Page 97 of Slapshot Baby

I pull her closer. Press my face into her hair and breathe.

This is enough.

I’m almost asleep again when Ava unconsciously rolls her hips. It drags her ass directly across the length of me.

I exhale hard through my nose.

Her breathing has changed. She’s waking up.

But that doesn’t mean this won’t be another time of torture where she wants to fulfill only her physical desires.

She does it again, this time slower. A deliberate grind that has my fingers digging into the sheet beneath us.

Her hand finds my forearm where it's draped across her stomach. Her fingers trace up, nails dragging lightly across the skin.

She pushes my hand lower until my fingers brush the lace edge of her thong. The fabric is damp. Hot.

"Kai, touch me." Her voice is rough, sleep-thick.

Every nerve in my body fires at once.

I press my palm flat against the wet lace and she rolls her hips into my hand, grinding herself against my fingers with a desperation that makes my cock twitch hard against her.

"I've been thinking about your fingers all night," she breathes.

"Yeah?" I slide one finger beneath the lace edge, tracing along the crease of her thigh while my mouth finds the side of her neck. Her skin is fever-warm. "I've been thinking about a lot more than my fingers."

She moans and reaches behind her, finding the rigid outline of my cock through my joggers. She wraps her hand around the shaft through the fabric and strokes.

The groan that leaves me is embarrassingly raw. My hips jerk forward into her grip.

I slip my fingers further beneath the lace. She's soaked, slick and swollen. The sound she makes when I drag two fingers through her folds makes my vision swim.

"I want you inside me, Kai," she says. "I want you to fuck me until I can't think."

I press my fingers against her clit, circling. She bucks against my hand.

"Turn around. I want to see your face when I make you come."

She doesn't turn.

Her hand keeps stroking, then her rhythm goes uneven. Drifting. Her hips are still grinding against my fingers but the motion has turned loose.

"Ava?"

No response.

Her breathing is deep. Slow. Even.

I prop myself up on one elbow and look at her face.

Her eyes are closed.

Not squeezed shut with pleasure.

Closed the way they close in deep, genuine sleep. Her lips are parted, her expression slack. A strand of chestnut hair is stuck to her cheek.

She's asleep.