Page 90 of The Hockey Contract

I nudged aside a heavy ceramic bowl filled with wooden spoons, the clatter echoing faintly in the sudden hush that had descended around us. Another cookbook, its spine cracked and well-loved, went sliding across the smooth surface to join the bowl on the floor.

The cool marble met the backs of her bare thighs as I set her down, the stark, shocking temperature a sharp intake of breath against the rising heat of her skin. She gasped again, this time a sharper sound. The coolness of the counter, the mundane functionality of the kitchen, it all served to amplify the heat that was building between us.

Her legs dangled on either side of me, my body slotted between them, trapping her against the cold, unyielding surface.

My hands went to the hem of her dress, my fingers fumbling slightly with the soft cotton fabric. I needed to see her, needed to touch her skin directly, to feel the heat that I knew was radiating from her.

Slowly, I pushed the fabric upwards, inch by agonizing inch, revealing more and more of her legs, her thighs, the shadowed V at the juncture of her thighs, hidden beneath the thin fabric of her panties.

Her breath hitched again, and I could feel her muscles clench slightly beneath my touch. She knew what was coming. She knew where my gaze was fixed, where my intentions were leading. And she wasn't pulling away. She was leaning in, literally and figuratively, meeting my desire with a hesitant yet undeniable invitation.

The fabric of her dress was bunched high around her waist now, exposing the pale skin of her inner thighs, the gentle swell of her pussy still partially covered by the thin cotton of her panties. My gaze dropped lower, tracing the curve of her thighs, the shadowed crease between her legs, the promise of hidden delights.

I sank to my knees between her legs, placing myself directly in front of her pussy, my gaze fixed on that tantalizing shadow, the fabric barrier that was the only thing separating me from her most intimate self.

The cool marble of the floor pressed against my knees, grounding me, centering me, focusing all my senses, all my being, on the woman perched above me, on the prize just within reach.

My hands moved again, tracing the line of her thighs, then drifting inwards, settling on her hips, anchoring myself, holding her steady. My thumbs brushed the edges of her panty line, teasing the sensitive skin just above the lace trim. And then, without a word, I lowered my head.

The air between her legs was thick with her intoxicating scent. My lips parted, and I pressed my mouth against the fabric of her panties, right over her clit.

The thin cotton was surprisingly damp, already slick with her arousal, and the heat radiating from her pussy was palpable, even through the barrier of fabric.

She cried out softly, a small, involuntary sound that was immediately swallowed by the kitchen’s quiet hum, but it resonated through me like a live wire. Her hands tightened on my shoulders, her fingers digging into my shirt, her body arching almost imperceptibly towards me, offering herself, surrendering to the sensation.

I started to lick, tentatively at first, my tongue tracing the outline of her clit through the fabric, mapping the contours, learning the shape of her desire. She gasped again, a sharper intake of breath, and her hips shifted slightly, instinctively pressing closer to my mouth in encouragement.

My tongue grew bolder then, my licks becoming more insistent, more demanding. I lapped at her through the cotton, swirling my tongue around her clit, teasing the sensitive nub beneath the fabric.

She started to moan, soft, breathy sounds that escalated with each stroke of my tongue. Her fingers tightened their grip on my shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of my shirt, her body starting to tremble.

I could feel her wetness seeping through the thin cotton, the dampness spreading against my lips and tongue, the taste subtly salty, intensely arousing. It was her, pure and unadulterated, the taste of her desire, and it was driving me wild.

I increased the pressure, pressing my mouth harder against her, sucking gently through the fabric, creating a subtle vacuum that tugged at her clit. She cried out again, louder this time, her moan echoing off the tiled walls of the kitchen, her hips bucking against my face, no longer controlled, no longer hesitant.

Her legs, which had been dangling loosely on either side of me, now clenched and unclenched rhythmically, her thighs pressing tightly against my head, holding me captive in her delicious embrace.

I could feel her tension building, her body coiling tighter and tighter, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. I knew she was close, and I wanted to push her over, wanted to be the one to send her spiraling into oblivion.

I started to lick faster, harder, my tongue a frantic blur against the damp cotton, my suction growing stronger, deeper. I pressed my hands more firmly against her hips, holding her still, grounding her as the sensations threatened to overwhelm her.

Her moans escalated into cries, sharp, breathless sounds that were ripped from her throat. Her body arched higher off the counter, her back bowing, her hips thrusting against my face. Her pussy muscles clenched and unclenched, her thighs squeezing my head in a vise-like grip.

And finally, she cried out again, her body convulsing around my mouth. I could feel her clit throbbing beneath the fabric, her muscles spasming, her inner walls milking my face with wave after wave of pure, unadulterated orgasm. The taste of her wetness intensified, sweeter, saltier, utterly intoxicating.

She was still coming, the aftershocks of her climax rippling through her body, her moans softening into whimpers, her breathing slowly evening out. I stayed there for a moment longer, my mouth pressed against her damp panties, savoring the taste of her cum, the feeling of her spent body shuddering against mine.

Finally, I lifted my head, looking up at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed and unfocused, her hair disheveled and falling around her face in a wild tangle. She was breathtakingly beautiful, utterly ravished.

“God, Jax,” she breathed, her voice still shaky, laced with lingering pleasure.

I smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of my lips. “You okay?” I murmured, my own voice rough.

She just nodded, unable to speak for a moment, still catching her breath. Then, slowly, she focused on me, her eyes clearing, a hint of mischievousness flickering in their depths. “Okay?” she repeated, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m more than okay.”

And then, her gaze dropped, lower to where my cock was pressing against the fabric of my trousers, straining against the confines of my zipper, demanding its own release. Her smile widened.

“Now,” she purred, her voice suddenly husky, laced with a playful challenge. “I think it’s my turn.”

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