Page 60 of Heartbreak Hockey

I’m not in the mood for sweet. I’m overtaken with ravenousness for him and the need to be consumed by him at the same time.

A condom wrapper crinkles and then the head of his rubber-sheathed cock is pressing into me slowly. “That’s it. Press back, baby.”

Baby, in that smooth voice of his. Always wanted someone to call me that. I bear down and swallow him inside me. His fingers grip a firm hold onto my left hip while the right ones reach around for my hard as steel cock. Oh God, this is gonna be so good!

His hand is slathered in lube and the squelches are sinful when he strokes me. “Fucking hell, Merc. If you don’t move soon, I’m gonna come just from that.”

Then he squeezes hard, bringing all climaxing to a halt. “No, you’re fucking not.” The delight in his voice is evident.

God damn, but I love this kind of control. The rough and unbridled kind. It’s also annoying as hell.

He moves slowly at first, making sure he’s not gonna hurt my ass or something. “C’mon, Merc. You’re killing me.”

I get a smack on the ass for that and really, I asked for it. I laugh. This is so … I sigh. I don’t want to say perfect. There’s got to be a fucking catch somewhere. Things were perfect with Rhett too. We didn’t even fight much beyond a bit of bickering. I legit expected us married with a baby on the way by now. He’s so rich, we could have two babies on the way at the same time.

I don’t know what I want anymore. This. Maybe just this. Spanking, some sex, some toeing of the line with the whole marking me his thing.

No labels. No commitment.

“If you get bossy, you won’t be cumming, which would be a shame because I want to see you fall apart, buttercup.”

Fuck. I want to see him come apart too, but I can’t at this angle. At least I’ve got my ears. Maybe I should get him to take me to his bed and …

No.

No way.

That’s too commitment-y. It’s one thing to end up there. When we fucked in his bed before, we were just two strangers having a wild and hot night. Me requesting the bed so I can look into his damn eyes is romantic.

No fucking romance.

“I’ll behave myself.”

He fucks me a little faster, pressing into my prostate in long hard strokes. I hang my head going dizzy with pleasure.

“Maybe for five minutes, trouble.”

“I resent that. I’ve been so good,” I tease.

“Only because I’ve got my eyes on you.” He leans down pressing his chest against my back and I wish we had fewer clothes on.

No. This is good. Less clothing is more intimate.

He speeds up his thrusts, having learned just how much I can take, and I’m grappling to hang onto something, sliding around on the marble. But there’s nothing and I’m a free-flowing rag doll. It’s sensational again, like before. Like I’m flying down the ice on skates headed straight for the boards and I don’t care.

Mercy’s hand on my cock strokes again, building me toward climax. My toes curl into my boots, which I never had the chance to remove when I got here. Behind me, his breathless pants are desperate, like he wants to come so bad, but he’s prolonging it.

Slap after slap of his hips against my tender ass ring across his fancy penthouse.

“Fuck, Leslie.Yeeesss.”

It’s amusing, him calling me Leslie during sex. Scolding me even when he isn’t meaning to. Makes me smile. Like I’m a naughty boy for luring him to sinful pleasure. He’s unhinged. It’s nice to see a guy who’s usually the epitome of control, lose it just for me. He howls a moan of longing.

“Yes. So close,” I say. “Please, Mercy.”

That breaks him. He jolts against me, his cock plumping inside me as he comes into the condom, deep within my channel. He somehow manages to maintain the wherewithal to stroke me faster until I can’t hold back anymore either and his lack of stopping me is him allowing it to happen—fuck, that alone gets me hot and bothered.

I come in long streaks, my cock throbbing in his hand, and lose my damn mind for what feels like an eternity. I don’t know if it’s the kind of sex we have—wild and untethered—or if it’s that I’m having it with him, but it’s the best I’ve ever had.