Page 14
Story: Hit Me With Your Best Shot
14
austin
H is apartment is insane.
No.
Scratch that—this is not an apartment.
Sure, it’s in a building …but Gio is at the top, in the penthouse, and the view is sick. The moment the elevator doors slide open directly into his penthouse, I’m greeted by floor-to-ceiling windows framing a city view so stunning it takes my breath away. The glittering skyline stretches endlessly, like it was pulled straight out of a social media post.
It’s equal to—if not better than—the view from the restaurant.
The open floor plan is sleek but warm, modern without feeling cold. A plush gray sectional dominates the living area, with deep cushions that practically beg to be lounged in. There’s a fireplace built into the wall and a massive TV mounted above it— because of course there is.
He's a guy, isn’t he? They love that shit.
I catch sight of a small bar in the corner, its glass shelves stocked with an impressive collection of liquor bottles. The kitchen, visible off to the side, looks like something out of a cooking show, all stainless steel and glossy countertops .
I feel like I’ve walked into a magazine spread.
So different from my modest abode.
Gio has a terrace.
An expansive one that wraps around his entire penthouse, dotted with potted plants and sleek lounging chairs that look like they belong in a luxury resort. There’s a fire pit on one side and a table with chairs on the other, perfectly set up for late-night dinners or early morning coffee.
It’s incredible.
I walk out and go to the railing, leaning to peer over the edge.
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. My heart skips three beats.
We are so high up.
Gio steps up behind me, handing me a glass of wine. Before I can even thank him, his arms slide around my waist, pulling me back against him. His nose nuzzles into the crook of my neck—his favorite spot, apparently. And now?
My favorite spot, too.
I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, and I have to fight the urge to melt completely.
“You live here and get to look at this every day?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief as I lift the glass to my lips, taking a small sip.
His grip on my waist tightens slightly, and I feel him smile against my neck.
“Every day.”
“That’s insane,” I murmur, shaking my head, hair whipping around from the wind. “I don’t think I’d ever leave if I were you.”
He chuckles softly, his chest rumbling against my back.
“You get used to it,” he says with a shrug, though there’s a softness in his tone that tells me he still appreciates it. But I’ve followed his career and understand enough to know his opportunities didn’t come easy; they came with hard work, lots of injuries, and dedication.
Gio Montagalo had nothing handed to him, not his glossy penthouse or professional hockey career.
I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you, though?”
He meets my gaze, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken between us that makes my stomach flutter.
He is so hot.
“No,” he says as last. “I don’t think you ever really get used to it,” he admits, voice quieter now as he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Not completely. I mean, sometimes…” He trails off and he clears his throat. “Sometimes it feels like something is missing. Like—there’s no point in having all of this if you can’t share it with someone.”
I have no idea what to say to that honesty.
It’s so real.
For a moment, the world feels impossibly small—just me, Gio, and the view stretching out before us.
“Come on,” he says suddenly, pulling back and grabbing my hand. “Let’s go back inside. Too cold out here.”
Curiosity piqued, I allow him to lead me back into the penthouse, his hand warm and steady in mine. The lights are dimmed, casting a warm glow over the space, and I notice how large his hand is compared to mine; how rough and calloused it is as he guides me down a hallway.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice breaking the silence.
Because the bedroom would be great .
I’m past the point of pretending—or caring about my own make-believe dating rules so I can fake being a ‘Good Girl.’ I want more of what we had at the arena; more tension. More flirting. More touching.
I’m addicted to how much fun Gio is.
Le sigh…
The hallway opens into another room—this one darker, with floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side. A massive sectional couch dominates the center, piled high with plush throw pillows and blankets. They look so soft and beg to be touched.
“Okay, wow. This is spectacular,” I admit, my eyes scanning the room. “Is this your office?”
He walks to a sleek console table against the wall and picks up a small remote, pressing a button. Instantly, the far wall begins to move, a hidden panel sliding open to reveal a massive screen.
“Technically, yes. But no work gets done in here.” He tosses the remote to the couch. “I thought we could watch a movie.”
“You have a home theater.” I blink in disbelief. “Of course, you do.”
“Only for my favorite guests,” he teases, plopping down on the couch and patting the spot next to him.
Hesitating for a moment, I take in the cozy setup, imagining him here alone; the blankets draped across the back of the massive sectional, the soft lighting casting a warm glow, and the way the city skyline sparkles in the background through the windows.
It’s a space to be enjoyed with a partner.
“Come here,” he coaxes. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
I have no issues if he did.
Kicking off my heels, I join him on the couch, sinking into the plush cushions. He’s already reclined, one arm stretched across the back of the sectional like he owns the world—well, this world, at least.
In his free hand, he’s swirling a glass of wine, too, the deep red catching the soft light.
I tuck my feet under me and take a sip from my own glass, savoring the taste. It’s smooth, rich, and probably something I’d never buy for myself.
Figures.
“What are we watching?” I ask, setting my glass down on the side table .
“Whatever your little heart desires.”
After a bit of scrolling through the apps, we settle on an action movie; I’m only half paying attention, though. Like who cares about a movie when I’m warm and a little fuzzy and Gio’s arm slid from the back of the couch and is now resting on my shoulder?
Not me.
I melt as his fingers graze my skin, back and forth, in a slow caress.
“Comfy?” he murmurs, glancing down at me.
“So comfy,” I breathe, unable to find my voice.
My body is hot.
“You’re not watching the movie,” he teases.
“Neither are you,” I shoot back, glass of wine all but forgotten on the side table, the room feeling impossibly hot.
Whew, baby it’s warm in here!
“Touché.”
For a moment, we say nothing at all, quietly acknowledging one another.
Then.
His hand slips from my shoulder to my collarbone, his thumb brushing lightly against the sensitive skin there. Unhurriedly—almost reverently—Gio’s fingers sweep upward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
The motion is intimate, as if he’s memorizing the curve of my neck.
My pulse spikes, and I lean closer, drawn to him like a magnet. Every nerve in my body is tuned to the moment, the space between us shrinking with every passing second….
“Gio,” I whisper, unsure if it’s a warning or an invitation.
“Yeah?” His voice is low. Rough.
Hesitant.
So polite…
“I…” Whatever I was about to say vanishes as his lips meet mine .
The kiss is slow at first, teasing, as though he’s testing the waters.
My fingers curl against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath my palm. It’s grounding in a way, even as everything else—my thoughts, my breath, my sense of time— spirals completely out of control .
I want him so bad.
So sexy.
So masculine.
Gio’s hands find my waist, steadying me, pulling me closer, and it’s not enough. The angle feels all wrong, the space between us still too much despite the heat radiating off him.
Without a second thought, I shift. Moving onto my knees, I slide one leg over his lap, settling myself astride him. My dress rides higher with the motion, the fabric easing its way to my hips as I settle against him.
His hands instinctively move to my waist, gripping firmly, holding me there as his head tilts back to meet my gaze.
His eyes are dark, intense, the flicker of hesitation from earlier?
Gone.
Gio’s palm smacks my ass.
My fingers slide up, curling around the back of his neck as I lower myself against him, bringing our mouths back together.
This kiss is different.
It’s heated, desperate, our mouths colliding like we’re both racing to make up for lost time. His hands tighten on my hips, guiding me as I shift slightly, my thighs pressing against his, my body aligning with his in a way that makes me dizzy.
I shift against him again, and his grip tightens, a groan escaping his lips that makes my stomach flip.
“Keep doing that,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, the words almost lost against my skin. “Don’t fucking stop.”
I obey, moving against him with more urgency. Every brush, every shift of our bodies stokes the fire that’s burning between us, making it harder to focus on anything but the way he feels beneath me.
His hands slide up inside the fabric of my dress…
Palms skimming my bare skin.
Flirts with the clasp of my strapless bra.
Every movement, every slight shift in pressure, ignites a fire that has me leaning into him, desperate for more.
He pulls at my dress until it’s up…over my head…tossed to the floor like a rag.
Gio’s huge hands find my breasts, tips of his fingers trailing over the lace of my strapless bra, thumbs brushing my already sensitive nipples through the satin fabric.
I watch, spellbound, as he studies my body.
Let him explore.
The corner of his mouth tilts up as he dips his head, pressing a kiss to the swell of my breasts, then lower, nose tracing the edge of my bra. The heat of his breath against my skin is maddening .
Large hands slide around to my back again, deftly undoing the clasp of my bra. The hooks give way, the fabric slipping from my body; cool air hits my bare skin before his mouth replaces it.
Gio sucks.
Licks.
A gasp escapes my lips as his tongue flicks over one sensitive peak; he sucks as his other hand kneads the soft curve of my breast. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him, needing everything.
I arch into him, desperate for more…
Panties = 88%.
“Jesus, Austin,” he slurs against my skin, his voice vibrating through me. “You drive me so fucking crazy.”
Then.
His hands leave my boobs to cradle my face.
His thumbs brush gently across my cheeks, a contrast to the tension coiling between us, as his eyes search mine. For a moment, time stops .
With a loud grunt, he moves, standing effortlessly with me still in his arms.
Instinctively my legs wrap around his waist as he takes long strides across the room, his focus completely on me.
“Where are we going?” I manage to ask, heart pounding in my chest—and my vagina.
“Somewhere with a fucking headboard.”
Oh jeez.
A shiver runs down my spine at the promise in his voice, anticipation coiling in my stomach as he carries me down a long hallway of closed doors.
The last door is ajar and he nudges it with his shoulder and crosses the threshold, his hold on me steady as he turns to push the door shut with his foot.
The soft click of it closing behind us sends a thrill racing through me, my pulse pounding in my ears.
My brain barely has time to register the massive bed before he dumps me on it: white linens. Sleek nightstands.
Gold reading lamps.
The bed beneath me is impossibly soft, the kind of plush luxury you sink into, and if I wasn’t in the middle of seducing him I’d pay more attention. I’m too focused on him to notice the finer details of his bedroom…
For a moment he goes still as he watches me, his blue eyes burning with intensity—intense and predatory—as if he’s committing this moment to memory.
“You look so good here,” he murmurs huskily as he leans over me, hands framing my hips. His breath fans across my cheek, warm and teasing. “Right where you belong.”
“I—”
Whatever I was going to say is lost when his lips find mine again, the kiss deeper and more insistent this time. He moves closer, his weight sinking onto the mattress, one knee pressing into the bed beside me as his hands explore.
Every touch, every movement, is deliberate, as if he’s savoring the experience as much as I am. His hand skims up my thigh, sliding higher and higher until it brushes against the lace edge of my underwear.
He tugs.
“Not so fast.” I shake my head, tsking. “You can’t take these off until you remove something. Fair is fair.”
I don’t have to ask him twice.
“Fair is fair,” he repeats, eagerly grabbing the hem of his shirt. He pulls it over his head in one fluid motion, revealing a body that is all hard muscle and tanned skin.
My mouth goes dry.
Bone.
Dry.
“Better?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement as he tosses the shirt aside. He crosses his arms, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he watches me watch him.
Show-off.
“It’s a start,” I manage to say, though my voice betrays just how flustered I am. My attempt at nonchalance falters entirely when my gaze drops to his abs. “Keep going.”
“Bossy,” he murmurs, taking a step closer, his hands already working the button of his jeans. I watch transfixed as he pops it open, the zipper whirring down agonizingly slow, the denim hanging low on his lean hips.
Gio smirks when he catches the way my eyes follow every movement, as if I weren’t going to enjoy the show.
“Now can I take off your panties?” he says, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he steps forward until he’s standing right between my knees.
My head nods up and down. “Only if you do it with your teeth.”
That’s all the invitation he needs.
Gio's smirk deepens, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he sinks to his knees before me.
The sight of him there, between my thighs , sends a jolt of heat through my body, my breath catching in my throat.
“Yes, ma’am.” His hands trail leisurely up and over my thighs, thumbs skimming the sensitive skin as he leans in, his face just inches away from my?—
I hold my breath.
Balancing myself on my elbows so I have a front row seat, my eyes gloss over as they fixate on his mouth; he leaves an open mouth kiss as close to my pussy as he can get without pressing his lips on it.
The tip of his finger teases, hooking on the elastic of my thong…back and forth beneath it.
Gio inhales.
My body is strung tight, every nerve ending alive and begging for his touch. He smirks, clearly relishing my reaction, and leans down once more.
This time, there’s no teasing.
His beautiful, white teeth graze the waistband of my thong.
A strangled gasp escapes me as he tugs it down with an infuriating mix of skill and sensuality, taking his time, his breath searing my skin. The lace slides away, leaving me bare and vulnerable, and I’m helpless to do anything but watch as he tosses it aside.
He glances up, his gaze locking with mine, and the hunger in his eyes is enough to make my heart stutter.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “I cannot wait to bury my face in this hot little pussy.”
Hot little pussy…
Bury my face…
“Oh God.” I gasp as his big hands drag me closer to the edge of the bed—to the brink. Palms spread me wider, holding me open as he lowers his face and licks me. Gio’s eyes slide closed as he goes to town on my pussy, lapping and sucking at me as if it were his new full-time job and I moan…
Groan.
Thrash my head, fingers grasping at the white comforter …
“Oh God…”
Gio moans deep in his chest as he eats me out—moaning like he’s dining out on the most delicious fucking thing he’s ever had and can’t get enough of it, his hips grinding against the edge of the bed where he’s kneeling to alleviate some of this own tension.
"I want you inside me," I whisper, pushing at his shoulders.
"Not yet," he says as he shakes his head.
“Please…” I want to be on top. Why is he making me beg?!
I want to sink down on top of you and take control so you lose control …