46. Dylan #2
“What about the others?” I ask in a quiet voice.
My heart is lodged in my throat while I wait for his reply.
It’s make or break, because despite how drawn I am to Finn, I’m basically already dating Griffin.
Even if I chose to let him go, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let me—not that I have any intention of doing that.
He’s been my grounding force in all of this.
My stable place to land. I wouldn’t let him go for anything.
And then there’s Ethan and Jax. There’s no way I could give either of them up. Not playing video games with Jax or the little insights I’ve been getting into Ethan.
Just…nope. Not happening. As selfish as it might sound, I need them all.
“Baby, if hockey has taught me anything, it’s how to be a team player. ”
When I merely roll my eyes, he nudges his nose against mine.
“What do you say, Hellion?” he murmurs, shifting to hover over me as he drags his lips down the side of my neck.
I tilt my chin, granting him better access, my body heating as his tongue occasionally flicks out to wet my skin, sending my mind spinning. “Be mine.”
There’s an edge to his voice. A plea that has me responding, “Yes,” without a single bit of doubt or hesitation.
For as much as Finn says he wants me, I want him too.
This chemistry between us is undeniable, but more than that, Finn makes me laugh, and despite keeping his distance, he’s shown that he cares for me.
He brings me lunch and ensures I eat before practice and throughout the day.
It’s a surprisingly sweet side of him that I imagine very few have the privilege to experience.
“Yes,” I repeat, turning my head toward him.
I breathe in a hint of his aftershave, something rich and oaky.
It’s a combination that fits Finn to a T. Playful but brooding. “I’ll be yours.”
He half moans, half groans into my skin.
“Three words have never sounded so perfect.” He’s still on top of me, his hands skimming my skin, mouth pressed to my throat.
I can feel the hard ridge of his cock against my hip.
Oh, how I want to spread my legs, to have him settle between them.
Kiss me. Suck on my skin. Stroke this heat that is steadily building.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, sounding as dazed as I am.
His hips jerk before he stills. His breaths are heavy against my skin, strained as he forces himself to calm.
With one final deep inhale, as though he’s breathing my scent into his lungs, tattooing it to the lining so he never forgets, he pulls away.
Our gazes lock. “I need to get out of this room or I’m going to forget everything I just promised and fuck you into this mattress. ”
I mean, I wouldn’t complain if he did.
He must see exactly how much I want him, because he shakes his head, backing away.
“Nope. No. None of that.” He points an accusing finger at me as he crawls to the end of the bed.
I sit up on my elbows, sucking my lips into my mouth to keep from grinning when he unashamedly adjusts himself in front of me.
“I’m going to check on Ethan and Jax. You just stay here.
Do whatever you do to prepare for a game.
I’ll be back in a bit.” He’s already out the door, moving like there are flames licking at his heels.
Alone, I flop back down onto the bed. My sigh is loud in the otherwise silent room, and my body still pulses with the need Finn stirred. I’m horny as hell and there’s no way I can focus on getting in the mindset necessary for tonight’s game while feeling this way.
I could sort myself out.
Or…
My head tilts to the side, staring at the bathroom door as I strain my ears for sounds of the shower running. As I’m listening, the water cuts off, and images form in my head of Griffin, dripping wet, towel wrapped low around his hips, all that gorgeous, taut skin on display.
I’m off the bed and stalking toward the bathroom before I can second guess myself. I slip into the room without knocking, the door still damp from steam and the air thick with the smell of Griffin’s bodywash—clean, woodsy, dangerous.
He’s standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, white towel circling his hips as he runs another over his wet hair.
Slowly, passionately, my eyes trail over him, lingering on the droplets of water that carve paths down the ridges of his back, catching in the valleys of muscle, slipping lower, before disappearing into the folds of white at his waist. He’s all sinew and strength, every inch of him honed and effortless.
It makes saliva form in my mouth as I envision tracing the lines and grooves with my tongue, and heat blooms low in my stomach, spreading outward like a lit fuse .
My gaze snags on the ink slashing down his ribs—a single black line, thin and stark, bending into sharp, deliberate angles. What I initially stared at across the gym floor, I’ve now seen up close and personal countless times.
It isn’t a decorative tattoo. Not one intended to be pretty, but it doesn’t need to be. That jagged, unyielding line is Griffin. Unforgiving. Exact. A warning etched into skin.
On quiet feet, I move in behind him, my fingers brushing his damp skin before sliding around to the front of his abdomen. Solid muscles press against my palm, tensing and flexing beneath my touch. Leaning in, I press a kiss to the back of his shoulder, soft and slow, just enough to make him still.
He turns, the towel in his hand falling to his side, and his eyes find mine, narrowed and skeptical.
“What are you up to?” he asks suspiciously, yet his blue eyes sparkle with intrigue beneath the bathroom lights.
I shrug, the picture of innocence. Stepping back, I click the door shut behind me and turn the lock with a quiet snick .
Turning to face me, his head tilts slightly, that predatory gaze observing my every move. “Hurricane…”
Lifting both my eyebrows, I tap my finger against my lips—a silent reminder of his rules.
A minute passes, the two of us simply taking the other in, before he arches a brow. It’s a question. A challenge. One I’m ready to step up to the plate and meet.
My answering grin is slow and deliberate before I fall to my knees in front of him. His knuckles tighten around the towel at his waist, the one in his other hand falling to the floor, forgotten.
His eyes blaze with heat, and he does nothing to stop me as I reach up and tug on the edge of the towel. He lets go, and it drops. He’s already hard and ready beneath it, his engorged cock bobbing in front of my face .
“Is this what you wanted, Hurricane?” he purrs, fisting himself with slow, sultry movements that coax a bead of precum to his tip.
My tongue is heavy in my mouth with the desire to flick out and lick it, to taste him.
I nod, sucking my lower lip between my teeth as I watch him work himself over, heat pooling between my thighs.
“If you’re so set on not talking,” he murmurs, eyes dark as they drop to my mouth before he brings his hand to my face, tugging my lip free, “I guess I better keep your mouth busy, huh?”
Applying slight pressure to my jaw, he coaxes my mouth open, and I lean forward to meet him as he pushes the blunt head between my lips.
My tongue drags over his silken skin, and he groans. Salty mustiness washes over my tongue, and when he slips down the back of my throat, momentarily obscuring my airway, I moan. My hands come up to grip his thighs, the muscles tense beneath my palms as I dig my fingers in.
I flick my gaze up the hard planes of his body, until I fall, enraptured, into his glazed-over eyes.
Watching Griffin shed the mask he constantly wears, knowing I’m the one responsible…
It’s empowering. I always thought nothing could feel better than skating toward the crease, the puck at my feet, and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I’m going to make that shot.
But this…this moment, having this strong-willed, reserved, domineering man falling apart at the seams all because of me… yeah, this feels infinitely superior.
It’s the hottest thing, watching him shudder and fracture before me, and I soon find myself shifting on my heels, squeezing my thighs together in a desperate need for friction while I suck him deeper into my mouth.
Hot and needy, I slip my hand down the front of my leggings, but I barely make it past the waistline before a sharp slap to my cheek makes me freeze. It’s not sore, it’s more the surprise of it that catches me off guard.
“None of that,” Griffin says, pumping his hips with shallow thrusts.
I moan around his thick shaft, blinking my teary eyelashes in a plea for release.
“This is my routine you’re interrupting, so you’ll do as I say, and I’m telling you not to come.
I want you to think about this moment, to remember how frustrated you’re feeling right now for every shift you play tonight.
Every time you have possession of the puck.
Every goal you make.” He runs his fingers possessively down the side of my face, before wrapping his hand around the front of my throat—firm, but not tight.
“Only when we win tonight’s game—only when you’ve earned it— will I let you come.
And it won’t be by your hands.” Saliva dribbles out the side of my mouth, and he scoops it up with a finger before pushing it back in, stretching my lips thin.
“It’ll be by mine. My fingers. My tongue. My cock. You understand, Hurricane?”
All I can do is moan in response, even as my panties disintegrate and my nipples chafe against the inside of my bra.
He smirks down at me, looking like a dark king atop his throne. “Now show me what a good girl you can be and let me fuck your mouth.”
There’s no waiting for permission. No easing into it.
Griffin grabs the back of my head, and in the next second, I’m choking on his cock.
Tears stream from my eyes and my fingernails leave half-moon indents in his thighs, but the grunts that fall from his lips and the way he uses me, like he’ll fucking die if he doesn’t come in my mouth this second, has me hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.
My lungs burn and my jaw aches, and I swear, I could probably get off on the friction I get from my leggings. With a sharp tug on my hair, Griffin throws his head back and roars my name as his seed spills into my mouth, washing over my tongue, and dripping down my chin before I can swallow.
Dragging me to my feet, he kisses me with abandon. “You realize, if we win, you’re going to have to get on your knees for me before every game?”
With my hair a mess and cum on my face, I grin at him.
Totally. Fucking. Worth. It.