Page 82 of The Puck Bunny

“Let’s see if you are.” He lowers his fingers to slide them between my thighs at the base of his cock.

I jolt to attention and pour myself all over him like I’m weeping in thankful pleasure, squirming to get everything I can out of his touch.

He chuckles softly. “I guess you are.”

“Told you,” I say and smile as I lean forward, kissing him because his mouth is so tempting.

CHAPTER 24

QUINN

Her tantalizing kiss encourages me, so I take her by the hips and lift her up because—God have mercy—I need her like fucking air right now. Like I’ll die if I don’t have her. Really die. Heart-stopping dead. I glide her onto my cock as I watch her face and feel her tight pussy suck me in, pulling me deeper so that my arms shake with the strain until she finally sits, wholly impaled, on top of me, sunk to the hilt.

“Oh my God, Quinn…” Her eyes roll back.

I squeeze her. “You okay?”

She snorts and the tightness causing me to shake snaps.

“Okay? Seriously?” She exhales and wiggles her hips, sending all kinds of dangerous sparks through me, the kind that could set off an explosion, so I still her.

“I’m in heaven,” she says, opening her eyes. “And I have the most magnificent view possible.” She stares at me, communicating so much with her eyes. Her pussy clenches for emphasis and I nearly lose it.

“Take it easy,” I say, my voice like gravel. My throat’s parched and I pull her toward me, reaching for her breasts like I need a drink.

But she aims her lips at mine and I drink, instead, from hem to quench my thirst, to calm me. But the calm lasts only a moment until the sensuous feel of her tongue tangling with mine registers with my cock.

“You are so sexy, sweetheart. I’m having trouble hanging on.”

“Is that right?” She tests my words with another wiggle of her hips.

I groan and can’t resist, can’t hold back any longer, as I take hold of those hips again, trying to wrest back some control. Holding on, I move her up my shaft and then lift my hips to meet her as she comes back down.

“Jesus.” I grit my teeth and repeat the motion, struggling to keep it slow and easy.

“My God, that feels so good,” she says breathlessly. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I might have an idea,” I grit out.

I repeat the motion again.

But, this time, she pushes up from my chest and comes down hard on my hips, letting out a deep moan in the process.

Whatever control I had snaps and, this time, I lift her and slam her back to my thrusting hips hard and fast and then again. I keep doing it as I listen to her moans and her heavy breathing. My motions become frantic and I’m lost to the wild rhythm, racing to the end and prepared to head over the cliff, praying to reach it in one piece, needing to shatter apart and lose everything like I’ve never done before, holding back nothing.

As I slam her hips to mine, thrusting inside her one last time, her scream killing the frenzy of energy around us, I lose everything in a spine-breaking gush inside her, spasms of ecstasy collapsing me on top of her as I wrap her up like she’s my life raft, like she isn’t the person who just stole everything from me—my mind body and soul are hers forever. The feeling of devastation is outweighed by the ecstasy, mingling together in an impossible explosive mix, fueling aftershocks when I should be unable to, if not breathe, at the very least, breathe.

She holds onto me and strokes my back. It’s a while before I become aware that my racing heart has slowed, that it’s beating perfectly matches hers under me, thudding together in synch. The sensation is something I’ve never experienced before. The other-worldly quality has me mesmerized as I kiss her face and hold her, trying to hold onto that out-of-body feeling, the one that keeps the real world at bay.

“You are so blazing hot, you’re dangerous.” I’m not sure if it’s physical or whatever else she does to me, but I feel the shield that’s kept me from indulging in anything beyond the physical before coming to Boston is shattered.

I brush a strand of hair from her face and tracing her brow, then lean in to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says. “Because those are the kinds of words this girl doesn’t hear very often. Or ever, if I’m honest.” She strokes my chin with a touch that makes me shiver… But also makes me afraid because it’s the kind of touch that’s authentic and heartfelt, the kind a guy can’t hide from or gloss over as meaningless.

Taking her hand in mine, I move it to my chest. But the warmth only makes my heart thud harder. I’m in trouble.

My mind floods with the prospect of the seventy-plus hockey games still ahead of me and all my teammates, Coach, and the fans counting on me. The Stanley Cup is what I want and if that’s selfish, then…