Page 37 of Penalty Box
That was all he needed.
He kissed his way down my neck, finding the spot just under my ear that made my whole body shudder. I clutched his shirt with tight fists, my knuckles brushing the skin of his lower back. Every shift of his weight made the Zamboni creak beneath us, but we didn’t stop.
He was everywhere, hands framing my face, fingers grazing along my ribs, hips bucking into me when the force of our desire became too much. The kiss turned messier, breathless.
I arched my back, grinding my hips harder against the bulge of his cock, already imagining what it would feel like when he was finally inside me. I wanted to feel all of him, wanted to erase the line between logic and need, and drown in what he made me feel.
Mason pulled back just far enough to look at me, his eyes shot dark and wild with want.
“Cass…” His voice was strained over it, but still my name sounded like a sacred prayer on his lips.
My mouth claimed his before he could finish what he was saying, hands curling in his hair with a tug that made him moan into my mouth. The aching in my pussy became more intense. Needy.
He dragged his teeth along my bottom lip, then kissed the sting away until I was quivering from it. My thighs clenched around his hips as he trailed his tongue along the sensitive dip of my collarbone.
I was gone. Completely gone.
Whatever willpower I had left died somewhere between his mouth and that molten look in his eyes. My resolve? Scattered over the Zamboni like candy wrappers and forgotten textbooks.
I didn’t want to think about exams or curfews or what would happen if my dad found out. I just wanted this.Him.
Mason.
“I still have half an hour before practice.” His breath was shallow and ragged against my mouth.
I lapped it up, and sucked his lower lip before replying, “Take off your pants.”
He locked eyes with me, hands digging into my hips and pushing down. Hard. I could feel the way his rock-hard cock strained in his pants, pressing at my core with a desperate heat.
“You sure that’s what you want?” Without dropping his gaze, he started guiding my hips to grind against him. Back and forth, over and over again.
“Twenty-eight minutes and counting, Calder.”
His hands shot to the waistband of his pants, but just as he was about to undo them, the theme music toThe White LotusTV show rang out around us.
Our heated moment dissolved into hasty fumbling from me, and mild confusion from him.
“What the f—?”
“Shit, my phone.” I’d forgotten to put it on silent, and it was currently loud enough to attract all sorts of attention.
I sprung from the Zamboni and rummaged through the graveyard of candy wrappers on the floor. “Yes!”
Mason climbed down, moving with some discomfort (for obvious reasons), all with a bemused grin on his face. “Not very classic rock of you.”
I held up a finger to mute him, and panted into my phone, “Hi, Dad.”
Mason’s face fell instantly. If I’d bothered to look down, I would’ve noticed something else deflating rather quickly too.
“Yeah, I’m at the arena. Why?”
I could feel his eyes on me as I paced the bay, my Converse crunching through the mess we’d made. Well, the tangible one, anyway.
“Sure,” I said. “What, um, what do you want to talk about?”
Mason tapped my shoulder, but I couldn’t look at him. He tapped again, and I swatted his hand away.
“Okay, I’ll just finish up w—” I pursed my lips, sure that Mason could hear my dad’s voice even though he wasn’t on speaker. “Now. Got it. I’ll be right down.”
