40. Graciella
FORTY
GRACIELLA
GOOD JOB, COMPUTAH
Watching Monroe play hockey was extremely hot. I snapped another picture, right as he sent a third puck sailing into the net.
Hat trick.
The guys went wild; practically the entire team barreled toward him. Their cheers were infectious. I felt the corners of my mouth pull up so high it almost hurt. Through the chaos of bodies, Monroe popped his head out, pointing a gloved finger my way, mouthing behind the plexiglass face shield.
It didn’t matter that he was yards away, or that there was so much noise I could barely hear myself. I knew exactly what he was saying.
You’re mine.
And fuck if that didn’t have my heart in my throat and my chonies drenched.
I was so screwed.
“I want them to know I’m in one with you.”
The statement echoed in my head the entire time he’d been playing, oscillating between excuses to make it work and excuses to make it fail.
I pushed the thoughts aside, watching as he attempted to detach himself from the mass of limbs and skate toward me.
“Imma shower. Stay for me?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes. It felt like he was asking so much more with that question.
I smiled. “Yeah, Monroe. I’ll stay.”
I slipped into his office, the door clicking shut behind me.
The faint scent of sweat from the rink clung to the air. My heart stopped when I caught sight of the Stanley Cup gleaming on his desk, the overhead light catching the silver bowl.
I should probably let him know it’s here.
Or…
I slid out of my pants, stepping free of them, leaving nothing but the lacy panties.
The air-conditioned office air hit my bare thighs, and my pierced nipples hardened against the thin fabric of my shirt, the silver barbells pressing through the cotton.
A soft moan slipped out just from the thought of his face when he walked in, those blue eyes going dark, that jaw ticking.
I reached up and rolled one barbell between my fingers.
God, I have it bad.
Cool metal brushed my outer thighs as I climbed up onto the desk next to the Cup. A shiver shot straight up my spine. One hand drifted between my legs, fingers slipping beneath the sheer fabric to tease along my slit. Monroe wasn’t even in the room, and I was already soaked.
Already aching.
I raised my phone.
Biting my lip, pebbled nipples visible through the white fabric, my free hand pulling the hem high enough to tease what I was hiding. The camera shutter sound filled the office.
The cold wood of his desk top bit into my knees and elbows as I lay across it, ass arched enough to be seen in the next shot. I buried my fingers between my legs. The Cup’s polished silver reflected a blurred version of what I was doing.
More camera shutter sounds echoed off the walls.
I hit send. The little whoosh my phone made as it delivered my message caused my inner walls to clench around nothing.
Me:
The Cup came… here’s some pics so you can too.
I climbed off and leaned back against the desk’s edge, pulse hammering between my legs. Fuck, my sheer panties were embarrassingly soaked. I pressed my thighs together. The anticipation was killing me, coiling low in my stomach.
He’s going to lose his mind.
Five minutes. That was all it took before footsteps thudded hard down the hall and the door flew open.
A cotton towel was slung low on his hips, water still tracing paths down his chest, that dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the terrycloth. His eyes were locked onto me, and I didn’t dare move.
“Graciella. What the fuck are you doing to me?”
Same as you’re doing to me.
He crossed the room in two strides, dropping his phone and the towel in a single motion. I had exactly one second to appreciate how thick and hard he was before his hands found my hips and he yanked me flush against him.
His mouth crashed into mine, kissing me like he was starving. Our tongues tangled, and he fisted my hair, tilting my head to give him more access. My nipples scraped against his chest through the thin shirt, and the sensation shot straight down my spine.
I moaned into his mouth.
He broke the kiss, our chests heaving in sync.
“You fingered my pussy in my office,” he said, low and rough, digging his hands into my ass. He pulled back just enough to look at me. “I about came the second I saw them.”
“That was the point,” I said, grinding against him without fully meaning to. Loving how he pulsed hot and thick against my belly.
He pushed me back onto the desk, the cool wood surface hitting the backs of my thighs as he gripped my panties.
“Hey, I like—”
The fabric tore.
“Monroe!”
“I’ll buy you the whole fucking store.” His eyes dragged up my body, like he was memorizing every curve. “Later, though, because, right now…” He pressed my thighs apart, the air hitting my exposed pussy. “I want to see how wet you are.”
He looked down, his whole chest expanding on a slow breath.
“Fuck.”
He spat directly onto my pussy, the warmth mixing with my arousal.
I gasped, back arching hard off the desk.
Fuck. Why was that so hot?
“You’re dripping.” He groaned, spreading me open with two fingers, thumb finding my clit and circling it.
It was as if I was on fire. Set ablaze not only by his physical ministration, but by the weight of his gaze, looking at me like I was a gift he wanted to carefully unwrap. Something he wanted to treasure.
Emotions kindled between us.
“All this for me?” he asked.
“Always for you.” Only for you. “Please, Josh. I need—”
“I know what you need, baby.” He positioned himself at my entrance, dragging the head of his cock along my slit, and I whimpered. “Spit on it. Make it nice and wet.”
Fuck. His mouth.
I could come just from the filthy things he said. I was convinced of it.
He pulled me upright, and I leaned down, spitting onto the head of his cock, watching the slick shine of it as I stroked him, feeling every ridge and vein beneath my palm.
Monroe hissed, hips snapping forward.
“Good girl.” He pulled me until my ass reached the edge of the desk, hooking my ankles at the small of his back.
He stared at me for a second neither of us moved. The emotion shining in his eyes clogged my throat.
Then he thrust in.
One deep, hard push that filled me completely, the stretch burning, delicious and full.
My head fell back. “Fuck.”
He swallowed my moans, before peppering my throat with kisses.
His hips snapped into a rough rhythm, the desk creaking beneath us.
“Your pussy,” he gritted out, “grips me so fucking tight. Like it was made for me.”
“It was made for you.” The words slipped out. But for once I didn’t regret them.
Something shifted in Josh’s face when I said it. His hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone. He slowed the pace to something new—something I’d never experienced before with anyone.
“You were made for me, Graciella.”
My eyes stung at the conviction in his tone.
His hand slipped between us, thumb working my clit in tight circles, and I stopped being able to think past the sensation. The pressure built fast and hot in my core, coiling tighter with every stroke.
“Come for me.” His voice was rough. “Soak my cock, Graciella. Let me feel you.”
I shattered.
My vision went white at the edges, whole body clenching around him. I called out his name like a prayer. He fucked me through every wave of my orgasm, his breath ragged against my temple, finger still circling my clit, drawing out my pleasure until I was shaking.
Then he pulled back, stroking himself fast, and I slid off the desk onto my knees.
“Trouble—”
“I know.” I tipped my chin up, mouth open.
He came with a groan, ropes of his cum hitting the back of my throat. I scooped up some that had leaked out, licking my finger clean while he watched, chest heaving, blue eyes blown completely dark.
“Fuck. That was...fuck.” He hauled me up off the floor and kissed me deep and slow, tasting himself on my tongue without hesitation. He pulled back, his hands cradling my face.
“You’re mine, Graciella.”
He punctuated it with a kiss before I could respond, pulling me onto the couch in a tangle of limbs, my ear over his heartbeat.
The Cup sat on the desk across the room, catching the light, a silent witness to all of it.
I could feel the pleasant ache between my thighs and the solid weight of his arm across my back.
Monroe brushed the damp hair from my face, his touch so careful as he traced the line of my jaw with his thumb.
“Graciella.”
Something in the way he said my name made me go still.
“This isn’t just sex.” His voice was low, a little rough around the edges. “You’re it for me.”
My heart swelled so fast it almost hurt.
“Are you sure?” My voice came out smaller than I meant it to.
“Without a doubt in my mind.” He pressed his lips to my forehead.
I pressed my face back into his chest before he could see whatever was happening to my expression. Before he could read on my face what I hadn’t said out loud yet.
I love him.