Puck Buddies (9 page)

Chapter Eight

Third Time’s a Charm

Sami

His hands are huge with thick, strong
fingers. Them cupping my ass
is
one thing, but I can’t
wait to see them on my body, or in it.

Our kissing isn’t like our first time;
it’s not soft or passionate. It’s desperate and savage. There’s biting and
viciousness. Hate fuels every movement, every taste, but I don’t care. I want
more. He makes my stomach tense in a way I can’t stand, but I don’t want it to stop.

Matt sucks my bottom lip in, dragging his
teeth along it. I wiggle out of his arms as he lowers himself into my neck and
kisses and bites softly, even pulling my shirt off to the side so he can get to
my shoulder.

I’m mid gasp when a car pulls up.

He shoves me back with his chest against
mine, directing me like we’re dancing until we get to a limo. He presses me
against the side of it as he fumbles with the door. When he gets it open he
pulls me to him, he kisses once more before pushing me inside. I sit, trying to
get my breath and find the reason I am here.

He climbs in across from me and we stare
at one another. I don’t know if he’s freaking out but I am.

We’re alone and not touching and all the
feelings that were so real in the bar and the alley are gone, replaced by
inexplicable lust.

I hate him, but I don’t want to get out,
not until I think about the fact the car is here. All the plays in his book
come to life the moment I pause and look around me. “You were texting while we
were kissing? You texted your car?” I drum my nails on the leather seat as we
drive off. “Smart.”
Shit.

“Yeah.” His eyes burn through me.

Music turns on as if by magic,
but it’s his driver setting the mood for him. It sort of kills the mood for me.
Matt’s done this before, a lot. It’s too fluid and too predictable. It makes me
feel predictable and cheap. I hate this feeling. I don’t even like one-night
stands anymore. I like one-night make outs where we both leave feeling disappointed.

Linda’s voice rings in my
head, reminding me that the only way someone is going to see my worth is if I
show
them
how I am to be treated.

Letting a dirty hockey player
fuck me in his limo, like he does all the other girls, might not be the signal
I want to send.

“
We doing
this or what?” He narrows his dark-green gaze.

“Uhhh—” I vaguely recall
him saying that to me previously. “What?” I can’t remember what I said to him
before.

“You look like you’re having
second thoughts.”

“There’s just so much left
unsaid between us, and I left Nat at the bar. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t.” I
need to get out of here before I ring a bell I can’t unring. He’s hot but my
feelings for him are fairly set. I can’t be in this limo, staring at the way
his shirtsleeves cling to his biceps. I can’t be thinking about that kiss. I
have to remember I hate him.

“She’s with her boyfriend.
She’s fine.”

“They’re fighting and she’s
drunk. I have to get back.”

“You want to leave because you
hate me?”

“And you hate me.” I wish I
could be mean again but the kiss is so much of why I’m in this car, like he’s
the pied piper of the butterflies inside me.

“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t
even if I wanted to. Believe me, I have tried.”

I almost bite a hole in my lip
staring at his. The tension in the car could be cut and served on fine bone
china.

“Stay with me.” He whispers it
with a hint of pleading. His eyes bore through me and I let myself consider
staying.

How bad is it really to let a
dirty hockey player fuck me in a limo? Really? In the grand scheme of things,
it’s not that bad. Sometimes a girl just needs to get laid, whether Linda
agrees or not.

Exhaling all of my will to
leave, I sit back in the leather seat, unsure of where this is going to start
or how. He looks like he’s ready to attack and I worry I need to brace for two
hundred and forty pounds of six-foot-three man beast.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sits back like me,
giving me that lazy grin, the one he gave me the first time we met. I tense.

“Am I going to fuck you until
you can’t see straight or not?”

I exhale twice more before I nod. “Yup.” My
answer takes up all the space between us.

Space we remain frozen in.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do with the
consent. I know I don’t. I’ve said it, but I don’t know where to go from here.
I can’t make the first move. I won’t.

We stare at each other, waiting for the
other person to do something.

He opens his mouth like he might speak,
but instead holds his breath for ten Mississippis before he comes forward,
hesitantly, dropping to his knees. He slides across the space between us,
lithely for such a large person, past the answer I gave to his dirty question.

He pauses at my legs, his warm hands
touching them cautiously. He rubs my knees, digging his fingertips in, before
he deliberately spreads them open as wide as my skirt will go. His fingers
crawl up my bare thighs, sending shivers through me. The warmth of his rough
hands leaves a fiery trail on the inside of my thighs.

When he gets to my plain white underwear
he grins. “Laundry day?”

“No.” I blush even though I have always
defended a woman’s right to wear tighty whities. “I just really like white
cotton underwear.” I laugh. “And I honestly didn’t think I was staying out
longer than an hour, maybe two.”

“You weren’t planning on going home with
anyone?” He brushes a finger over the middle of the underwear and nods when I
gasp.

I shake my head; my mouth is pressed
shut.

“But you’ve thought about this, even if
you hate me. You’ve thought about me fucking you.” He softly drags his wide
thumb up and down the thin fabric.

“No,” I gasp again as he moves in a light
circular motion, staring straight at me.

“Yes, you have. I have too. I’ve thought
about you for a long time.”

I can’t take the intensity of his stare
mixed with the admission, so I close my eyes and let my head fall back as my
breaths fill with subtle moans. He almost tickles as he moves to the side of
the underwear, slipping his finger beneath the cloth. He slows again, running
the length of my slit as my body becomes like a pincushion. Every tiny nerve is
lit inside me.

He pauses after a moment, forcing me to
open my eyes and glance down just as he drags my underwear to the side,
exposing me. “You have a beautiful pussy.” He traces my lips with his wide
thumb again, staring for a heartbeat before he lowers his face between my legs.
I spread farther to accommodate his body, but he lifts my calves onto his
shoulders and buries himself in me.

I can’t fight crying out when his warm
mouth lands on me, covering me in heat as he flicks and sucks until he’s
right—I can’t see straight.

My hips move against his face, grinding
in a circle as everything builds. He slides one of those meaty fingers into me,
gently at first and then building in speed until his fist is bumping against my
ass and his tongue is flicking me.

Everything peaks and maintains at exactly
the right spot. My hands grip the leather seats and I make more noise than I
want to.

His finger pumping in and out jerks me,
cutting off each moan with a grunt.

He increases his pace, building up to a
proper fucking.

My body tenses and tightens around him,
quivering as he presses down hard on my clit with his thumb but keeps his
finger thrusting. My back arches and my toes curl, and I nearly snap a nail off
on the leather seat as the orgasm rocks me from every direction.

I don't get the break I might need.

The moment I’m done, he’s up
and pulling a condom on his already bobbing cock.
I don't really get to see it
and am uncertain of the size or girth when he puts my feet on his shoulders and
grins. “Ready for the finale?”

I bite my lip and nod.

He rubs himself against me for a second
before pushing in. I clench down at the wrong moment and his girth stretches
me.

“Relax,” he reassures me. “I’ll go slow.”
He gets the head in first, slowly dipping it in and pulling out, allowing my
body to adjust to the difference between his finger and his cock.

Working us both, he groans when his hips
hit my ass. His huge hands knead my thighs as he uses my legs as his grip bars,
pulling me into him and meeting me with a steady pace.

He doesn't rush.

He savors the entire trip in and out of
me, which is my favorite. I hate being banged unless it’s from behind.

His eyes meet mine in an awkward moment
of thrusting and groaning, but our stare stays on one another. I can’t look
away. He’s inside me, pressing down on me, and somehow he finds his way into my
mind as well.

My exhales
slow
with the pace, adjusting for moaning as we move like a ship on the waves,
rocking and groaning.

The pained expression, the trouble in his
stormy dark-green eyes, consumes me.
I almost experience what
it’s like being inside me
,
his eyes are so expressive
.
He’s in blissful agony as he reaches down, letting my legs fall wide to the
sides. He pulls me to him and scoops me up, sitting back at the same time so I
can ride him.

Before we were sort of banging, just
enjoying it more than a real pounding. But now something else is happening.
There’s savoring where there should be using. The hate has melted away; it
can’t take the heat of this. I barely can.

My fingers drape over his head, clinging
to him. His hands grip my ass, lifting me up and down on his cock at the same
pace I ride him, but his arms encase me in him. We’re sweating and pressing
into each other’s faces, breathing each other’s exhales and
sweat
.
His teeth find my shoulder again, gently nibbling as he trails my neck to my
cheek. He reaches up, swallowing one of my boobs in his hand, massaging and
grinding into me and me him.

His shaft is long and thick and the ride
up and down rubs all the good spots inside me.

I move a little faster. Being on top I
control the one place I really want him to get to. I don't need his whole cock
for it so I bob.

“No.” His eyes shut for a second as he
shakes his head. “I’m gonna come, stop.”

Ignoring him, I quicken my pace, also
about to climax. His hands grip and try to pull me all the way down and hold me
still but my orgasm is here. I force the movements for us both, whimpering into
his ear and gripping his head as a second wave of everything hits me.

He realizes what’s happening and moves
with me, doing exactly what I want. But the moment I exhale through the last of
my orgasm, he’s done. He wants to fuck, or rather make me fuck him. I’m forced
to bounce on his balls while he thrusts like a warrior. It’s
Game of Thrones
but the Upper East Side
version. He holds me so tight I’m sure I’ll have bruises on my hips as he jerks
into me repeatedly.

When he’s completely done, we clench each
other, neither of us moving except to tremble and shudder with delight.

I don't know what to say because I don’t
know which version of us is the truth. One moment we were screaming and then we
were oddly and uncomfortably civil and now we’re this.

I insulted him and told him I hated him
and now he’s inside me in every way, and I have a feeling I’m inside of him.

I want to go back to oddly civil but I
don’t know how.

As I cling to him I feel like I might be
forbidding him to move because I don't want to face him. We didn't just fuck.
We did something else that I’m not comfortable with: we admitted something big
to each other with a stare. It’s as if he knows all my secrets. My eyes
betrayed me when they whispered them all to him. The way we gaped at each
other, got lost in each other, erases all the petty hate. It explains the
intense way I felt about him, good and bad. The passion is there between us,
whether we use it for good or bad, it’s there just like I knew it would be.
When we kissed in the cab two and a half years ago, I suspected this is what
this would be like and now we’re here.

“Sami?”

My eyes widen and I’m still panicking but
I whisper, “Yeah?”

“I’m gonna lose that condom inside you if
I don't pull out. Can you move?”

That's the first
thing he says?

I barely realize we’re still on planet
Earth, I can’t think straight just like he promised me, and that's all he has
to say?

A harsh realization hits me.

This is the kiss all over again.

I’m reading too much into the pleasure
and passion.

He’s good at kissing and good at fucking,
and I haven’t ever had that before so I’m a stage four virgin clinging to him.