Page 99 of Playing the Pucking Game
Linc whistles. “Fancy.”
I shrug one shoulder and finally spin around to face him. I discover my mistake instantly.
He’s on his feet and only a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts.
His torso is in full view, as are his tattoos.
At the arena, when I have an athlete on my table, they’re nothing but muscles and joints. A machine that needs fixing up. I’m basically a mechanic for a very complex car. I pride myself on being professional.
But with Linc…
Well, he came before the trainer’s table and the experience.
He was one of three men who allowed me to test things out on them. To hone my skills. And as much as I want to say that I saw him no differently to working on my dad or Rett, I’d be lying.
Having him lying before me and at my mercy has always hit differently.
He’s always been more than a machine.
More than just Rett’s best friend.
“He’s a lucky guy, getting to spend the night with you. I hope he knows that,” Linc muses, his eyes taking in every inch of me.
His appreciation is more measured, more considered than it was all those years ago. But we were just silly kids back then. Now, we’re adults who are meant to know what we’re doing.
A laugh rumbles up my throat, but I manage to catch it before it breaks free.
“Only time will tell, I guess,” I muse, hitching my purse up higher on my shoulder.
My cell buzzes, letting me know that my ride is here, and I take a step to the side—only, Linc doesn’t let me escape. Instead, he moves with me, blocking me.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask, my voice weaker, quieter than it was only moments ago.
Linc lifts his hand, and I startle the second his fingertips brush my cheek, the pair of shoes in my hand crashing to the floor, before he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
A shudder rips down my spine as his fingers graze my sensitive skin before his thumb purposefully rubs over the sweet spot beneath my ear.
My eyes drop from his to his mouth.
How would it feel if it were his lips there?
“Linc?” I whisper, not trusting myself to speak any louder as I stand frozen in place.
Anyone would think that this is the first time he’s touched me, from how I’m acting.
But that’s far from the truth.
“I hope he’s worthy of you, little P.”
A rush of air passes my lips as he steps even closer.
Without my heels on, he towers over me.
Heat rolls through my body like a wave, and I attempt to discreetly rub my thighs together when my clit begins to beg for attention.
You just need to get laid.
An hour of mindless sex will make all of this better.
