Page 12 of Stalked By the Hockey Player

"So fucking wet for me," I groan, thrusting them in and out.

She moans, her hips bucking off the bed.

"Tyler!"

When she cries out my name like that, I nut in my pants like an overeager schoolboy.

Fuck, what she does to me.

I need to practice, but fuck if I can leave her here. Ineedher with me.

So, I stand, pulling her with me, and she follows.

I grab my keys and open the door.

"You're coming with me," I say simply.

Her eyes widen, but she follows.

We arrive at the rink, and the smell of sweat, ice, and leather fill the air.

Her face lights up, understanding dawning as she sees where we are. "You want me to watch you practice?"

"You're mine now, so yeah. I want us to do everything today, baby," I reply, my hand finding her lower back, guiding her to the locker room.

I dress in my hockey gear, my heart racing at the thought of her seeing me play.

The whistle blows, and I'm on the ice in an instant.

Emila's eyes follow me as I skate, her lips parted.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I see her looking at me like that.

The game is intense, fast, and rough.

Emila stays by my locker after, watching as I rinse off.

I pull her against me, our bodies flush.

"You love watching me like this?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

She nods shakily.

Her skin smells like soap and cherry lip gloss.

I devour her mouth, kissing her hungrily.

Her tongue tangles with mine, and I pull away reluctantly.

"I need to get you home," I growl, feeling like a feral animal. Fuck, what is it about her that drives me insane like this?

Back at the apartment, we fuck like animals.

She's mine now, completely.

I can't get enough of her.

She screams my name, our bodies moving in perfect sync.

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