Page 13 of Power Play (Titans Hockey #2)

He expertly undoes my jeans and peels them and my undies from my body.

I'm grateful. I wasn't expecting a hook-up tonight, so I'm wearing my utilitarian Target-special cotton panties.

But I get the feeling he wouldn't care either way.

In another beat, In another beat, he peels my shirt and my bra off of me.

This isn't about me seducing him. Or him seducing him. This is about two people with carnal needs and a basic understanding.

He pauses to take in my naked body. For a moment, I'm insecure. He's so much older than me, so much more famous, so much more... everything. He could have any woman in the world. What the hell is he doing with me?

But when I take in the hungry look on his face, I know he won't be walking away. He wants me just as badly as I want him.

His hand unceremoniously grabs my sex. I'm used to Ben's lingering kisses, the way he builds me up kiss by kiss, careful and tender.

Ward does none of that. My pussy is his goal, and he's going to take it.

He plays with my clit a moment with his thumb before he lowers his mouth and licks me from back to front. He nips my clit with his teeth, causing me to jump slightly off the couch.

He repeats his ministrations, alternating between thrusting his tongue into my entrance and licking me, but with just enough attention to my clit, I'm almost there. I grab the back of his head, fully ready to shove his face into my cunt to finish the job... but he pulls away.

An anguished cry erupts from my chest, but when I look up at him, he's simply smiling down on me.

"Don't worry, I've got you."

Whether it's the moment, the hours of working together, or the sheer confidence radiating out of him, I believe him.

He sheds his pants before looking at them with disapproval.

"Fuck," he whispers.

I lean up on my elbows. "What's wrong?"

"I normally have a condom in my wallet, but I didn't bring one this trip."

"I'm on the pill? And I'm clean?" I whisper, almost afraid to break whatever this is.

His dark gaze stares into mine. He's looking for the deception, the trick, or the truth.

He lifts me up by the armpits and before I know what he's doing he's turned me, and slammed me, naked, against the windows. I yelp. We're high up, and the windows are insulated, but the cold on my breasts and nipples fights against the warmth of my muscles and core.

"Let's let all of Vancouver see how well you take my fucking cock," Scott grinds out.

He enters me in one swift, brutal, stroke, and I cry out.

I think that the windows are tinted, but the idea of someone down below, in the street, seeing this, has my heartrate spiking, and my pussy clenching.

I don't think I have an exhibitionists streak, but maybe I do?

As if he's set out to prove a point, one of Scott's hand wraps around my neck while the other wraps around the back of my knee. The hand on my knee lifts my leg so it's completely bared to the street, while the hand around my throat restricts my movements.

His fingers dig into my neck, stifling the blood flow. I start to get light headed, but I trust that he knows what he's doing. He wouldn't be the cause of my death, right? And he's old enough to know what he's doing. I submit completely to his ministrations.

And if I die? What a way to go.

He thrusts into me with a rhythm and a ferocity I've never experienced before. I'm a rag doll and he's my master. And I fucking love it. My brain quiets, and my body relaxes, eager to be whatever it is he wants to use me for.

His thrusts drive me against the glass, every movement sending shockwaves through me. I'm going to come, and it's the most intense orgasm I'll have ever had.

The hand on my neck comes to the back of my other knee, lifting it. I'm now completely off the ground and I brace myself against the window with my hands. His thrusts become a brutal attack on my G-spot.

"Come on, baby, let's show Vancouver who owns this cunt."

I whimper.

Fuck, I love that, and I want more of that. I want to be his plaything. I want to not matter to anyone. I want to be nothing but a vessel of pleasure. Scott doesn't give a shit about Lacey the PT right now. He's chasing his pleasure, and I'm the one to give it to him.

It's a strange dichotomy of emotions. I'm weak because he's using me, but powerful because I'm the one to make him lose control. I'm at his mercy, but I know without a shadow of a doubt if I said 'stop' he would. I'm an easy lay for him, but I know he doesn't fool around a lot.

The juxtaposition of this entire evening has my brain surrendering and just giving in to primal feeling and emotion. I like this. This is good. Is all my brain can conjure.

My orgasm is hard and sharp and all-consuming.

I arch my entire body back, screaming Scott's name, my fingers digging crescent shaped holes in his forearms. My body is full of blinding white pleasure.

My brain is buzzed with happy hormones. I'm barely aware of Scott using my body to chase his own release.

He pumps into me a few more times before his cock gets impossibly hard inside of me and he comes, twitching, and gripping, and growling, "Fuck. Lacey."

Holy fuck, it was the hottest thing I've ever felt.

There's a long silence before I start to feel uncomfortable.

"You don't think anyone actually saw us, do you?"

Scott rests his head against my upper back and shakes it back and forth before chuckling. "No, sweetheart, the windows are tinted. But the idea turned you on, didn't it?"

I hum my approval.

I don't know what to expect after this sort of one-night-stand. This was with a co-worker. And we'd established it was only one night. I should grab my things and leave.

What I'm not expecting is when Scott slides out of my body and walks to the bathroom.

Okay. This is his polite way of asking me to leave.

His cum leaks down my thigh as I start to gather my clothes.

I'll put them on, even if my panties are dirty, head back to my room, sneak into my bathroom and take a shower. Okay. I can do this .

But then Scott comes back into the living room stark naked, holding a wet washcloth.

"Sorry I was so rough on you. I knew I wasn't going to last long."

Surely he's not going to...

But with the next thought he's kneeling in front of me, kissing my thigh, and cleaning up our combined cum from my legs and pussy.

This feeling feels too intimate. Too vulnerable. I could handle it when I was just a pussy to come in. When I was just a vessel to get off in. But after care? He's cleaning me. Not asking me to leave. That makes my skin fucking crawl.

"What is this?" I ask, trying for my life not to sound needy.

"This is me, taking care of the woman who gave me the best sex of my life..." and he leaves the rest empty.

I thought it was supposed to end here, just one night. But as his hands linger, soft and sure, I realize I don’t know what ‘this’ is anymore—or how I’d face him tomorrow.