Chapter 10 The Pussy Pounder 5000 Needs New Batteries Emmett #3
“You. Your cock. I want you slow and hard, so deep I feel you when you’re gone.” She threads her fingers through my hair, yanking my face back to hers, where she devours my mouth, her tongue lapping at mine. “Fuck me, Emmett. Love me. Please.”
“You know you don’t need to ask so nicely. There’s nothing I love doing more than loving you.”
She gasps, hips lifting as I sink inside her, slow and deep, just how she wants it tonight. Fingertips press into my jaw, bringing my mouth down to hers. “You do it so well.”
“Only thing I was made for.”
My palm scrapes up her thigh as she wraps her legs around my waist, rocking against me as I drive myself as deep as I can.
My grip bites into her hips, keeping her where I want her as I drag the pad of my thumb across her luscious lips—pink, wet, begging to be tasted, ravished.
I push her hair off her face so I can see all of her, and she turns her cheek into my hand, like she needs the touch. Needs me.
We don’t have many nights like this—nights when we stoke the fire slowly, when I get to take my time, savor every second, every sound she makes, and the way she feels moving against me as we take each other higher and higher.
Cara and I, we love like it’s a race. Like we’re about to be torn apart.
It’s hard and fast, feral and savage, and I love every second of it.
But this? The way she clings to my shoulders, ragged breath dusting my collarbone, my neck…
The feel of her thighs squeezing me tighter, like she can’t bear to have any space between us…
Those fucking eyes, bluer than the sky and just as vulnerable, coming to life like a fireworks show as they stare up at me… Fuck, there’s nothing better than this.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur as she climbs higher, fingernails biting into my biceps. “Strong. Fierce.” Her walls squeeze, pulling my cock deeper as her back arches. My palm glides over her throat, a gentle grip that brings her lust-drunk gaze back to mine as I pound inside her. “Mine.”
She cries out as she comes, yanking my mouth down to hers so I can swallow the sound.
I do, eager and greedy as I drive myself inside her, over and over, deeper and deeper, reaching between us to stroke her clit, pull one more orgasm from her as a shudder rolls down my spine and I empty myself inside her.
We spend the next fifteen minutes beneath the warm spray of the shower, where I run my hands all over her, work her favorite shampoo through her long locks, smile as she shapes the hair on top of my head into a mohawk and massages her favorite cleanser into my face.
When we’re back in bed, I pull her against my chest, curling around her, my hand sliding over her belly.
Cara pulls my palm to her lips, pressing a kiss there, along with her soft words. “I don’t want you to go away next week. I’m not ready to start saying goodbye to you again.”
I blow out a tired laugh, because not a single day has passed since knowing Cara when I’ve ever felt ready to say goodbye, no matter how temporary.
And every time summer comes to an end and a new hockey season creeps onto the horizon, I have a harder time convincing myself I’m doing the right thing.
There’s still nine days before I climb on that first plane, but with the way our preseason schedule is looking, chances are, I won’t be here when the results of our second IUI come in, and I’ve never wanted to stay home more.
“I’m never ready to say goodbye to you, Care. Think about retiring every season just so I don’t have to be away from you.”
“You do not,” she scoffs, and the playful way she wiggles her ass against my cock makes me smile, because every moment she’s not feeling like herself makes me hurt for her.
“I do. You’re the only thing in this world I love more than hockey, and you win by a fucking landslide.”
She sighs, a quiet, content sound, as she pulls my hand to her belly and snuggles into me.
“You’re my landslide, Emmett. Everything I thought I knew fell to my feet when our worlds collided.
Then we rebuilt a world together, and I finally understood why good things needed to end so something so much more beautiful could be built in their place. ”
She grips my hand in hers, and I feel the desperation, right there along with the hope, when she tells me, “I hope we can build something beautiful from this too.”
I’M ON MY SECOND ROUND of preseason road trips, my third day in a row playing phone tag with Cara, but my seventh day out of the last nine. It sucks as much as I remembered it; even the string of wins and the three goals I’ve scored already can’t change that.
The only thing that makes any of this worth it is my friends, the way they so effortlessly make everything feel lighter.
I’m not someone who craves alone time. Instead, I thrive when I’m surrounded by the people I love, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re lucky enough to love the people I do.
“It’s nine in the morning. Don’t you think it’s a little early for Oreos?”
Carter looks up from the table in our hotel suite, where he’s currently spreading edible cookie dough on top of an Oreo.
He tops it with a second Oreo, then smooshes one of those bite-sized brownies onto it, and—unbelievably—finishes with a third Oreo.
“It’s never too early for Oreos, Em.” He holds up his creation, beaming with pride, oddly reminiscent of the time he presented Ireland to us for the first time.
“Hey, Len. Take a picture of me. Make sure it looks sexy.” He snickers. “Not that that’s hard.”
Lennon sighs, peeling herself off Jaxon’s lap and grabbing her camera from her bag. “Sometimes I hate being your resident photographer.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Carter climbs onto his bed, sprawling on his side, cheek propped on his fist while Lennon snaps photo after photo. “I imagine it’s hard being subjected to this much beauty on a regular basis.”
Lennon snorts as she transfers the photos to her phone and shoots them off to Carter. He stuffs the monstrosity into his mouth—all of it, somehow—moaning, then starts tapping at his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask while shooting off a text to Cara.
Her bloodwork was first thing this morning, and I missed her call while I was in the shower.
I’m pissed off, mostly at myself, because she hates needles and I wasn’t there to talk her through it, not even on the phone.
“Besides eating two thousand calories in a single bite.”
“Hey, Ollie’s eating for three, therefore I’m also eating for three. I’m nothing if not supportive.” He stops tapping on his phone, smirking. “No, wait. I’m eating for four. Me, the babies, and Ollie, if you catch my drift.” He waggles his irritating brows. “Her pussy, in case it wasn’t clear.”
“It was crystal fucking clear,” Adam tells him with a sigh.
“ ’Kay, cause you never know with you guys. Sometimes things just go right over your heads. Anyway, I’m uploading my picture and tagging Oreo.”
I navigate to Instagram, refreshing my feed until a photo of Carter appears, way more provocative than any picture of a thirty-year-old man needs to be while he’s eating a cookie in bed.
World’s sexiest DILF with the world’s sexiest cookie. Just one of many ideas I have for new flavors. @oreo hit me up for more #oreo #sponsorme #loveme #chooseme #considerme
Lennon sips her iced latte. “Why would they sponsor you of all people?”
I point at her. “Million-dollar question, Len.”
“Name someone who shouts about Oreos more than me, Lennon. I’ll wait.
” Carter blinks rather aggressively, then cocks his head.
“Just as I thought. You can’t, can you? Besides”—he shows us his phone screen, scrolling through an excessive note entitled Carter’s Brilliant Ideas for Oreo Partnership—“they’re gonna wanna see this.
This is probably a million bucks in ideas right here.
And it’s not like I want much. Just a lifetime supply of Oreos, my own cookie flavor, and a cookie with my face on it. ”
“Not asking much at all,” Garrett mutters.
“Hey, if you don’t shoot for the stars, you’ll never land on the moon.” He points at us. “Think that’s an Einstein quote.”
“Norman Peale,” Adam says on a sigh, running his fingers through his curls. “And you butchered it.”
I pat Carter’s head as I head for the bathroom. “A-plus for effort, bud.”
I’m closing the door as a phone vibrates, and Lennon calls out for me. “Em, it’s Care! Want me to get it?”
I burst from the bathroom, diving across my bed and grabbing my phone from Lennon’s hand. Everyone piles around me, smiles on as I answer the FaceTime request and pray this bed can hold the weight of six adults, five of whom are bulky professional athletes.
“Hi, baby,” I say with a grin as everyone sings out a greeting for Cara.
Except she’s on the floor in the hallway, back pressed to the wall, knees pulled to her chest.
I slip off the now-quiet bed, walking toward the door as Cara’s red-rimmed eyes rise to mine. My throat knots, my chest pulling taut. I know the answer. I know it by the way my stomach sinks like lead. Yet I still ask. “No?”
She shakes her head, a single tear dripping slowly down her cheek, another piece of her heart being torn from her hands.
“No.”