Page 29 of One Pucking Secret
“I had a client, so I caught the game live,” she explains, setting the takeout down on the dining table. “And after that hit you took, I figured someone better check on you.”
I shrug, though my shoulder protests. “I’ve had surgery on it before. It gives me trouble now and then, but nothing I can’t handle.”
She nods, her eyes flicking to my shoulder with a hint of concern. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit, following her to the table where we settle into our seats, a quiet sense of normalcy trying to replace the weariness from the game. As she unpacks the boxes from a local Thai place, I watch her—her hands moving with practiced care, the soft auburn waves of her hair framing her face.
We chat between bites, the conversation easy and familiar. Her enthusiasm for the game is genuine. “Watching you score… is something else, Wyatt. You own the ice.”
I chuckle, rubbing at my beard. “Glad I put on a good show for you, then.” My gaze catches on a smudge of sauce at the corner of her mouth, and without thinking, I reach across with a napkin to wipe it away. The contact, innocent as it is, sends an unexpected jolt through me.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, her eyes lingering on mine just a fraction too long.
I shift in my seat, trying to ease the tension building inside me, but a sharp pain lance through my shoulder, pulling a wince from deep within.
“Let me,” Chloe says softly, standing and moving to my side. Her fingers are gentle as they press against the tender spots, finding the knots and tension with skilled precision. Even through my shirt, I can feel the heat of her touch—both soothing and electrifying.
“Chloe.” Her name slips from my lips like a whisper, carrying more meaning than I intended.
“What is it, Wyatt?” she asks, leaning closer, her breath warm against my skin.
“Nothing,” I lie, because it’s too much—everything is too much. The game, the pain, the loneliness, her.
But her touch shifts, becoming more deliberate, more intimate. The line between therapeutic and something more blurs, and when I turn my head to face her, our noses nearly touch. I shouldn’t, but the protest dies before it even forms, and I close the distance, my lips meeting hers.
The kiss starts slow, tentative, like a question hanging in the space between us. But it deepens quickly, all the unsaid words and pent-up emotions dissolving into the feel of her, the taste of her lips, the way she melts into me.
Heat floods through me, fierce and all-consuming. Despite the ache in myshoulder, I stand, lifting Chloe onto the table in one fluid motion. Her gasp barely registers over the pounding of my heart as I press against her.
“God,” I breathe, marveling at how she’s changed—how the girl I once knew has transformed into this woman of strength and fire. My hands roam with purpose, sliding up her skirt, eager to feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers.
The tights are gone in an instant, discarded without thought. Desire crashes through me like a wave, and my own clothes quickly follow, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Kneeling between her legs, I wrap one arm around her thigh, my free hand gliding over the soft fabric of her panties, teasing the heat beneath.
“Yes,” she moans, and it is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I can feel my jeans tighten as my erection grows.
I kiss her thigh, slowly making my way closer to her entrance. Her body tenses, eager for my touch. As much as I want to give in, I want to push her over the edge even more.
“Please…” she begs.
My fingers trace over everything but her clit, her arousal making her panties wet.
“I need you now.”
“Say my name, Chloe,” I urge. My fingers continue to tease her.
Her chest heaves, and I know I’m killing her. But her lips curl into a smile. “Wyatt,” she rasps out, and it’s full of ache and lust. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and here I thought I was the one teasing her. “Wyatt,” she says again, rolling her head back.
That does it for me. Now I’m the one who can’t take it any longer. I push her panties to the side and flick my tongue over her swollen clit.
“Fuck!” Her toes curl and her hips buck, but I pin her down.
I continue to flick my tongue against her clit, side to side, then up and down. Her taste is so decadent, I could come right now. I wrap my lips around her clit and suck. She throws her head back, her body convulsing. I keep her pinned as I carry on satisfying her.
“I need your fingers,” she tells me, and I can hear the longing in her voice.
“What’s the magic word, Chloe?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please.”
