Page 97 of Pucking Sweet

“Yes, you can.” I’m so fucking close, and I want to feel her squeezing me as I shatter. “One more time. Come with me.”

“It’s too much. So full.”

I let go of her leg and cup her face instead, kissing her deep, luring her back to me. She meets my kisses, her arms going back around my neck. “Yes,” I pant, stroking down the column of her neck. “There she is. Stay with me, Poppy. My goddess, my fucking queen. Come with me.Lookat me.”

She opens her eyes. They’re glassy with lust. I feel her starting to tighten around me again. I palm her breast, tweaking her nipple until she gasps, waking her up. “Baby, I’m gonna come,” I pant.

This has her clinging to me, her legs wrapping around my hips. “Don’t stop,” she squeals, her nails digging into my shoulders.

I can’t hold back my release for another second. I come on a shout, my hand dropping away from her breast and down to the bed as I thrust once, twice. She’s trembling, her pussy clenching around my cock as she comes with me, quietly this time, sacred, like a fucking prayer.

After a few more seconds, I pull out, rolling my weight to the side so I don’t crush her. She clings to me, her leg wrapping around my hip. We settle on the bed with my head tucked against her bare chest. I keep my arms around her, breathing in the softly floral smell of her heated skin.

A few minutes pass, but we stay just like this, entangled and unmoving. Slowly, she comes back to life, her hand stroking down my back. She sighs dreamily, tilting her face to kiss my forehead. “While the granola bakes, can we do that again?”

I snort a laugh, ducking my face down to kiss her breast, givingher nipple a little suck that has her moaning the first half of my name like a goddamn siren. I get the feeling now that I’m never going to survive her. Smiling, I press a promising kiss to her lips. “Yes, Poppy. I will gladly fuck you again.”

And again.

And again.

32

Riptide’s Bar & Grill is chaotic tonight. It’s karaoke night, the Rays are fresh off a home game win, and the autumn weather is perfect. A gorgeous, sunny day with good waves on the beach is quickly shifting to a lavender sunset. The outdoor bar area is packed, with more people wandering up from the beach to grab drinks and listen to the live music.

Mojito in hand, I make my rounds at all our tables, greeting the Rays and their wives and girlfriends. I take a few pictures and get approval to post them to the socials, but mainly I’m just here for a good time.

At this exact moment, I feel like a million bucks. Everything is set for our first big fundraiser this weekend. As a little treat, I spent three hours at the beach this afternoon, so now I have sun-kissed cheeks and beachy waves in my hair. Also, I’m wearing my favorite pair of skinny jeans that give me supermodel legs—always a feat when you’re only five-foot-two.

Oh, and Colton is here, and he’s winked at me twice.

After our marathon of sex and granola-making last night, he ducked out before six in the morning to drive back down to Orlando, something to do with updating his mom’s security system. But in between the sex and granola, we talked. He knows how important this job is to me, and he’s willing to keep what we’re doing quiet. He may have a multi-year contract with the Rays, but I don’t, and I won’t do anything to risk my place here.

There’s nothing strictly forbidden about what we’re doing, but after a decade of running from the pressures of high society public life, I find I’m much happier spinning the stories, not starring inthem. Colton more than understands. He wants any media focused on him to be about building a new team, not his private life.

That doesn’t make it any easier to keep my hands off him. The man is sex on a hockey stick. I swear, I can feel his eyes on me even now. They burn into the back of my head, searing my skin with desire. I fight a shiver, taking a sip of my minty mojito as I glance over my shoulder—

I gasp, turning back around. It wasn’t Colton I felt looking at me.

Lukas steps in behind me. “Hey, Popsicle. You singing tonight, or you too chickenshit?”

I glare over my shoulder at him, one brow raised. “Popsicle?”

He grins. “I thought it was fitting. You know, ’cause—”

“I know why you’re calling me ‘Popsicle,’ Lukas. And I don’t find it cute or charming.”

“I wasn’t going for charming. I was going for teasing.”

“Because that’s all you are. A big tease.”

He laughs, not denying it. “Langers just challenged me to get up there and sing. I told him we’ll flip a coin and loser takes the mic. Now, I have great luck with coin tosses, but just in case the gods curse me, what would you like to hear me sing?”

“‘So Yesterday,’” I deadpan.

“Hmm, I don’t know that one.”

“It’s by Hilary Duff. Consider it my love letter to you.”