Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(29)

“You have too many clothes on,” He fumbled with her jean button.

“Wait.” She grabbed his wrists. “Stop.”

The word froze him in an instant. He was dying and ready for salvation, but if she wasn’t ready . . . “What’s up?”

She bit into her top lip and drew in her brows. “I’m not wearing underwear.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No shitting.” Her face blazed. “I was distracted about seeing you again. I forgot until I got to the bathroom at Aunt Shell’s place.”

He hooked his thumbs into the waist of her pants. “Then you’re killing me.” And offered up quiet thanks that his eyes were still working fine. This had gone so far beyond a distraction that he didn’t even know where he was anymore. But as she rose up on her knees, giving him space to lower her pants, he suspected it might be heaven. Another inch and another and oh, yeah. Definite heaven.

She was bare. Pink pussy perfection.

“You’re staring,” she murmured.

“Got that right.” If he had a magnifying glass he’d use it. She was peach soft, and there was only one thing to do with such ripe fruit. “I’m gonna eat you.”

“Excuse me?” Her head jerked with surprise. Her breath came faster and Christ, he could smell her excitement. She wanted it.

Almost as bad as him.

“You heard me.” He leaned back on his elbows, dick throbbing. “Climb on my face, cowgirl. Let’s see what you got.”





Chapter Eleven




She’d never had sex on the floor, never mind the floor of an unfamiliar condo with a near total stranger who also wasn’t a stranger because she’d fantasized about him so much it felt as if she’d known him for years.

Except she hadn’t.

He’d just ordered her to ride his face. Technically, she’d won their game, and was in charge of what happened next, but when Jed West called the shots, every cell in her body was more than happy to obey. She kicked her jeans off from around her ankles, her stomach coiling in anticipation.

It wasn’t until she got situated into position that the doubt set in.

Holy crap, he looked perfect between her legs, the honey yellow flecks in his eyes, the hot-as-hell grizzle of scruff against her inner thighs. The smattering of freckles across his forehead.

If she could take a shot and immortalize it on Instagram without getting cited for pornography she’d post it with hashtags like #winningatlife or #dreamscancometrue or for Margot’s benefit . . . #magiccarpetride.

If her mom could see her now, she’d know that Jed didn’t prefer her sister. Except it was a very, very good thing that her mother couldn’t see her now.

Self-doubt gnawed at her. Because what was he seeing? Her sagging belly? Did her boobs look too big at that angle? What about her thighs?

But then he spread her open with two thick thumbs, more exposed than she’d ever been, and lapped her center with a slow, aching circle, and they locked eyes and something clicked.

He wasn’t cataloging her faults. He was here, appreciating, wait, even more than that. He might be a god, but tonight he worshipped her.

“That’s it, honey. Keep your eyes on mine.” He sucked harder, as if drawing her soul from her clit.

All up, not a bad way to go.

On and on it went, his mouth working her over in tight, tiny circles, his hooded gaze fixed on hers the whole time. When her inner muscles gripped, her hips pumping helplessly, his big hands framed her ass, urging her to ride rougher, gallop past insecurity, until she was free to take everything he gave. The lace from her bra put too much pressure on her aching breasts. She slid her hands over the curves, teasing her nipples, trembling when he growled in approval, the vibrations from his mouth radiating through her thighs.

“God.” She was so close. And he was so relentless. Wet. Deep.

She wanted to get there, to the desperate edge, to come harder than she had in her life. In the way she was made for, but that no one had ever demanded. But she didn’t want to get there alone. He had to be there too.

“What else do you need?”

She gasped, dancing on the edge of her sanity. “Let me get you off too.” She twisted as if to dismount, but his fingers dug in, locked her in place.

“Vixen, you already are. I got the best view in the house. Pull your hair up and show off those big, beautiful tits.” He groaned as she obeyed, playing her body like a maestro. He kept raising the crescendo, but somehow, skillfully, never let the build slip into actual climax.

She squirmed. Her thighs shook. Her arms trembled. She was wound tight. Need stretched all her muscle fibers tight. Her muscles clenched. If she didn’t come soon she might actually explode. That was an entirely possible outcome.

“Please,” she gasped. “Please have mercy.” She was half laughing. Almost crying. So turned on that it was possible she’d pass out or pass into some strange twilight orgasmic zone.

“Shit,” he pulled back. “I can’t wait anymore.”

“If you did, I might die.” She might sound teasing, but was dead serious.

“Nah, Vixen.” His eyes were dark, hooded and hot. “But if I do my job right, you’re gonna think you’ve gone to heaven.” He moved suddenly, sat up and stood, scooping her to him with superhuman strength. She wasn’t a delicate feather, but he didn’t even grunt.