Page 10 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

I can feel the blood coursing through my veins. The trouble is, it’s all headed to one place: my already rock-hard dick.

It makes no sense at all. Claire has been pretty damn clear that she doesn’t like me. She’s openly hostile toward me at every opportunity. Hell, she’s yelling at me right now.

So why the fuck does that turn me on?

I’m not the type to get hot over tension.

I don’t like discord. I’m an even-keeled guy who craves an orderly environment.

It’s why I work so damn hard to keep everything under control.

My life is one giant game of Whack-a Mole and I’m a fucking pro at anticipating an issue and bopping the shit out of it.

Right now, my raging hard-on is an issue.

And I don’t exactly want to smash it with a foam mallet.

I want to sink my cock into the tight wet heat of the gorgeous woman who’s currently standing in front of me, balled-up fists on her hips, grey-blue eyes flashing with fire.

It doesn’t matter that her clothes are soaked through, that tendrils of her hair have escaped the messy bun she always wears and are now clinging to her face and neck.

She’s so damn beautiful it’s driving me insane.

That’s the only explanation I have for what happens next.

Her heated gaze drifts down my body, zeroing in on the bulge I couldn’t hide if I tried.

I watch with rapt attention as my state of arousal registers.

Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are parted, and her breaths are unsteady.

Sure, when we were in her room and she blurted out the fact that she finds me hot, my ego got a boost. But hearing the words isn’t half as satisfying as seeing the attraction in real time.

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips and it’s like a fucking siren’s song. I can’t ignore it. I can’t do anything until I know what she tastes like.

She must be under the same spell I am because she takes half a step forward, closing the small gap of space between us.

With the same confidence she wields when she’s giving me hell, she reaches for me, placing her hand on my shoulder before tracing her way across my chest. I fucking love how tall she is, that I don’t have to stoop or bend, that she can meet my eyes and take exactly what she wants.

And fucking hell, I want her to take it.

Her finger continues its slow, languid exploration of my body, and to be fair, there’s a good amount of territory to be covered.

I hold back a shiver as she brings her finger to the center of my chest before trailing it down over my abdomen.

There’s a wall of muscle there that gives me the strength I need to be a force on the ice.

But there’s also a layer of fluff, and I’m not just talking about the fact that I’m as hairy as a grizzly bear.

I’ve got core strength to spare, but my midsection is far from chiseled.

The flare of desire in Claire’s eyes tells my insecurity to get fucked.

She clearly likes what she sees and feels.

And when her finger hits the top of my board shorts, she swallows visibly, as if she’s so hungry she can’t hold back.

I don’t move a muscle. It’s all I can fucking do to stay upright. My head is swimming, and my knees threaten to buckle, but I plant my feet and let her look her fill, giving her silent permission to keep going.

She runs her finger along my waistband for a moment before giving in and grabbing what she’s after.

Just to be perfectly clear: it’s my dick.

Her fingers trace my length before cupping me and squeezing me.

There’s nothing gentle about her touch, nothing gentle about Claire Fowler.

But fuck gentle. I could snuggle a damn blanket if I craved softness.

I want her, hard edges and all. I want her greedy fingers and breathy moans.

I want the taste of her on my tongue, so I tip my head down and take it.

My lips devour hers as my hands find her waist and hold on tight.

She molds her body to mine like she can’t get enough of me, either.

I let my hands wander to the small of her back and use that leverage to pull her even closer to me.

She gasps, widening her stance enough to line my cock up with the juncture of her thighs.

Fucking hell. I thrust up, the damp fabric of our clothes making a rustling sound that fills the otherwise empty cabin and causing both of us to pause for a moment.

This is insanity. I should stop. She should stop. We should stop. But Claire licks her lips again and leans in for another kiss. She tastes so damn good that it requires all my willpower to pull back .

“Claire, wait,” I say, my voice sounding breathless and unfamiliar to my own ears. “What are we doing?’

“It’s called fucking, Pete. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Fucking?” I nearly choke on the word.

She bites her lip and looks at me. “Ok, we’re not all the way there yet, but that’s a technicality at best. I want you,” she says, like she’s stating a fact. The sky is blue. Rain is wet. And Claire Fowler wants me.

My head is spinning, but when she cups my cock in her hand, she has all my attention. “This is some pretty substantial evidence that you want me, too,” she says, stroking the outline of my length, causing my dick to twitch in my too-tight shorts.

I can’t help the way my body leans into her touch as I blurt, “You used to hate me.”

Claire blinks in response. “That hasn’t changed.”

Her words have me freezing like a statue.

“I like your body. I fucking love the way it feels on mine. I can’t get enough of your cock,” she says, slipping her hand into my shorts to prove her point.

“I want to wrap my lips around it and take you so deep in my throat that my vision blurs. I want to drink you down. I want to know what it feels like to pull on your hair while your face is buried between my legs. I want your throbbing cock to fill me up.”

Said cock is leaking a goddamn river with every word she utters.

Claire tugs at my shorts, freeing my dick and stroking it, using my pre-cum as lube. My eyes roll back in my head, but she’s not done talking.

“Let me be clear. There’s only one thing happening here, Pete, and it’s sex.

Don’t get hearts in your eyes, and don’t think I’m going to make a habit of milking your cock with my lips.

I’m going to get you off. You’re going to make me feel damn good.

And then we can get back to our regularly scheduled program of mutual animosity. ”

My sex addled brain is fully onboard with this plan.

But in the deep recesses of my mind, one lonely synapse is holding onto logic like it’s a life raft.

He’s screaming up a storm, telling me to run like hell, that this way lies heartache.

He’s probably right, but I don’t pay him any attention.

I’m too busy peeling Claire’s wet tank top off her body.

There’s nothing delicate about her body and I’m fucking obsessed with it.

Her shoulders are broad, her curves slight.

She’s strong and toned and I’m itching to untie the strings of her white bikini so I can suck each one of her perfect tits into my mouth.

She leans back for a moment, like she knows her bikini top is too complicated for my lust-fogged brain to untangle.

That split second is all it takes for the two brain cells I have that are still working to divert my focus back toward my logic-loving synapse.

He’s relentless, tugging at my brain matter until I offer him a little of my focus.

In the single second of attention that I spare him, he points out two things.

The first is that Claire thinks her hatred is reciprocated.

It isn’t. And the second is that she said she’d make me come, but also said I’d make her feel good.

The fuck does that mean? Is she just being crafty with her wording or does she think I’m the only one who gets an orgasm? And how is that ever an option?

She whips her bikini top across the room, and fuuuuuuck.

I nearly forget the words I was about to say.

Her breasts are begging for my touch and it’s all I can do to restrain myself for a few more seconds.

“Hold up,” I say, my fingers so close to her nipples that I could reach for them, roll them between my fingers, suck them into my mouth, worship them the way they deserve.

“What?” she practically whines .

“I don’t hate you,” I say, my brown eyes locking onto her blue ones.

“Good for you,” she says. “Do you want a sticker, or should I suck your cock?”

I shake my head. That sassy mouth of hers is going to get her into trouble one day and I can only hope I’m there to witness it. And then dole out the punishments later.

“You have mentioned multiple ways you’re going to make me come?—”

“Is there a problem with that plan?” she asks, arching a brow.

“Yes and no. I can’t wait for my orgasm, but what about yours?”

Instead of assuring me that she’s dying to fall apart under my touch, Claire just rolls her eyes. “Oh god, you’re one of those ones, aren’t you?”

“The kind of guy who gives his partners orgasms? Uh, yeah.”

“I should have known,” she says sighing.

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask, wondering what the hell is happening. Holy shit, has this all been a dream? Did I land in some bizarre sleep state where everything looks normal, but is actually batshit? That would track, considering Claire’s standing half naked before me while her hand is on my cock.