The Teammate’s Sister #2
I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me through the apartment. His mouth stayed on mine, body solid beneath my hands while he navigated the dark hallway. He pushed open a bedroom door with his shoulder.
The room was almost entirely black, lit only by the city glow filtering through the windows.
He set me on my feet beside the bed.
For a moment, he only looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re wearing your brother’s team jacket.”
I glanced down.
The lightweight black jacket had the team logo on the chest and my brother’s number on the back.
“I forgot.”
“I noticed.”
“You want me to take it off?”
His hands caught the zipper.
“I want to do it.”
He lowered it slowly.
The jacket slipped from my shoulders and landed on the floor.
His gaze traveled over the fitted top and skirt beneath it.
“What did you think about when you watched me?” I asked.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt.
“This.”
“That’s vague.”
He pushed the fabric upward.
I raised my arms, letting him pull it over my head.
“You want details?”
“Yes.”
His hand closed around my waist.
“I thought about taking you somewhere your brother couldn’t find us.”
His mouth brushed my shoulder.
“I thought about getting you out of those clothes.”
A kiss near my collarbone.
“I thought about bending you over every time you smiled at me across the family lounge.”
Heat rushed through me.
His hand moved behind me. The fastening of my bra released beneath his fingers.
“I thought about whether you’d be quiet.”
The bra fell away.
His eyes moved over me with open hunger.
“Would you?”
“I don’t know.”
His mouth curved into a smirk.
“We’ll find out.”
He kissed his way down my chest.
My hands slid into his hair.
He backed me toward the mattress and pushed me down. I landed on the bed, breathless.
He remained standing between my thighs.
The position made him look larger.
More intimidating.
I liked it far too much.
He pulled his shirt over his head.
His body was marked with the evidence of the position he played. Bruises along his ribs. Red marks from his chest protector. A fading scrape near one hip.
I let my eyes move over him.
He noticed.
“You like what you see?”
“You know I do.”
“I wanted to hear it.”
“You’re very needy for someone trying to be intimidating.”
He caught my ankle.
One quick pull brought me to the edge of the bed.
I gasped.
His hands settled on my knees. He spread my knees wider.
“How about now?”
“Undecided.”
This man looked at me as though he intended to test every limit I had.
He lowered himself between my legs.
His mouth found the sensitive skin along my inner thigh.
I fell back on my elbows.
“Thought you wanted to find out if I’d be quiet.”
“I do.”
His teeth grazed my skin.
“Eventually.”
He removed my skirt slowly, pausing each time his hands exposed something new. My panties came next as he inched them down to my ankles. The delay was deliberate.
Punishment for teasing him.
When nothing remained between his mouth and my skin, his eyes lifted to mine.
The first touch of his tongue to my clit made my hips jerk.
His hands held me down.
“Easy.”
The authority in his voice sent another rush of heat through me.
He took his time.
That was the worst part.
Or the best.
He worked his tongue slowly, learning every reaction and repeating whatever made my breathing break. Whenever I tried to move against him, his forearm tightened across my hips.
“Stay still.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
He held my gaze while his mouth returned to me.
The pleasure built, sharpened by the knowledge that he was watching me lose control.
The man barely reacted when ninety-mile-an-hour shots came toward his face. Now he seemed fascinated by every sound I made.
My fingers twisted in the bedding.
“Please.”
He stopped.
I looked down at him.
His mouth was wet. His expression was infuriatingly calm.
“Please what?”
I swallowed.
“Keep going.”
“What do you call me?”
My pulse jumped. His eyebrows lifted.
“You heard me.”
Heat climbed my throat.
“Daddy.”
His eyes darkened.
“Again.”
“Please, Daddy.”
“Good girl.”
His mouth returned to me.
The praise hit nearly as hard as the touch.
My body tightened beneath him.
I stopped trying to remain quiet.
The climax built quickly now, each movement drawing me closer until the tension became unbearable.
He sensed it.
His hands spread my thighs wider.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Give it to me.”
I broke.
It rolled through me in hard waves, my back arching off the mattress as his hands held me exactly where he wanted.
Only when my body began to soften did he rise.
I lay breathless against the bed.
He looked down at me, still wearing his jeans, control barely disturbed.
“That isn’t fair,” I said.
“What isn’t?”
“You’re still dressed.”
He opened his belt.
“Fixing that.”
I watched him strip.
There was no hesitation in him now.
No concern about my brother or the consequences waiting outside this room.
When he returned to the bed, he settled over me and kissed me deeply, letting me taste what he had done to me.
His weight pressed me into the mattress.
I wrapped my legs around him.
He reached for me, then paused.
“You on the pill?”
“Yes.”
His fingers moved over me again.
I tensed.
“Relax.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
He worked me open slowly, one finger and then another, stretching me with deliberate patience while watching my face.
I shifted beneath him.
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“It feels good.”
His thumb added pressure to my clit.
My breath broke.
“There?”
“Yes.”
He continued until my body yielded around his hand.
“You’re tight,” he said.
Heat climbed my face.
“You’re enjoying teasing me.”
“Yes.”
He added another careful stretch.
My hands gripped his shoulders.
He withdrew his hand and positioned himself.
His first press into me made me stop breathing as I tried to adjust to how thick he was.
He went slowly, giving my body time to adjust despite everything rough he had promised.
My fingers dug into his back.
The stretch hurt at first, intense enough to make my legs tighten around his hips.
He stopped.
“Red?”
“No.”
“Yellow?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“More.”
Something dark and satisfied crossed his expression.
He gave me more.
The fullness I felt stole my voice.
He held himself still once he was completely inside me, one hand braced beside my head and the other gripping my thigh.
“You take me so well,” he said.
The praise undid something inside me.
I moved my hips.
His grip tightened.
“Impatient.”
He drew back and drove forward.
The force pushed a cry from me.
His hand covered my mouth.
“Your neighbors?” I asked against his palm.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I want to feel it.”
He removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth.
The next thrust came harder.
Then another.
He built a deep, punishing rhythm, each movement driving me into the mattress while his hands held my hips steady.
The bed struck the wall behind us.
I clung to his shoulders.
This was what I had imagined beneath all that silence. The strength he used on the ice turned toward me.
His mouth moved against my neck.
“You wanted this?”
“Yes.”
“Wanted your brother’s goalie to fuck you?”
The words made my entire body tighten.
“Yes.”
“What do you call me?”
“Daddy.”
“Louder.”
“Daddy.”
He drove into me harder.
“Good girl.”
I cried out.
He smiled against my skin.
There was nothing gentle in his pace now. His hand caught my thigh and pushed it higher, opening me further beneath him.
The new angle made every movement sharper.
I could feel the stretch of him, the relentless pressure and the tightening pleasure beneath us both.
My nails scraped his back.
“Too much?” he asked.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Harder.”
He gave it to me.
The slap of our bodies filled the room. The bed rocked beneath us, frame knocking steadily against the wall.
I stopped caring how loud we were.
His control began to fray.
I heard it in his breathing and felt it in the way his rhythm became rougher, less measured.
“You feel so fucking good,” he said.
I tightened my legs around him.
He groaned.
“That’s it. Take it.”
His hand moved to my clit.
The added touch made my back arch.
Pleasure built too quickly, pulling me toward the edge before I was ready.
He noticed.
“Already?”
“Shut up.”
He laughed once.
Then he slowed.
The sudden loss made me whimper.
“No.”
“No?”
“Don’t stop.”
“You’re telling me what to do now?”
I glared at him.
He held himself deep inside me without moving.
The stillness was torture.
“What do you call me?”
I swallowed.
“Daddy.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want you to make me come.”
His expression changed.
The teasing vanished.
“Good girl.”
He started again.
Hard.
Fast.
His fingers pressed exactly where I needed them as he drove into me, each thrust forcing me closer.
The tension snapped.
I came with his name slipping out of my mouth, my body pulsing around him as the feeling crashed through me.
He kept moving.
Kept me stretched around him while every wave rolled through me.
“That’s it,” he said roughly. “Let me feel it.”
My hands clutched at him.
The intensity became almost too much, pleasure sharpening into overstimulation as he refused to slow.
I turned my face into the pillow.
He caught my hair gently at the base of my neck and pulled just enough to bring me back.
“Stay with me.”
I opened my eyes.
His control was gone now.
Dark hair falling over his forehead. Jaw tight. Every muscle in his body working as he chased his own release.
“Come for me,” I whispered.
His hand struck my thigh.
“Who’s giving orders?”
I smiled breathlessly.
“You going to punish me?”
His eyes flashed.
He pulled out.
Before I could protest, he turned me onto my stomach.
His hands lifted my hips.
I braced myself against the mattress, heart pounding.
He smoothed one palm over me.
Then spanked me hard.
The impact sent a hot shock through my body.
I gasped.
Another strike landed on the other side.
“Still smiling?”
“Yes.”
He hit me again.
My fingers curled into the sheets.
The sting spread beneath his palm as he soothed the skin.
“You like being difficult.”
“You like me difficult.”
“I like this.”
He entered me again in one deep movement.
The angle made me cry out.