Page 41 of Walk of Shame


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“So fucking gorgeous,” he said, rolling one nipple between his finger and thumb, pulling it, squeezing it, dragging the rough pad of his thumb across the sensitive flesh.

Astrid closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the sensations, the pinch and the pull of pleasure building and taking her higher as he took his time, centering all of his attention on one nipple before turning to the other with equal focus until her whole world shrank down to the delicious feeling of Cal touching her.

This wasn’t what sex was usually like. It wasn’t going to be quick or light or detached. Everything was too focused, too intense, too everything for that.

She should hate it, but it felt too fucking good to feel anything except desperate for whatever was coming next.

“Cal,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair as he pulled one nipple taut. “I need more.”

He looked at her, a lazy headiness in his eyes. “Whatever you want.”

What she wanted was everything—immediately.

He must have known it because something snapped in his dark gaze and his grip on her hips tightened. Then she was in the air, and by the time she’d registered she was moving, she’d landed with a soft bounce on his bed, laying on her back and looking up at Cal as he stood over her. The way his eyes raked over her made her bite down on her lower lip. No man had a right to look so hot, so feral, so fucking possessive when they weren’t even dating, let alone anything more. And yet he did, and it made the moment even hotter—so much so she didn’t think she could take it—and then he grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs, then yanked her jeans up and off in one swift move, all while looking at her as if he was memorizing every inch of her because he never wanted to forget her or tonight.

That was the moment she realized she could take it, and with Cal? She could fucking relish it.

Spreading apart and lowering her legs, he sank down to his knees between them. He traced a line down the center of her panties with his thumb, pressing the swath of cotton against her and rubbing a slow circle around her aching opening. Astrid fisted his comforter, wanting to order him to go faster, to fucking touch her bare skin before she imploded, but needing to feel what he’d do next.

“So pretty.” He hooked a finger in the waistband of her panties. “Lift your ass for me.”

She was so slick with desire and desperate with need that she didn’t hesitate—and neither did he. Cal feasted on her, licking and sucking and leaving no part of her pussy untouched as he ate her out. She wanted to look down, see him as he worked her like he’d been made to do it. There was no way she could, though, not when she was already wound so tight she couldn’t open her eyes. So she held onto his comforter like it was the final link to her sanity when he sank his thumb into her and pressed down against her opening as he moved it in and out. She let go of any ties she had to the world away from this bed when he put his tongue to the bottom of her clit and made it undulate against her, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. And just when she was sure she was going to break into a million pieces and thank Cal for it, he stopped.

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down the length of her flushed body at him. His face was slick with her, his lips glistening, his chin wet, and for a single solitary second, she thought that was it. Then he grinned at her. It was a sexy, knowing torment of a smirk before he winked and dipped his head back between her thighs.

Electric desire had her entire body vibrating as he pressed his face against her, obviously not giving a fuck about going slow, teasing her, or hell, even breathing. This was messy and intense and the kind of attention that was all about doing whatever it took to take her right to the edge where thinking was impossible, and all she could do was go along for the ride. And holy shit was she there. She was drowning in pleasure as he played her pussy, paying special attention whenever she moaned or arched her hips higher or caught her breath and repeating whatever he’d done to get that reaction. And the fact that he was that tuned into her intensified it all, as her core clenched in anticipation half a second before her orgasm crashed into her, sweeping her away on a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated bliss.

She was still trying to catch her breath and come back to reality when Cal eased her thighs that had been tight on either side of his head back apart. A lazy smile curved his slick mouth.

At first, she thought it was a sly look of I-told-you-so, but then he dipped back down and she realized it was a you’re-not-done-yet.

A breathy “Cal,” was all she managed to get out before words were no longer an option.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cal might never hear quite the same again after Astrid’s legs clamped shut on his head with her first orgasm, but he was more than okay with it. Totally worth it to watch her lose herself like that. And she’d really thought he’d be satisfied with only seeing it once? Not likely.

Face wet with the sweet taste of her, he kissed his way up the inside of her perfect, thick thighs while plunging his fingers—one and then two and then three—inside her while pressing that swollen clit of hers with his thumb. The needy sound of her moans. The way her body tightened. The strain in her breathing as she got closer. All of it melded together into a memory he never wanted to forget. He couldn’t explain why, even if the chance to get in the net again was on the line. It just was, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it—not that he wanted to. Being between Astrid’s splayed thighs as she came all over his fingers this time was the only place he wanted to be.

Unless it was watching her come down from that high, a flush reaching up from between her truly fabulous tits, and a satisfied tilt to the half smile curling her full pink lips. Or seeing her raise herself up on her elbows, her long, dark hair falling across her shoulders in messy waves, looking exactly like a woman who’d just had her toes curled in just the way she liked.

Her eyes hazy with lust, she sat the rest of the way up, her heavy tits settling at his eye level. The hard tips of her nipples were temptation itself, but when he leaned forward, it was the top curve of her stomach that he kissed. Brushing his lips over the soft flesh to the sound of her appreciative sighs until she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him back, breaking their contact when he could have stayed on his knees, kissing and licking and teasing every inch of her.

Astrid looked down at him, and it was like being slapped with understanding. Whatever she wanted, he was going to do. No question. No hesitation. No doubts.

“Get up, Cal,” she said, her voice as quiet as her demand was loud.

He did, kneeling between her legs, his breath catching when she went for the top of his already unbuttoned jeans.

“Really, I should fuck with you for a while. Go slow. Tease the ever-loving shit out of you,” she said, lowering his zipper. “But I’m too selfish for that. I need your dick, Cal.” She shoved his jeans all the way down, and he stepped out of them. “Are you going to give it to me now or are you going to make me wait until I’m just a boneless mess of post-orgasmic bliss?”

He was about to answer when she let out a little gasp, her gaze locked on the scars crisscrossing his thigh. They weren’t red and angry anymore, but there was no missing the gnarly mess of it.

His granddad had always said chicks dug scars, but in Cal’s experience, that wasn’t the case. They either ignored them or paid way too much attention edging right up to the fetish line where Cal stopped being a guy and just became a broken, washed-up hockey player toy they could play with. Clenching his jaw, he held his breath, waiting for what Astrid would do next.

Soft as a feather, she traced a line over the jagged scars. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he said, lying through his teeth but not willing to tell her the truth that it ached like a son of a bitch when it rained, when he climbed the rink’s steps until he was dripping in sweat, whenever he was reminded of how the career he’d spent his entire life working for wasn’t his anymore.

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