Page 165 of Slapshot Baby

Her hands find my chest. She runs her palms across my pecs, fingers tracing the hard lines between the muscles, dragging down across my ribs.

Her touch is slow and deliberate, mapping every inch.

“I missed your body,” she says, voice thick.

Her nails rake lightly down my stomach and the muscles tremble under her fingertips. “I missed the way you feel under my hands. The way your cock jumps when I touch you. I miss how hard you get for me.”

Her fingers reach my waistband. She traces the dark line of hair below my navel, her touch featherlight, teasing, circling lower until her fingertips dip under the elastic and pull back.

“Ava.” My voice is a warning.

“Hmm?” She looks up at me through her lashes, wicked.

“Stop teasing or I’m going to bend you over this couch and fuck you until you scream.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m reminding myself how thick you are, how much I want to feel this stretching me open.”

Her hand slides flat down my lower stomach and presses against the thick ridge of my cock through my sweats.

I’m already so hard it’s almost painful, straining against the fabric. She strokes me slowly, firmly, her grip sure and possessive.

A groan rolls through my chest.

Her free hand slides under my shirt, pushes it up. I yank it off and throw it aside.

Her mouth lands on my collarbone, sucking, gentle at first, then harder, teeth scraping, and the sharp sting sends a current of pure heat straight down to where her hand is working me.

She leaves a dark mark and moves lower, licking over my nipple, biting lightly.

“You’re so hard already,” she murmurs against my skin. “I can feel you throbbing in my hand. You want to be inside of me that bad?”

“Yes.” The word is guttural.

Her fingers slip inside the waistband. Skin on skin. She wraps her fist around me, warm and tight, and strokes from base to tip in one long, slow pull, thumbing over the wet head.

My hips buck forward hard. My hands grip her waist, my thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. I have no idea if Ava was always this curvy.

But fuck, I like it.

I definitely fucking like it.

“I want to touch you,” I say, voice strained. My hand slides between her thighs again, cupping her through the shorts. “I want to feel how wet you are for me.”

She catches my wrist, eyes dark and certain.

“No, not yet. I don’t want your fingers first. I want you to split me open with your cock. But I need to taste you first, to feel you on my tongue.”

She drops to her knees right there in the living room, yanking my sweats and underwear down in one motion. My cock springs free, thick and flushed and leaking. She looks up at me, lips parted.

She leans in and drags the flat of her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke, then swirls around the head, tasting the precum already beading there.

My hand flies to her hair. “Fuck!”

She takes me into her mouth, slow and deep, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, and the wet heat of her is almost too much. She moans around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. The sound is filthy—wet, eager, hungry.

“Fuck, Ava—your mouth—”

She pulls off just long enough to look up at me, lips shiny.