Page 60 of No Pucks

“I understand a little what he’s like to deal with on the ice at least.”

I take his glass out of his hand and drink it. “Great. Can we say we’ve bonded over hating my father and skip the talking?”

He watches me sip his drink, crossing his arms over his chest. “If that’s what you need tonight, but I’m not dropping it forever.”

“Whatever you say.” I shove off my sweats so he can see I followed instructions and wore a jock.

His gaze follows the movement, and he stares as I grab my shirt by the back of the neck and pull it off, mirroring his stance, crossing my arms too.

“You’re so good at following directions in some ways and utterly defiant in others.”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Good boy’,” I say, giving him attitude.

He gives me a flat look. “I’ll tell you you’re a good boy after you’ve earned it.”

Now we’re talking.

“How would you like me to earn it?”

“Turn around.”

I spin.

His fingers dig into my hips, pulling my ass against his dress pants. I press my palms into the window. “You have no right to look this beautiful.”

I freeze, caught by his words. “Don’t do that.”

Anthony’s lips drift over the back of my neck. “Do what?”

“Make me like you.”

“If you don’t like me, what the fuck have we been doing?” His tone is light, and his lips twitch against my skin. Could he be smiling? Not possible. I’d never seen him do so.

I shake my head, wrapping an arm around his back to pull him closer. “Fucking. That doesn’t have to involve liking each other.”

“My bad. I thought there was at least some like involved.” He’s not desperate like the other times we’ve fucked. Anthony is taking his time exploring every inch of me, making me feel the meaning to his words.

It’s making me desperate, and I’m never desperate. I don’t lose control of myself like this. “I like your cock.” I press my forehead against the glass, rocking into him, trying to get him to do more than just touch me.

“Surely you like more than my cock.” He rubs his bulge between my cheeks, driving his point home.

“Look whose ego’s getting big.” I bite back a whimper, not wanting to show him just how on edge I am, how much I need to forget after this fucking game.

He bites the curve of my neck. “So hard to admit, is it?”

“Will you fuck me already?” I dig my fingers into his hip.

“Ask me nicely,” he says against my ear.

I growl.

“Use your words,” he demands.

“Fuck you.”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” His voice is lighter and almost playful.

“You know what I want.” I turn back around, pressing my shoulder blades into the glass while pushing my hips out to stroke myself.

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