Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
I could inhale him for hours.
Days.
Months.
Fuck. This complication continues to grow in ways I could never have anticipated, completely blindsiding me.
It’s dangerous.
“You think I want to be exclusive with you?” His voice lowers to a gruff, threatening tone. “Know your fucking place.”
“I do know my place, but do you?” I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back so that I’m staring down at him. “You don’t get to show up at my workplace uninvited, play some territorial game, call me yours, then pretend none of it happened. You might believe you have the upper hand because you come from money and have some secret organization and your daddy behind you, but not with me. You don’t.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive. I eat guys like you for breakfast.”
“Guys like me?” Fire flashes in his eyes as he chokes me tighter. “You dare to compare me to others?”
“Just like you dared to compare our kiss to others.” I tug on his hair. “Doesn’t feel so good to be on the receiving end, does it?”
“You fucking—”
“Shh.” I place a finger on his mouth, then use my grip on his hair to slam him against me.
And fuck.
Fucking hell.
The feel of him pressed all over me sends a rush of pleasure through my veins. It’s so overwhelming, I briefly close my eyes to savor it.
When I open them again, Preston’s watching me with parted lips, his grip on my throat loosening, and I can’t help the smirk that lifts the corner of my mouth.
“Seems like you missed me, baby.”
“In your dreams.”
“I don’t need dreams when…” I rub my awakening cock against his growing bulge. “Your dick is so excited to see me. Mmm, you’re getting so hard so fast.”
“Shut—”
His words are cut off when I pull him to the side, then shove him inside the small storage room that also doubles as a locker room.
Some brooms and cleaning supplies fall to the floor as we crowd the space. It’s kind of tiny, especially for two tall, bulky hockey guys.
But it’s exactly what I need.
I slam Preston’s front against the door, and it nearly rattles off its hinges as I stand behind him, and whisper in his ear, “Hands on the door, ass in the air.”
His lips tremble, and I expect him to fight it since it’s been a while, but he slowly slides his palms up and bends forward until his ass is up.
A gruff noise rips out of my throat. “You can be such a good boy sometimes.”
I help him remove his coat and then throw it on a bench somewhere behind me.
Preston goes back to the same position, watching me with that expression of fascinated expectation.
The one he wears when he knows our bodies are on the verge of colliding in something dangerously sensual.
As if, like me, he’s also been having withdrawals.
As if, like me, he hasn’t been able to look at other people, let alone fuck them.
No matter how often I touch him, the thrill never dulls. If anything, the temptation only doubles, and I feel like I’m floating too close to the sun. It might burn, but it’ll feel good as well.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice huskier, his eyes wider.
“What do you think?” I reach to his front and unbutton his jeans, then pull them and his boxer briefs down until they’re pooling at his ankles.
My cock throbs at the view of his ass, so smooth and round and, tragically, not covered with my marks.
The prospect of adding them sends a jolt of morbid anticipation down my spine.
Have I ever been this excited about fucking? No—no, I haven’t.
There’s just something about Preston Armstrong that pulls out the monster in me.
I stroke his ass in a circular motion as I tip close and murmur, my breath brushing his ear, “Mmm. I missed this.”
He squirms.
Slap.
A sharp groan rips out of him. “Fuuuck.”
“You seem to have missed these hands, baby.”
Slap.
He moans deeply, and just like that, he relaxes under my grip, softening for me, letting me do whatever the fuck I please.
Preston is always resistant at first, but then my body speaks to his, and he falls in line.
My voice lowers, dark enough to make him shiver. “This feel good?”
Slap.
Preston’s head drops, banging on the door as he lets out a grunt, his fingers curling against the door.
“I asked if this feels good. Answer me.”
“Yeah…”
“How good?”
“Just…good.”
I stroke his ass, admiring the way his skin reflects my handprints.
“You wear my marks so well, baby, you know that?”
I strike him four consecutive times, and he releases these blabbering noises, his cock standing to attention. “Yes, fuck…please…”
“Your precum is dripping on the floor.” I wrap a hand around his cock, squeezing roughly. “What a fucking mess.”
“Mff…yes, fuck, just…”
“Just?” I slap the side of his ass cheek.
“Unghh…”
“That’s not a word. You need to tell me what you want.”