Page 68 of Match Penalty

I lead her to the same broom closet we were in earlier, tucked away and forgotten. I pull her inside, closing the door behind us, and in the dim light, all the tension that’s been building between us snaps like a rubber band.

She barely has time to catch her breath before my hands are on her, sliding over the fabric of the jersey, up her sides, until they settle on her hips. Her back presses against the wall, and I lean in, my forehead resting against hers.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” I murmur, my voice rough. “Walking around in my number like this. Like you own me.”

Her hands find the lapels of my suit jacket, tugging me closer. “And you’re too cocky for your own good.”

“Am I?” I ask, my lips brushing hers in a teasing, featherlight touch.

She doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, she tilts her head, closing the gap between us. The kiss is everything I’ve been holding back, weeks of frustration and yearning pouring out as I press her against the wall, my hands roaming under the jersey to find bare skin.

“You know how you had a fantasy of us on the Zamboni?” she breathes against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“Yeah.” I say, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

“Well mine’s always been to fuck you in your game day suit,” she says with a smirk, and pulls me back in.

Her hands reach down, finding the zipper of my slacks, and within seconds, her warm hand reaches past my briefs, wrapping around my hard cock.

She begins a tortious rhythm, one that will have me coming before I even touch her if I'm not careful. I growl against her throat, my teeth nipping against her neck.

"As much as I love this, I need you to come with me, and we don't have time for both. The new media guru is probably looking for me," I say, closing my eyes to enjoy her last few strokes. We'll be exploring more later tonight—after Oakley's, after dinner—when I take her home with me because I can't spend another night without her in my bed.

"Afraid we'll get caught?" she asks with a glint in her eye.

"No, I’m not worried about that. I just want to see your eyes roll back when you take my cock before I have to face the tyranny of the press. Is that okay with you?"

“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” she says, reaching for the bottom of my jersey she's wearing, attempting to pull it off.

"No," I say, stopping her hands. "Keep that on. I want to see my name on your back when I fuck you."

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, her breath hitching as I twist her around, reaching for the button of her jeans. With deliberate slowness, I unfasten them, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her lower belly. Her body shudders under my touch, and I feel the sharp inhale she takes as I slide the denim and her black cotton panties down her legs, leaving her bare for me.

I take a step back for just a second, my gaze drinking her in—the soft curves of her hips, the delicate dip of her lower back, the way my jersey hangs off her shoulders, oversized and perfect. The sight of my name stretched across her back sends a fresh surge of possessiveness through me. After all these years, this woman is finally mine.

“Fucking perfect,” I murmur, my hands skimming up her thighs before I guide her forward, bending her over against the wall.

She arches for me so beautifully, her palms braced against the surface, her breath already coming fast. My fingers slide between her legs, teasing through her folds, finding her soaked and ready. A low growl rumbles in my chest as I drag my cock through her arousal, coating myself with her wetness.

“You’re dripping for me, mon ange,” I say, my voice rough with need. “You want me to take you like this? Bent over and bare? Tell me.”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Take me, JP.”

That’s all it takes.

I line myself up, pressing the thick head of my cock against her tight opening, watching her pink pussy stretch to fit me, inch by inch, her center squeezing around me. We both groan as I sink deeper, stretching her, filling her until I’m seated all the way inside her, buried in the tightest heat I’ve ever known.

“Fuck,” I bite out, gripping her hips as I hold still for a moment, letting her adjust, letting me breathe through the overwhelming sensation of being completely sheathed inside her.

She lets out a soft, whimpering moan, shifting back against me, urging me to move.

That’s all the invitation I need.

I pull back and thrust forward, slow at first, savoring the friction of her slick walls around me. But I don’t stay slow for long. My control is slipping, unraveling with every deep thrust, every desperate sound she makes. My grip tightens on her hips as I drive into her, the force of it making her gasp and brace herself harder against the wall.

“Cammy,” I groan, watching between us as I disappear inside her again and again.

She’s clenching around me, her body gripping me so tight, the friction almost unbearable.

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