Page 36 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

C laire and I listen as the engine in Ma’s minivan roars to life and the gears of the garage door grind open and closed.

“Is this okay? If you really want ice cream?—”

“I hate ice cream,” she says plainly, without any explanation at all.

“You hate me, and you hate ice cream? Two things that are universally adored?”

Claire giggles. This badass woman has the cutest little laugh. “I only hate ice cream now. Don’t let it inflate your ego, but you’re growing on me, Santos.”

“That’s good to know,” I say, kissing her one more time. “Because my family loves ice cream so much that they’re willing to drive an hour round trip and then wait in line for another hour because it’s that freaking delicious.”

“They’ll be gone two hours? Whatever will we do?” Her tone is playful but when she swivels her hips, there’s no doubt about what she wants.

As if on cue, the speakers in the living room turn on and a swoony, sexy, kinda dirty song from the ‘70s starts playing.

Claire’s wintry blue eyes are round with surprise. “How did?—”

“Henry’s got the sound system hooked up to his phone,” I say, pretty confident in my guess that this is my youngest brother’s handiwork.

“I said it earlier, but it’s still true,” she says, tracing my bottom lip with her finger. “Henry is my favorite Santos brother.”

Laughing, I step back and lace our fingers together. I hate breaking contact with her, especially when it feels like we’re finally getting somewhere, but Henry’s playlist has given me a good idea, and we’ve got a little time, so I decide to trust my instincts.

I sway my body in time with the music for a few beats and then Claire starts to follow along. I know this playlist is my brother’s idea of a joke, and even though it’s not the soundtrack I’d choose, it’s easy to dance to.

The beat ramps up and so do my moves. Shaking my hips a little, I raise my arm to spin Claire in a quick twirl. I can’t picture her in a tutu or tap shoes, but she’s naturally athletic. That much is clear by the way her moves mirror mine. She’s not copying me; she’s following my lead.

I step toward her, and she does the same, the motion bringing our bodies together once again.

The song changes to another sexy tune, but we’re too busy getting lost in the rhythm to notice that someone else is crooning the lyrics.

I spin Claire again so that her back is to my front.

She seems to like when I hold her this way and I fucking love it.

Our feet are still moving in time with the song and the hand I’ve got on her waist drifts a little farther down.

“Where’d you learn moves like this?” she asks, swaying her hips to the beat and rubbing her ass on my dick in the process.

I growl in response because I feel fucking feral when her body is this close to mine and I’m tempted to ask her if she wants to go upstairs. But she asked a legitimate question, so she deserves an honest answer.

“You know my mom loves music. She had me in piano lessons when I was four. I sucked. Same with the tuba, the cello, and the trumpet. Leo’s every bit as bad as I am, but Henry’s got Ma’s love of music and her talent.

He plays a bunch of instruments, but the guitar is his most recent obsession.

To compensate for our lack of musical talent, Ma signed Leo and me up for ballroom dance classes.

We were always the biggest guys and the youngest ones, but it was fun, and moving my body to the music made a lot more sense than actually making music. ”

“Those lessons paid off,” she tells me.

“You like dancing with me?” I ask, spinning her a final time so she’s back in my arms and facing me.

“I like doing lots of things with you, Pete,” Claire says, and that’s when I forget about the music.

My hands are gliding up and down her body, exploring and remembering, despite the barrier of her clothes.

She’s grinding against me, her lips dropping kisses along my jaw, neck, and collarbone.

When she tugs at the collar of my shirt for better access, my brain blasts a warning signal.

“We’re not following the rules,” I say when my mouth isn’t occupied with her lips.

Claire looks up at me, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed. “We never made any rules,” she reminds me.

Damn. She’s right, and her words make me want to lose control, to give into this fire between us. I’m right on the edge, but I need her to be sure .

My hands rest on her hips. “If we do this, the lines are gonna blur.”

“Let them.” Gripping my shoulders, she rocks up into me once, and then again. The second time, she stills over the bulge in my shorts as it twitches and begs for release.

It’s fucking torture to peel my body away from hers, but it’s a necessary evil. “Come with me?” I ask, taking her hand and leading her to the stairs at the back of the house.

“If things go the way I want them to, then yeah, I’ll be coming with you.”

Her teasing words have me taking the steps two at a time and she follows effortlessly. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?” I ask as we reach the landing.

“If I say no, will you show me?” Her words aren’t strategic or coy. Claire might tempt the shit out of me, but she’s no calculating vixen.

My answer is simple. “I’ve been dreaming about showing you all the ways you turn me

on and turn me inside out. Mine’s the second door on the left.”

I don’t bother giving her a tour of the room that’s been mine since we moved here back when I was in high school.

She doesn’t ask about the trophies on my shelves or the pictures on the wall.

I toe off my shoes and lie on my bed, making space for Claire to join me.

Instead of lying down next to me, she leans over the bed and fists her hands in the hem of my shirt.

“Why are you always wearing clothes?” she huffs. “It’s your most annoying habit, I swear.”

I like this playful side of Claire, but I’d much rather see her naked body than mine, so I reach for the hem of her sweatshirt and pull upward.

She lifts her hands, and I watch in awe as every delectable inch of skin is revealed.

Her bra goes next, then she shimmies out of her leggings.

When she crawls into bed, the only thing she’s wearing is a black lace thong.

“Fuck me,” the words fall from my lips before I can catch them, but Claire takes my words to heart.

“I can’t wait,” she pants, reaching down to stroke my erection through the thin silky material of my basketball shorts. My lips find hers as my hips thrust forward, desperate for contact. When she leans back, licks her lips and pulls at my shorts, I’m powerless to resist.

I know just what to do to make her feel good.

Rolling to my back, I pat my chest and look at Claire.

“Hop up,” I tell her, loving that she doesn’t hesitate to bracket my shoulders with her thighs.

We’re facing opposite directions and that’s perfect for what I have in mind.

My hands cup her ass and shift her into position.

“I want to devour this pussy. I’m gonna fuck it with my tongue. I’m gonna lick you so damn good that you come all over my face and I taste you for days. How does that sound?”

Claire’s only reply is to sit fully on my face while slipping her hand into the waistband of my shorts. With every stroke, I picture what she looks like when she falls apart, and that just makes me desperate for relief—hers and my own.

When she bends forward and takes my cock into her mouth and all bets are fucking canceled. Soon, I’m bucking up into her, pumping my hips as I lick the sweet folds of her pussy.

I feel her grip my base as her lips swirl around the tip of my dick. Goddamn . Every time I see her suck on a straw I’m going to think about this moment. Before long, they’ll have to ban me from Drip for public indecency.

I watch as she lifts her head and I’m so damn tempted to pull her ponytail, but I shove that primal urge back to the depths of my caveman brain and settle for toying with the strands of her hair.

“Your mouth,” she says on a breath. “It feels so damn good.”

“That’s because you taste so fucking sweet. Better than any ice cream I’ve ever had.”

She starts to giggle, but when I cup her ass cheeks and push up slightly, my tongue delves deeper, and she cries out.

We play like this for a while, Claire jacking my cock and licking it like a lollipop while I tongue-fuck her. Having her splayed out on top of me is incredible. She’s incredible. Every time she takes me to the edge she slows down or changes her rhythm. It’s maddening and intoxicating.

Sliding my hand between us, I line my fingers up at her entrance and slip two inside her. Her pussy is wet and hungry, taking my fingers greedily while I lick and lap at her clit. I can feel her thighs tremble, and when I hear her breathing stutter, I know I’m close to making her come undone.

“I’m not sure I can—” she starts. “I told you I don’t always?—”

I’m not sure if they’re warnings or disclaimers, but that’s not important now.

“I know,” I reassure her. “Trust me, Claire, I’m having a damn good time with my face between these long legs I love. Am I making you feel good?”

“God, yes,” she answers without hesitation.

“Then just relax and let me eat my dessert.”

“Pete Santos,” she says, her voice a mix of wonder and reprimand. “The mouth on you.”

“Be honest,” I say, my hands kneading the firm flesh of her backside. “You love what my mouth does to you, and all the filthy things it says to you, ”

“I think I do,” she teases, wiggling her hips. “Get back to work and I’ll let you know.”

I’m no fool, so I do exactly what this gorgeous woman wants me to. Within seconds, she has my hard length halfway in her mouth, and I’m finger-fucking her soft wet heat while sucking on her swollen clit.

It’s a mindset shift, for sure. I have to stop myself from thinking of her orgasm as my goal.

Her pleasure is what I want. If that means she shudders and shakes while her inner walls try to break my fingers, then hell yeah, I’ll take it.

But Claire has nothing to prove in this bed, and nothing to prove to me.

Her orgasm isn’t an item on a list I’m waiting to check off.

There are a hundred other ways for me to know I’ve made her feel good, and I need to tune into them.

Her breathy little moans and the way her legs and ass cheeks tremble?

Fuck yes, I love knowing that’s because of what I’m doing to her.

The way she’s soaking my face and beard with her arousal?

God. Damn. The feel of her hardened nipples against my stomach as she grinds her body onto mine?

It’s hot as hell. The way she takes my cock deep into her mouth and grips my base like she never wants to let me go?

Yes-fucking-please and mother-fucking thank-you.

The way she thrusts her ass into my face as she pops off my dick to turn and look at me? Her lips, wet and swollen from sucking me off? The flush on her skin from the heat we’re generating?

It’s all too fucking much.

“Will you?” Claire asks.

“Hell yes,” I say without hesitation. “What was the question?”

Her smile makes my insides flip. “Will you come down my throat? ”

Swear to god, I see stars as my eyes clench shut and my toes curl and my head starts screaming at my dick to fucking wait its turn.

When she lowers her voice and whispers please, I nearly lose the battle and come right here and now.

I’ve still got my head between her legs and my lips at her entrance. She’s soaked from the mere idea of swallowing me down and that’s so damn hot I can’t help but tell her yes.

Flicking my tongue against her folds, I test the waters to see if she’s too sensitive, but when Claire wraps her lips around the head of my cock and sucks me down, the movement pushes her body back against mine, and my tongue slips back inside her.

We’re just as needy as we were before, but we’re slower now, more deliberate. She’s taking me into her hot wet mouth again and again while she’s damn near choking my cock with her fist. It’s like she knows exactly what I need. Like she’s watched me fuck myself to thoughts of her.

I’m acting on pure instinct, kissing and licking her. I’m repeating the movements that steal her breath, the ones that make her cry out, and the ones that have her fist tightening. The tingle at the base of my spine is the only warning I get, and I honestly can’t believe I’ve lasted this long.

I moan against her clit because it’s the only sound I can make, the only signal I can offer. She moans back in kind, opens her throat, and takes me impossibly deeper as I spill inside her.

Pumping my hips, I ride out the orgasm, my tongue and fingers still working her over. I’m about to slow my pace when I feel the first few shivers. They’re slight, but they’re there so I keep my rhythm and thrust a little deeper .

My name reverberates from her lips and bounces off my bedroom walls as I taste her release.

Nothing in my life has ever felt so good or been so hot. Our chemistry is explosive. It’s like we understand each other’s bodies on a primal level.

We untangle ourselves and I pull her close, hoping we can lie here together and catch our breaths.

Claire and I have seen, touched, and tasted nearly every part of each other, and I don’t want to stop.

But is it wrong—or dumb as hell—to crave the kind of intimacy where we talk and share the parts of ourselves that no one else gets to see?

Does she even want that with me?

I don’t get to find out because the garage doors grind and squeal, letting us know we need to throw our clothes on, head downstairs, and hope we don’t look as guilty or as satisfied as we are.