Page 310 of Playing the Pucking Game
I make Lincoln Storm lose control.
With my eyes locked on his fabric-covered cock, I make a show of licking my lips.
He groans again, but this time, he drops to his knees and crawls toward me.
What a fucking vision.
His body is a work of art, from the ink to the muscles, even down to the colorful array of bruises he’s sporting thanks to last night’s game.
He is just beautiful.
He moves right over my body, hovering over me with his hands placed on either side of my shoulders.
“Hey,” I squeak quietly.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he muses, his eyes bouncing between mine. “You look really fucking good in my jersey. I hate that you can’t wear it to games.”
He ducks lower, his lips brushing over mine, stealing any response I might have.
Dropping his weight to one elbow, his other hand lands on my waist, the heat of his skin burning through the fabric, making my temperature soar.
Wrapping my leg around his waist, I try to tug him down on top of me, desperate to feel his weight, his hardness between my legs. But he holds firm.
I whimper into our kiss, and he chuckles. Asshole.
We’re both breathless when he finally pulls back.
“We need to eat,” he tells me, his eyes almost black with desire. “We’re going to need the energy.”
My core clenches again at his unspoken words.
“O-okay,” I breathe.
The second he pushes himself off me and sits at my side, I miss him. It’s ridiculous; he’s right there.
“Everything okay?” he asks, watching me with a smirk playing on his lips.
“Uh-huh. Yep. I’m good,” I mumble as I push myself up.
“Good. Shall I hit play?” he asks, nodding at the screen.
“Go for it,” I say as I begin pulling lids off of the take-out containers.
The waft of food gets stronger, and my stomach growls loudly, making Linc laugh.
As the movie plays, we sit side by side, filling up on delicious Chinese food while sipping on the bottle of wine Linc had chilling.
As dates go, it’s by far the best I’ve ever had.
About halfway through the movie, Linc pauses it to clear up the empty containers, and when he returns, he wraps his hands around my ankles and tugs me down until I’m lying amongst the cushions. He crawls next to me and pulls me into his body.
I think we only last another ten minutes before we’re thoroughly distracted.
Our kiss starts innocent, but that soon changes. His hands slip under my jersey, grabbing and teasing everywhere he can. And I can’t say I’m any better.
My hands gently trail over his shoulders and chest, being careful of the bruises, before I skim down his stomach, my palm bouncing over his abs until I can grasp him through his sweats.
He groans, his length jerking in my hold.
