Page 128 of Stick It
My heart is still hammering against my ribs when he surges upward, one hand sliding to the back of my head while his other grasps possessively at my hips, pulling me closer. His lips descend on mine, wanting. I can taste myself on him as his tongue invades my mouth, both of us moaning.
“Need you,” he growls against my lips. “Right fucking now.” Holding on to me with one hand as though I might disappear—like I’m going anywhere, I couldn’t walk even if Iwantedto—his other shoves his boxers down enough to grasp his cock.
It springs free, thick and engorged, the blunt head slick already.
“Ride my cock, Hurricane,” he practically orders, fisting himself as he uses his hand on my hip to push me lower until his tip nudges at my entrance. “I need to feel you around me.”
You don’t have to tell me twice.
Hands perched on his shoulders, my fingers dig into the thick cords of muscle there as I seat myself on him. I whimper at the painful stretch of my inner walls. He’s so damnthick. Larger than anyone I’ve been with before, but I welcome the bite of pain.
“That’s it,” he encourages as another inch slips inside me. “You’re doing so good, Hurricane. Nearly there.”
Rocking my hips, I gasp when he fully penetrates me, my hips hitting his.
Chest rising with deep inhales, my fingers play with the light blond strands at the base of his neck, and I stare into those captivating pale blue eyes of his while I catch my breath.
I can feel his fingers pressing into my skin, the flexing of his muscles as he fights not to move. Chemistry crackles in the air between us, but also something more, something deeper, something that terrifies me to look too closely at. So, instead, I lean forward and press my lips to his.
Our kiss is dirty and brimming with desire. With the undeniable attraction between us. The yearning. The impossible, ever-presentache.
“Need you to move,” he grunts, hips bucking as he thrusts up into me. Hands on my hips, he helps to lift me, before I tilt my hips and slam back down. We both groan at the impact, the connection, the sizzling along our nerves.
My hands are everywhere, roaming over his broad shoulders, fingernails scraping along his chest, palms gliding up his muscular arms before I pluck at the rings piercing his nipples making him buck and groan. I can’t get enough. The need to touch him everywhere consumes me as our hips knock together, and the feel of him deep inside me, sliding over that spot, rocketing me higher and higher.
Sweat slicks along my skin, and I can feel his heart hammering against his chest in time with mine as my release races forward.
“Griffin.”
“I’m here, Hurricane. I’m right here with you.” His hands move to my ass, moving me faster, deeper. My hips buck, but he keeps me moving as I sink forward, my breasts pressing againsthis chest as my mouth meets his and I cry into his kiss as I come around him hard enough that I’m pretty sure I momentarily black out.
His deep groans reach me over the thundering of my pulse, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises on my hips as he thrusts up into me, burying himself deep before he comes.
“Fuck,” he rasps breathlessly, fingers still pressing into me as we remain close. My head falls to his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest rhythmic as we both catch our breaths. His lips continue to brush along my damp skin, like he can’t bring himself to stop.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, wrapped up in one another, in this intimate moment between us. Only when I feel him growing inside me do I lift my head, my shocked stare meeting his smug one.
“I hope you weren’t planning on getting any sleep tonight, ’cause I am nowhere near done with you.”
With that, he flips me onto my back and proceeds to prove his point until the sky outside streaks purple with the first light of day.
38
DYLAN
The locker roomhums with quiet energy, the kind that settles deep into your bones before a big game. I pull my jersey over my head, the familiar weight of it grounding me as I shift on the bench. The guys move around me, finishing their own pre-game rituals, but my gaze keeps drifting to the other side of the room.
Kyle sits on the far bench, lacing up his skates with slow, methodical movements. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t so much as looked in my direction. And that’s what unnerves me the most.
Since the moment Coach announced I was playing, we all expected him to retaliate. I almostwantedhim to. To try, at least. I don’t believe Ethan, Griffin, or Jax would let him get anywhere near me, but a failed attempt to target me would open Finn’s eyes to who Kyle truly is at his core. Something I find myself wishing for more and more frequently.
However, instead of the attack I’d anticipated, there’s been…nothing. Not a single spitted word or harsh glare. No discreet shoves or veiled trips. Certainly no cornering on dark nights or trying to get me alone. He—or his minions—haven’t even gone after me during practice.
There has been nothing but silence.
And that’s what worries me.
I look away before he catches me staring, rolling out my shoulders to shake the tension building there. It doesn’t help that Griffin kept me up most of the night. Not that I’m complaining. I would do it all again in a heartbeat. What is a little tiredness when I had multiple moments of pleasure last night? By our last time, I was so out of it that he had to hold his hand over my mouth while I came because I was incapable of keeping quiet any longer.
