Page 96 of Hockey Halloween
Lilith
We’ve gone from making out on the couch to being naked and making out on top of the covers on Mason’s bed.
His teammates started to trickle through the door, leaving us both aching for more privacy.
Not sure how Mason managed to climb those stairs with such a painfully obvious hard on, but it was still there when we got into his room.
It’s impressively persistent.
His room is dark and classically ‘Mason.’ Everything from the navy bed sheets, and the musky, masculine smell permeating the air makes me think of him. Tall, strong, not overly fussy or extra, with a slight tinge of mint and lemon like he’s recently done some cleaning.
I’m not kidding myself. We’re both running on lust alone. We haven’t known each other long enough to even know if he’s a heavy breather, pees on the toilet seat, or leaves his smelly socks lying strewn around his room.
What I do know, is his hands glide across my body like it was sculpted just for him. His intense gaze spears into mine leaving me breathless, like he can see every secret I’ve ever held. And his lips? Those kissable pink pillows he keeps sweeping across my hungry mouth? They taste like bubble gum.
My body reacts to his. My heart races, my back bows, and my hips roll against his mattress in desperate, jerky movements.
It’s been so long since I’ve been made to feel special, wanted, noticed . And Mason McGuffin? That man is noticing.
I have a scar on my collarbone from when I was a child, and he’s taking his sweet time tracing every edge, as though he’s committing it to memory.
He brushes his mouth across it, then blows on it, then retraces it with his fingers. He’s methodical, repeats the process down my breastbone, then on each of my bare breasts, taking his time like he’s not in any kind of rush.
A whimper slips out from between my parted lips. He’s barely touched any traditionally erogenous zones on my body, but I’m primed. My nipples are hard, my pussy is dripping and pulsing with a demanding, urgent need to be touched. My pulse flutters in my neck and wrist—he kisses those too.
“Mason.” His name is a plea, a prayer, a demand falling from my lips that makes his mouth twitch.
“What’s wrong, night monster?” He drags his flat tongue down the length of my stomach, circling around my belly button. “You need something?”
I’m panting, my skin’s flushed, and I’m already sweaty. It’s not a good look, but when he looks up at me under those long lashes, he doesn’t seem to care.
I buck my hips, my feet scrambling for traction on the sheets as my fingers ball the soft fabric into fists. “Mason… please.”
He settles between my thighs, hooking my legs over his shoulders. “Please, what?” His soft string of delicate kisses along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs has me begging, whispering my pleas.
“Can’t hear you, Ghost. You have to speak up; your thighs are clutching my head pretty tight.”
I’m going to die. Mason McGuffin is going to edge me into oblivion .
When he spreads my pussy lips with his thick fingers and blows on my clit, the resulting, delicious shiver that makes its way from my toes to my head and all the way back down my body is fucking fire.
Spearing my fingers into his hair makes him groan. Raising my hips, my pussy to right under his nose makes him grin, but he still doesn’t move.
“Use your words, Lilith.” He’s so close to my pussy his words spread a warm breath, ramping up my hunger to an eleven.
“Mason… just fucking eat me already.”
His grin is savage, the glint in his eye teasing, and yet, he still doesn’t plunge into my pussy. He rubs his nose in my pubic hair.
A frustrated huff comes out of me as my head slaps back against the pillow. “Mason, I swear to all that’s holy you better—Aaaaaahhhhhh!”
The tip of his tongue finds my clit with ease. He explores my pussy like he did the rest of me, slowly, intentionally, with purpose. Once he’s satisfied that he’s mapped out my most sensitive parts, he flutters the end of his tongue against my clit gently like butterfly wings. Fucking hell.
When he slides his fingers inside me, I’m seconds from detonating on his face.
But I don’t get to warn him when the white, fire-hot orgasm captures my body.
My toes curl, my legs stiffen, my back arches, and my hands grip his head, fingers biting into his scalp because if he stops before I’m ready for him to, I’ll beat him to fucking death with his own hockey stick.
I come on a wild, uninhibited scream of his name that echoes around his room. And the more I come, the more he wants it. He laps at me, like a man possessed with my taste, with my pleasure, and he pumps his fingers against my g-spot with a measured, rhythmic pace.
“Again.” His demand is mumbled against my pussy, but my body responds with another wave of ecstasy. I’m floating, my body is tingly, and light, and when a second orgasm holds me hostage, I’m its willing captive.