn’t feel like a risk, not really.

If she’s safe, if she feels comfortable, if she wants it?—

Fuck, I would give her anything.

And it’s not like I’m sacrificing myself here.

The slick heat of her pussy clamping around my dick is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

Better than being drafted, better than winning the Calder cup, better than knowing that I have enough money in the bank that I’ll never have to want for anything. Better even than that first step onto the ice in the Grizzlies’ home arena, the crowd screaming, my dreams being fulfilled.

But…not better than her smiles, the shy way she looked at me today, those bags of groceries between us.

Not better than this feeling right now.

Being this close to her.

“I’ll get a condom,” she says, starting to lift off me.

I clamp my hands onto her hips.

“No,” I order roughly. “I don’t want you to move, sugar.”

“No?” she asks, and I see the first hint of the mischief that I love so much about her, the confidence that had been dimmed except for very special occasions until recently.

Until me .

Until I helped her find her way out.

Yeah, I might as well be a fucking superhero.

“You don’t want me to move?”

Her voice is teasing and paired with her internal muscles squeezing, her fingernails biting lightly into my chest…

Well, maybe she’s the one with the superpowers.

She rocks forward, squeezing me tight?—

I bite back a curse, know she’s doing it on purpose to drive me crazy.

And it’s working.

She bends toward me, her lips almost coming to mine, her words glazing along my bottom lip. “You don’t want me to move?” she asks again.

I grit my teeth as sweat begins to bead on my forehead, as it gathers and drips down between my shoulder blades. The urge to roll us, to plunge deep into that tight, slick cunt, to fuck her hard and fast and furiously until we’re both there, is nearly overwhelming.

But this is Dessie—smiling, bright, beautiful, Dessie.

And I won’t take this moment away from her.

Not fucking ever.

So, I clench the blankets in my fists, and I grab tight to my control, and I hold myself still as I say, “I want you to move however it makes you feel good, sugar.”

“And if I say I think I’d like to stay right here?” she drawls, dragging one of her fingernails along my chest.

I flex my hips, shifting my cock inside her, hitting that spot I’d found a few minutes earlier with my fingers, making her gasp and rock against me, taking me deeper. “I think I can change your mind.”

“Not fair,” she huffs.

“You like it,” I counter.

I know she does.

Because she’s moving faster, lifting up and sliding down on me, eroding my control effortlessly.

“Mmm.” A beat as she lifts. Then descends. “Maybe.”

I grin, bend at the waist to kiss her.

“Air,” she gasps, pushing at my chest long moments later.

“Overrated,” I pant out, my lungs sawing.

But, thankfully, she finally decides to put us both out of our misery, and she starts fucking me in earnest, lifting up on my cock and grinding down, dragging that sweet cunt against my pelvis, taking me deep inside her, those inner muscles clenching me tightly enough that I see stars.

My control snaps and I thrust up into her.

“Yes,” she moans. “Like that.”

So, I do it again and again and again , until we’re both panting, until our sweat-covered bodies are coming together in a rhythm that’s frenzied and out of control and fucking perfect.

Until I sense that she’s right there, and I know I can finally let go.

“Fuck!” I shout, my hips pistoning up into her, meeting her movements each time she grinds down.

Once. Twice?—

She cries out, her orgasm rippling around my cock, milking me as I come inside her so hard that, swear to fuck, I black out.

It’s a Herculean effort that I somehow manage to rouse myself long minutes—maybe a fucking century—later in order to carry her into the bathroom, to let her do her business. When that’s done, I hand her a damp cloth, help her clean up. Then I tug one of my T shirts over her head, brush her hair out of her face, and carry her back into the bedroom.

My legs are shaking and I’m exhausted, as though I played a double header, but I get us over to the bed, settle her on the mattress and drop down beside her. Groaning, I toss the blankets over us, gather her closer, and let sleep come, knowing that the next morning is going to be the best ever.

I just…

Couldn’t have known right then how wrong I was going to be.