Page 62 of Match Penalty

“Yes. It’s still okay.”

His other hand leaves the wheel, snaking around to rest just above the waistband of my jeans, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin of my hip. The sensation sends a wave of heat coursing through me.

JP’s lips trail along the curve of my neck, leaving a slow burn in their wake that cools quickly from the chill of the rink. I tilt my head to the side, giving him better access as his hand moves back and forth, kneading each breast, giving attention to both. His other hand snakes down over my belly, sneaking down past the waistband of my jeans, his fingertips teasing against bare skin.

I reach up and cup the back of his neck, giving me somewhere to anchor myself to him. I rotate my hips, feeling his hard length under me, grinding slowly on top of him. He groans at the friction, his hand continuing its descent down my body until his middle finger slides through my slick folds, swirling over my clit and sparking a heat deep inside of me, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

My nails dig deeper into the back of his neck as I struggle to stay grounded. He presses soft kisses along my neck, murmuring words of praise that I can’t quite make out in broken French. But there are some I catch that have my body responding to him. “Such a good girl,” “…soaking wet pussy just for me," "…I never thought I’d get you like this,” and “…you're my fantasy, Cammy.”

I breathe out his name, my voice trembling with need.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, his voice steady. “Just let me take care of you.”

His words send another wave of liquid heat soaking through my panties and lubricating his fingers, and when his finger dips lower, sliding inside me, I gasp. The way he moves is unhurried, exploring, his thumb coming back up to rub slow, lazy circles over my clit as he pumps his finger in and out. My hips instinctively roll to meet his hand, chasing the pressure that’s quickly building inside me.

“You feel like silk on my fingers,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “The softest thing I’ve ever felt.”

“I can’t believe I’m letting you fuck me on a Zamboni,” I say breathlessly.

“I haven’t fucked you yet, mon ange. This is just foreplay.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out, the overwhelming sensation of his fingers working me driving me closer to the edge. His free hand cups my breast again, his thumb flicking over my nipple, adding to the chaos of sensations flooding my body.

I can’t stop the soft whimper that escapes my lips as he curls his finger just right, hitting a spot that sends a bolt of pleasure shooting through me. My head falls back harder against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to my temple, his movements relentless, his fingers stroking just right, drawing me closer and closer to the brink.

The tension coils tighter in my stomach, a pressure so intense I feel like I might burst into flames. And then, with one final stroke, I do. My body pulsates around his fingers as the pleasure crashes over me, wave after wave pulling me under. I cry out softly, his name a breathless whisper on my lips, knowing that someone other than JP in this stadium might hear me, as he holds me through it.

As the aftershocks ripple through me, his hand slows, his touch gentle now. He kisses the side of my neck again, his lips lingering as I come down, my body still trembling from the release.

“You’re incredible,” he says, his voice thick with awe. “Watching you fall apart in my lap…” He trails off, his lips brushing against my skin. “I’ll never forget it.”

I turn my head to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, his expression raw. My chest tightens at the sight, my heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him, pouring every emotion I can’t say into it. He kisses me back as if he knows what I’m trying to tell him, his hand still resting on my waist, holding me close like he never wants to let go. But slipping away is the last thing on my mind.

The rumble of the Zamboni fades into the background as JP moves us across the ice, his grip firm on my waist.

As we near the Zamboni bay, the massive garage doors open, revealing the dimly lit, heated space beyond. The warmth hits my skin, a stark contrast to the cool bite of the ice, and I shiver—not from the temperature, but from the anticipation curling in my stomach.

JP reaches past me, his fingers grazing my hip as he presses the button to seal us inside. The mechanical whir of the doors closing is the last sound of the outside world before we’re completely alone, tucked away from prying eyes.

I twist, turning in his lap to face him, my legs sliding to either side of his hips—straddling him. JP’s hands immediately settle on my thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to send another shiver through me. His eyes meet mine, dark and filled with raw, unfiltered desire.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Cammy,” he murmurs, his pupils dilated, his cock hard underneath me.

“Am I?” I ask, a teasing edge to my tone as I press myself closer, feeling the length of him beneath me. His sharp intake of breath fuels my boldness.

He doesn’t answer with words—he doesn’t need to. His hands move to my hips, guiding me to grind against him, and the friction is enough to pull a soft moan from my lips.

"You've been driving me crazy all night," he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine. "I can't hold back."

“Then don’t hold back,” I whisper, my voice unsteady as I press my hands to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms.

That’s all it takes.

JP surges forward, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss so fierce it leaves me gasping. His hands slide under my shirt, gripping my waist, then gliding up the smooth expanse of my back before yanking the fabric over my head. My skin prickles with heat, and the coolness of the rink as I push his jacket from my shoulders, letting it pool at our feet, lost to the urgency consuming us.

We move frantically, shedding layers in a fevered blur of motion. The quiet thumps of our clothes hitting the Zamboni, the floor, the tool bench—it all melts together, background noise to the rush of need pounding through my veins.

His lips never leave mine, his kisses deep and consuming, his hands mapping every inch of bare skin as he backs me toward the side of the Zamboni. I gasp as the cool metal presses against my back, the contrast against my heated flesh sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

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