Page 69 of Silver Spoon Falls, Vol. I

GRIZZ

We’ve only been sitting in the bleachers for six minutes, but my ass is already numb.

The air inside the arena is maybe five degrees warmer than the January night outside, which puts it somewhere between a walk-in fridge and a meat locker.

Every time a door cracks open, the wind booms through the cinderblock, and all the parents huddle deeper into their parkas and foam seat cushions, like the next gust might be the one that finally finishes us off.

Morgan is pressed up next to me, legs crossed, arms folded tight under her chest. She claims she’s immune to cold, and I almost believe her. Her cheeks are just barely pink, and her dark hair is still perfect. Not a strand out of place.

Morgan is not watching the game. She’s watching me.

Or maybe she’s watching the way I’m watching the game.

Her eyes flick between the ice and my face with this conspiratorial glint that’s equal parts mischief and challenge.

She has a bag of popcorn on her lap, but she’s just holding it, not eating any, letting it warm her hands.

Every few seconds, she shoves the bag into my chest as if it might keep me from biting my own nails.

“You’re embarrassing her,” Morgan whispers.

I glance over. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she says, voice low and even. “You’re making that noise again.”

I hadn’t noticed. My jaw is clenched so tight it clicks when I open my mouth to answer.

“I’m supporting her,” I mutter. “Like a supportive parent.”

“You sound like you’re passing a kidney stone.”

At the next whistle, there’s an announcement over the tinny PA system. “Attention, folks. We’re experiencing a minor mechanical issue with the Zamboni. There will be a brief delay before the second period begins. Please remain in your seats.”

A collective groan goes up from the bleachers. A few parents take the opportunity to wander down to the lobby, where the coffee is always burnt and the concession is always slow as shit.

Morgan stands and stretches. Her sweater rises an inch above her waistband, giving me a glimpse of pale, impossibly soft skin, the faintest impression of a tattoo on her hipbone. She catches me looking and makes a show of pulling the sweater down slowly, like she’s tucking in the whole world.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, her voice playful as she tilts her head slightly, the light catching the dark strands of her hair. I meet her gaze, those warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief, and a low growl escapes my throat, rich with desire.

“Just you,” I reply, my tone teasing yet sincere.

“Come with me,” Morgan urges, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips as she tugs gently at my sleeve, her fingers brushing against the fabric in a way that sends a thrill through me. Her warmth radiates as she turns, beckoning me to follow her into the chilly arena.

She doesn’t wait for me to follow. She moves through the crowd like she owns the place, hips swaying in a way that is either accidental or perfectly calculated.

“Where are we going?” I grumble, my voice thick with need, but she’s already striding ahead, weaving through the mile-long concession line like she’s got a mission only I know about.

My eyes are glued to her ass, swaying in those tight jeans—a pendulum designed to torture me.

I groan under my breath. My cock’s already hard as a rock, straining against my zipper just from watching her move.

She glances over her shoulder, mischief in her eyes.

“I left something in the car. Come help me find it, won’t you?

” She arches a brow and gives me a look that says she’s about to blow my mind in the best way possible.

By the time we hit the parking lot, I’m practically dragging myself after her, my cock throbbing with every step.

The chilly Texas air smacks me in the face, but I barely feel it.

The click of her heels on the pavement is sharp, deliberate, like she’s leading me straight to sin.

At my SUV, she doesn’t hesitate. She hits the button to start the engine, and the low purr rumbles through the night as she slides into the back seat.

“We have to hurry,” she says, her voice low and husky, tugging me into the car right after her. The second I’m in, she’s on me, her hands clawing at my coat.

I don’t need a second invitation. My hands are already on her, yanking up her sweater and pulling it over her head.

Her tits spill out of her lacy bra, practically begging for my mouth.

I dive in, sucking one nipple and biting just enough to make her gasp, while my other hand kneads her other breast like I can’t get enough.

She’s writhing under my hands, hips grinding into my thigh as she fumbles with my jeans.

“Fuck, hurry,” she whimpers, her hands shaking as she finally gets me unbuttoned and shoves my pants down just enough to free my cock.

It springs out, hard and leaking, and she grabs it, causing my eyes to roll back into my head.

She strokes me, slow at first, then faster, and I swear I see stars. “God, you’re so perfect,” she moans, her hand working me with a rhythm that’s pure torture. I can’t take it anymore.

I push her back onto the seat, and her legs fall open like she’s been waiting for this all night.

She kicks off her sneakers while I drag her yoga pants down her curvy legs.

Her panties are soaked, the fabric clinging to her pussy and leaving nothing to the imagination.

I don’t waste time. I shove them to the side, exposing her dripping wet heat, and bury my face between her thighs.

Her taste is intoxicating. Sweet, tangy, and all woman. I lap at her clit, sucking it into my mouth and flicking it with my tongue, while my fingers slide deep inside her. She screams, her hands clutching my hair, trying to pull me closer, but there’s no way I’m stopping now.

“Yes, just like that,” she gasps, hips bucking against my face as I work her over. I can feel her getting close, her walls clenching around my fingers, her orgasm building like a tidal wave. But before she can come, I pull away, leaving her desperate and whimpering.

“Not yet,” I growl, grabbing her hips and flipping her onto her hands and knees. She arches her back, presenting her perfect ass, and I line my cock up with her soaked entrance.

“Please,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Fuck me, please.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I slam into her in one thrust, burying myself to the hilt as she screams my name.

She’s so tight, so wet. Her inner walls grip my cock so unyielding that I almost see stars.

I start to thrust, hard and fast, my hips slamming into her ass with a frantic rhythm.

The dark, tinted windows quickly fog over as her moans get louder and more desperate.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she cries, fingers clawing at the leather as I pound into her like a crazy man. I can feel her clenching around me, her orgasm crashing over her as she screams my name into the night.

It’s too much. I can’t hold back. With one last thrust, I bury myself deep inside her, my cock pulsing as I empty into her.

We collapse, tangled together on the seat, breathless, the air thick with sex and sweat.

“Damn,” she breathes, voice shaky.

“Yeah,” I manage, because honestly, there’s nothing else to say.

I’m just starting to catch my breath when there’s a tap on the driver’s side front window. “Oh, shit,” my wife mumbles.

“I’ll take care of this,” I tell her. Fucking hell. Just what I need. I’ll never live this down.

I lean over and see the sheriff standing beside my vehicle.

I blink and fumble for my jeans, pulling them up just enough to feel like I’m not entirely on display.

Morgan, mortified, is on her knees in the backseat, scrambling to get her yoga pants up with one hand and tug her sweater over her head with the other.

She looks like she’d rather vaporize herself than face the man outside.

I crack the window. Cold air rushes in, sharp and bracing, and with it comes the voice I know by heart.

“Evening, Grizz,” Sheriff Dillon Armstrong says, leaning in, eyes glinting with that mix of official business and barely concealed amusement. “Morgan.”

Morgan’s reply is a strangled, “Hi, Dillon.” She’s got her hair tangled in the zipper of her parka, and when she yanks it up, it nearly swallows her chin. Her cheeks are so red, she could be mainlining hot sauce.

Dillon does that cop thing where he pretends to look past you, like maybe there’s a mysterious criminal in the third row he hasn’t noticed before. “Do you folks, uh… require assistance?”

I can’t help myself. “You got any handcuffs handy?”

He sighs, lowers the flashlight, and I see his breath misting in the cold. “I don’t fucking get paid enough to deal with this shit.”

Morgan sinks lower in the seat, hands wrapped around her knees. “We’re fine, Dillon. Just… waiting out the delay.”

“My wife needed help finding something,” I tell him.

“Did you find it?” Dillon smirks arrogantly.

“We did.” I can’t help myself. “It would’ve been twice if you hadn’t interrupted.”

Morgan kicks me in the shin, giving a silent warning. “We’ll be back inside in a minute,” she says, voice tight.

Dillon gives her a slow, deliberate nod, then turns his attention to me. “The play is about to start, so let’s hurry things along.”

Morgan, always the diplomat, manages a shaky smile. “Thanks, Dillon.”

Once he’s gone, we fumble into our winter gear, her hands trembling as she buttons up her coat. I pop open the back door, spill out into the parking lot, and shake the cramp from my leg. Morgan follows, hair wild from static and sex, cheeks flushed.

“It’s going to be all over town by tomorrow morning.” Her voice is a low mumble as we make our way back toward the arena.

“I know.” I pull her in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I work hard to keep my reputation intact.” She smacks my shoulder, and I can’t help but laugh. “What am I going to do with you?” Morgan shakes her head, exasperated and amused all at once.

“You’ll figure something out.” I squeeze her hand as we walk back into the crowded arena, eyes following us. I glance over my shoulder and catch a thumbs-up from Giant, a scowl from Miles.

The play is about to start, so I settle in next to my wife and watch as our daughter skates onto the ice, ready to kick some boy ass. Life doesn’t get better than this.