Page 66 of Lovefool

“I know I was bad tonight, but I promise to be a good boy from here on out.”

I rein in a moan as I grant him unobstructed access to my body, wrenching the hem of my shirt over my head and discarding it somewhere to the side. He nearly comes on the spot, throwing his head back with a half-hearted curse that accentuates the strong arch of his throat. His hands are so large they swamp my tits—which aren’t small by any means—and he drags his thumb over the erogenous zone of my nipple, watching with animalistic satisfaction at the way I buckle for a millisecond of stimulation.

“God, Trouble, you have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about sliding my dick between those gorgeous tits of yours. So fucking big—so fucking perfect for my hands. Need to splatter my cum all over your breasts; need to watch it leak down every inch of your skin until my smell is inerasable.”

“I didn’t realize Soft-Spoken Sutton had a territorial side.”

“Only when it comes to you. Nobody else deserves to know your body the way I do. How responsive it is when I do…this.”

Without warning, he latches his mouth around my nipple, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, and the force of a two-hundred-something-pound hockey player knocks me backwards, my arm shooting out behind me on the bench to keep me upright.

I mewl in the back of my throat, pushing out my chest to him, goading him to introduce another hand to the mix and massage my sweat-dotted breast. He suckles like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, breaking up the predictability of his laves with a quick succession of tongue flicks that have my back convulsing.

It’s my turn to thread my hand through his shaggy mullet, pulling enough to unbalance his mouth as he lists to the side and trails a glistening stripe of spit over the curve of my boob. My underwear is soaked, my resolve is battened down, and my thirst is nowhere near slaked.

When he finally gives my reddening tit a respite, I take the lull as an opportunity to undress him. His undershirt is the first to go, and he takes initiative to wiggle out of his hockey pants, letting every piece of clothing pool on the cold, hard ground.

He’s truly a spectacle to behold: hairy chest, soft belly, a full forest of hair rimming the root of his imposing, hanging cock.

But something stops me in my tracks—something I should’ve expected given the prior violence of the game tonight. A large, subcutaneous bruise (one that spans the entire side of his torso) assaults my vision, no doubt the result of the many board collisions his body suffered during two hours of NHL-level playing. It’s a nasty shade of black with speckles of purple feathering out around the target zone. I reach out to lightly graze it before thinking better.

Sympathy claws up my esophagus. “Oh my God. Is it always this bad?”

Sutton’s eyes flick down as if he hadn’t realized what I was talking about, and then he chuckles. CHUCKLES! Like his body isn’t actively decaying.

“It looks worse than it is,” he jests.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m okay, Lake. I promise. I’m not in pain, but I will be if you don’t let me sink between your thighs in the next minute. I need R&R. I need you. I’ll beg on my knees if I have to. Don’t underestimate me.”

Oh, I know he would. And I can guarantee that his knees are probably in just as bad shape as the rest of his body.

“Strenuous activity isn’t advised after purposefully concussing yourself,” I admonish.

“I was wearing a helmet, and I’m not concussed. In fact, I’ve never been more clearheaded than I am right now,” he volleys, so beautifully oafish with his lopsided smile and those big irises that are rimmed in rings of chestnut brown.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Glad to know my flirting has paid off. I’ve spent months trying to get your attention.”

I don’t waste any time inching my jeans off with my feet—along with my tarnished underwear—matching him in his nudity so the stakes of getting arrested for indecent exposure are even higher than they were before.

“I need your cock, Sutton. I need you to pound into me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow. I need you to fill me with so much cum that it leaks down my thighs. Want you to have your way with me, okay? No boundaries. No hesitations. Let me see the real you—the one who takes his fair share without apology.”

I walk my fingers up the length of his erect dick, and I bite back a smile when it twitches under my touch, even oozing a globule of pre-cum that bends around the crown.

“Turn around. Hands against the locker,” he instructs, too impatient to let me meander over on my own accord as he flips me around with little effort, navigating me by the width of my hips and pulling my ass into his crotch.

My hands slam against the wood without pretense, but the pain is worth the little noise of approval that emits from behind me. I can’t see what Sutton is doing unless I look over my shoulder. I can, however, feel him lever my legs apart so he has adequate room to feed his cock into my dripping cunt. I brace for the excruciating fullness of him.

“Part your knees, Lake. Yeah, just like that. Good girl. Let me see the way you squeeze my fat cock. Let me feel you drench me in cum with each body-rocking thrust. Want everyone who’s left in this fucking arena to hear how well you take me,” he rumbles in my ear, slapping me on the ass.

I don’t want to kill the mood, but concern sears through me without permission. “We—what about a condom?”

A pause. Sutton’s words are rich with embarrassment. “Shit, I—I don’t have one on me. I didn’t even know this was going to happen tonight. I wasn’t thinking. We don’t have to do this right now. I can wait, we can⁠—”

“I don’t care about that. I’m clean. I get checked regularly.”