Page 31 of Bagging the Blueliner
At least there was a silver lining—none of those tools she was with were hockey players.
It was no secret Hannah led an active sex life, but that didn’t mean I needed it shoved in my face.
Seeing her line up her entertainment for tonight triggered my competitive side. If she was going to flirt out in the open, so would I. Let’s see how she liked that.
She doesn’t give a fuck, you idiot. She hates you, remember?
Shoving that fact to the side, I honed in on a pair of blondes with breasts too large to be real on display. One—or both—of them would do.
Ordering another double, I tipped my glass in their direction. Women came to me, not the other way around.
The blondes were experienced in this game. Not seeming too eager, they scanned me from head to toe, conversing amongst themselves before sauntering in my direction.
Benji saw their approach, chuckling before he left my side. “They look like double trouble. Have a great night.”
Gracefully, the first blonde situated herself on the barstool to my right, crossing her long legs so the skirt of her dress hiked up. That move had me itching to drag my hand up that smooth skin to find the treasure hidden between her thighs.
The other was bolder, pressing herself against my chest, running a hand up my arm, and introducing herself, “I’m Sadie, and this is my friend Tiffany.”
Sipping my drink, I gave her a little bit of the smolder. “Cal.”
Biting her lower lip, she released it slowly, purring, “Hello, Cal.”
She was good. Probably experienced enough that I could do all manner of filthy things to her body. That wasexactlywhat I needed tonight.
Glancing over her head, I saw Hannah openly making out with the not-so-funny whisper guy. Something inside me snapped, and I gripped the hip of the blonde plastered to my body.
“Wanna get out of here?” I growled in her ear.
Reaching her hand up to tangle in my hair, she breathed out, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Turning her body, I placed my hand on the small of her back, ushering her from the crowded bar toward the bank of elevators that would take us to my room. The doors opened, and we waited for it to clear before stepping inside.
Gesturing to the wall of buttons, the blonde—whose name I’d already forgotten—asked huskily, “Where to, lover?”
She was good. I had to give her that. “Fifteen.”
“A high floor,” she mused. Pressing the button, she turned and pressed her body flush with mine. “I hope it has a balcony.”
She was saying all the right things. The image of her body bent over a balcony was meant to arouse, but nothing was stirring below the belt. Brushing it off, I told myself I’d be ready for action once I had her in my room.
A ding sounded, signaling we’d reached our destination, and I led her down the hallway to my room. Swiping my key card, I opened the door, letting her enter before me.
The second the door slammed closed, she was on me. Dipping my head, I took her mouth. She tasted like salt and lime, and my tongue searched for more of that tartness.
Bending down, I gripped the back of her thighs, lifting her off the ground. In a practiced move, she threw her legs around my waist, allowing me to carry her to the bed. Her nails dug into my scalp, and I groaned into her mouth.
Dropping her onto the bed, I watched as she untied the string holding her dress up, and her big—definitely fake—breasts spilled free. Smirking, she dropped her hands to play with them, arching her back at the touch. Shimmying her hips, a silent invitation hung in the air for me to drag the dress down the rest of her body.
Leaning over, I caged her in with a hand on either side of her head, retaking her mouth while she played with her tits. Breaking the kiss, I trailed my tongue down her jaw, between the valley of her breasts, until I reached where the dress covered her flat stomach.
Gripping the fabric, I dragged it over her hips, dropping it to the ground. Standing again, I drank in the sight of her. Her hips thrust upward, searching to relieve the ache between her thighs, clad only in a black thong.
The alcohol was beginning to hit me, and I felt warm and fuzzy. Watching the one-woman show before me, I frowned. It would seem my dick hadn’t gotten the memo. He still wasn’t ready to party.
Grabbing my crotch, I pretended to adjust an uncomfortable hard-on.
Wake the fuck up!
