AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Then answer the question. Who does this melting slit, these pussy lips, that hot, tight cunt-hole of yours, who does it belong to, Goldie? Tell me, right now."
"You," I gasp, "it belongs to you."
"Good girl. How’s the blood flow?”
“What?” I groan.
“Your period, Goldie, are you still on your period?”
“I am, but the flow is much lighter today.”
“And the pain?”
“Almost non-existent.”
“In which case, we can dispense with this.” He pulls a paper napkin from his pocket, and in one move, slides out the tampon, wraps it up in the tissue, and tosses it aside.
“What are you—” I gasp because he’s replaced it with two of his fingers in my channel.
My period may be almost over, but my channel is over-sensitized. A trembling vibrates out from where he begins to weave his fingers in and out of me, in and out.
He drags his whiskered chin up my cheek, then stuffs a third finger inside my melting channel.
"Oh my god," I cry out as he stretches me, and curves his thick digits hitting that spot deep inside. A trembling starts deep inside, and as if on cue, a man drives a Zamboni out onto the rink. The vehicle makes its way across the ice, smoothing it out while ripples of sensation undulate out from where he’s finger fucking me. He twists his fingers inside me, and I throw back my head, and moan, "ohgod, ohgod, ohgod."
"You mean 'oh Rick,' don’t you?" I hear the smirk in his voice and try to dredge up a semblance of anger, but I’m too focused on how he’s shoved his fingers down the front of my blouse and is squeezing my nipple, how he’s grinding the heel of his hand into my clit, how he’s stroking my inner walls with the blunt tip of his fingers, how his big body feels like a wall against which I’m rubbing myself. How the climax begins to swell up my insides, up my spine, and I close my eyes and brace for it… That’s when he pulls his fingers from me and steps back.
The orgasm trembles for a second, then begins to recede. What the—? Below me, the Zamboni driver continues his progress, leaving a smooth sheet of ice behind. Which is the opposite of how I feel. Waves of pleasure lap at my subconscious, hinting at the release I’ve yet to experience. My knees wobble, and he grips my shoulder and steadies me. I scowl at him over my shoulder. "Why did you stop?"
"Why do you think I stopped?"
"Can’t you answer a question without posing one back?"
He pretends to think then shakes his head. "What do you think?" I can hear the smirk in his voice, and it’s like a little bomb going off in my brain. I spin around, raise my hand, but when he glares at it, I pause, then curl my fingers into a fist and lower it to my side.
"What are you getting at? Why didn’t you let me come?" I whine.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then bends his knees and peers into my eyes. "Because you’re a brat, and you need to learn you don’t direct the proceedings when we fuck. And by the way,"—his lips firm—"you will not come until I give you permission."
42
Rick
"Check." I glance down at my cards. This has to be the worst hand I’ve ever been dealt.
Only consolation? The scent of her arousal is imbedded in my nostrils. After I commanded her not to come, I pulled out the pair of panties in my pocket—I wasn't joking when I said I've taken to carrying them around—and ensured she stepped into them. Then, I straightened her clothes, walked her out of the arena, and dropped her home before I joined the guys for our weekly poker session.
We’re in the den in the basement of Sinclair’s townhouse in Primrose Hill. Next to me, Edward raises the bet and slides a few chips across the table. No one reacts. Talk about playing poker with a tough audience. With Sinclair, JJ, Michael, Knight, and Edward, it’s safe to say I may have met my match when it comes to not letting any emotions show on my face. AndI’mcalled Stone.
A chuckle wells up, and I tamp down on it. In front of these guys, I might as well be called "too emotional." These guys are as tough as they come. 'Course each of them has been through their journeys, professional and personal, and they’ve come out of it stronger and with the women of their dreams next to them.
Except Edward. I don’t know the exact story, but I heard he walked away from his calling as a priest and then lost his woman to his best friend. He’s been traveling around the world ever since, returning to London when Knight asked him to take on the role of General Manager of the London Ice Kings. You’d have thought he’d struggle to adjust to this position, but it turns out the challenges he’s faced in his life, combined with his ability to listen, which he honed when he was a priest, means he’s perfect in this role. He even has a flair for navigating the politics of trading players, as evidenced by the stellar line-up he’s put together.
Not that it helps me here at the poker table. When he suggested I join him and the others at the newly instituted weekly poker night at Sinclair’s place, I agreed—only so I could put some space between me and Gio.
After almost making her come, then refusing to let her come and enjoying the shock followed by rage on her face, I took advantage of her temporary surprise to straighten her clothes, then haul her to my car. On the way home, she turned her face away and focused on the passing scenery, which suited me fine.
It gave me time to work through my actions and reactions toward her. I certainly hadn’t meant to blurt out that I'm coming to care for her. She noticed it, but she didn’t ask me anything further about it, thank fuck. It's something that was in the height of passion and doesn’t mean anything—except it does. And I can’t get that damn confession out of my mind. Catching feelings for her? That was never part of the plan.
