Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
JOSIE
M y heart pounds so loud in my ears that all I can hear is my shaky breath. I can’t believe I ever thought Chris was ever cheating with someone who is actually his niece Abby. Disgust crawls across my skin, and all I can think is ‘I’m sorry’. I’m an idiot; before I can second guess his words I can feel my front teeth digging into my bottom lip and my head nodding yes.
Christopher smiles in a large smile that brightens his entire face; he looks like a child on Christmas morning. His fingertips run up the side of my arm, leaving a drunken trial of need along my skin right down to my core.
“Good girl,” He smirks, his fingertips curl at the base of my scalp and he yanks at the root of my hair causing a gasp to escape my lips, only to be covered by the low whine of a moan in the back of my throat.
He fists my hair, and immediately I feel my knees weaken as he pulls me against his chest and growls warmly in my ear. “Well, are you going to apologize ?
My chest tightens as he looks at me with a hungry gaze, his eyes lingering on every curve and dip of my body.
My mouth began to water in anticipation, my mind racing with thoughts of what he might want from me. Memories of past encounters flood my mind–the one time I had attempted oral sex with Dylan, and how he had pulled me off after just two minutes, telling me I was terrible. He never let me try again after that night, and I couldn't help the dread pooling in my stomach at the thought of Christopher feeling the same disappointment in me.
“I-I can’t do that.” I whisper, my eyes darting to his shoulder and focusing on the cotton of his shirt, anything but the searing heat in his gaze.
Christopher’s breath catches in his chest and his grip tightens, pulling my head so I can’t avoid his gaze, making me see his intentions in his eyes. “What?”
“I mean I am bad at that, okay?” My voice is equally quiet and forceful sounding like a squeak.
A deep laugh rumbles from his chest, causing a warm flush to spread across my cheeks. His other hand glides across my jawline, tracing up to my chin and slipping between my parted lips. “With lips as soft and full as yours, princess, I highly doubt it,” he teases with a playful smirk on his lips.
The feeling of his touch sends shivers down my spine, and I can't help but melt under his hypnotic gaze. “Chris-” I protest, but he cuts me off.
“I’ll teach you.” He whispers, his thumb sliding deeper in my mouth tasting metallic and ash, no doubt from his beating on Milo earlier in the night. I suck lightly, causing a small smile to spread across his lips as he slides his thumb out of my mouth. “Good job, on your knees.”
I hesitate for a moment, watching the light in his eyes turn into a hellish gleam, before slowly sinking to my knees in front of him. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, not even air. He’s already half-hard, pushing against the material of his jeans, and from just the tent I know he must be freaking huge. I reach out tentatively, brushing my fingers against the bulge.
"Take it out," he commands, his voice gruff.
I obey, unzipping his fly and pulling his cock free. I swallow hard, feeling a rush of heat between my legs at the sight of it. Ignoring the growl in his chest I reach up and grasp it in my hand, feeling the warmth and hardness of it. He watches me intently, his eyes boring into mine as I slowly stroke him.
“Open your mouth princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.
Again I obey, my eyes trained on the little bead of precum on the tip of his dick, leaning forward my lips brush against the tip of his cock. He groans softly, the sound vibrating through his flesh and makes me press my thighs closer.
My lips open wide and take him in. The sensation of his cock filling my mouth makes me gag and my eyes water as he slides in deeper, pressing against the back of my throat, but I force myself to relax and swallow around him. My hand works in tandem with my mouth squeezing and pulling more of him into me.
“Good job, princess.” His growl leaves his chest, followed by a groan. “Now drop your hand and use your tongue.”
I pause, my eyes widening, because if he thinks I can take all of him into my mouth he is sadly mistaken, and way too fucking big for me to even try. I will die if he shoves his cock down my throat. Death by cock sounds like a good way to go, but not before I’ve had him inside of me.
His hand threads in my hair, as he clicks his tongue. “Princess, I thought you were sorry.” My eyes lock with his, as he massages my scalp. “Are you sorry?”
I nod my head yes, desperate to show him that I meant what I said. I want him to forgive me. I want him to know that if I didn’t trust him then, I trust him completely now.
“Then drop your hand.” I groan against him, his cock pulsating in my mouth as I drop my hand and he uses his grip on my hair to guide my movements up and down his throbbing shaft.
I follow his directions, flicking my tongue along his slit and moaning as the salty sweetness of his cum spreads across my tongue. “You like how I taste pretty girl?” Christopher teases, a chuckle coming up my throat.
He thrusts his hips forward, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. Every movement sends jolts of electricity through me, my pussy growing wetter with every thrust. I follow his thrusts, sucking and licking every inch of his shaft, trying to savor the smooth feel of his cock as I run my tongue along the vein underneath his shaft.
“Fuck you are sorry, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingertips rubbing my scalp as he continues his measured movements.
“So, so sorry.” I mumble against his shaft.
His breath hitches, another flood of precum staining the back of my throat. His moan makes me suck harder, rubbing my thighs against each other and pushing myself to take him deeper .
“Shit.” He pulls on my hair, shooting prickles of pain across my scalp but I don’t let that stop me. I keep sucking him harder, deeper, sloppier, until I feel saliva dripping down my chin. “You are going to swallow all of it, understand me?”
I nod as he thrusts into my mouth and tugs on my hair with such force that I fear some strands may be ripped out. But none of it matters, because I want this. I want him. I want him to know how sorry I am and this is my way of showing him, silently pleading for forgiveness as I take him down my throat, not wanting to breathe anything but him, even suffocating if that’s what he wants because I am so sorry.
He shudders against me, and releases long, hot spurts onto my tongue.
“Fuck, Josie.” He growls and I have never loved my name on someone’s tongue as much as right now. Chris continues to slowly pump in and out of my mouth and I swallow eagerly even as some dribbles down my chin.
He tastes like salted plums, so sweet, so salty and I can’t get enough of it. “You did so well, princess. I would have thought you were a pro.” He praises and my heart does a backflip.
When he pulls out I whimper, my panties so soaked I could fill the Atlantic, but he doesn’t move away, instead he leans forward and scoops the cum from the corners of my mouth and pushes it back inside. I lick the drips of cum I can reach with the tip of my tongue and gulp thickly.
“I’m sorry.” I cough out in between swallows.
Christopher leans down closer to my face, looking at me like I’m a goddess and the world has magically fallen away in light of his everything. I try to look away but the blue of his eyes are clear and soft, making my bottom lip quiver. “I know, baby. I know.”
Christopher kisses my swollen lips gently as he tucks himself back inside of his pants. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
I push my thighs closer together, my voice coming out as a weak squeak. “B-but…”
“But, what?” He smirks, staring down at my thighs pushed together.
“I want you.” I whisper, my eyes leaving his because I can’t look him in the fucking eyes as I beg him to fuck me like I want, like I need.
Christopher chuckles again and my ears turn bright red, and hot to the touch. He scoops me into his arms, pulling me tightly to his chest. “I know, princess, but you are still being punished.”
“What?” I snap, my eyes darting back to him as he kicks off his boots and makes his way across the foyer and up the stairs.
“You are not cumming tonight.” He answers matter-of-factly.
My eyes are so wide because I just gave this fucker a blow job on the fucking floor of his foyer and he is going to leave me hanging all night. “The hell I’m not!”
He pauses on the landing right before the final staircase, his eyes narrowed on me so precisely I suck my bottom lip in my mouth and nervously suck. “First, stop that. Second, you make yourself cum tonight and I won’t fuck you, but I will make you cum again and again until it fucking hurts.”
Jesus Christ. I want that .
“But if you wait like a good girl until after I drop Abby back off at boarding school, I will fuck you so well you’d think I was a god.”
Fuck, I want that, sign me up for that.
Christopher’s chest rises with a low chuckle that reverberates through me, and he turns left into the dimly lit hallway. The warm light spills from wall sconces spaced evenly, their golden glow casting elongated shadows across the matte slate walls. The subtle scent of cedar and pine lingers in the air, blending with the faintest hint of something musky and smoky—so unmistakably him.
The polished wooden floors creak gently under his footsteps, the noise blending with the rustle of my breath. My arms circle tighter around his neck, and he adjusts his grip on me, keeping me pressed flush to his chest. He dips his head, mouth dangerously close to my ear.
“Option one,” he whispers, his voice low and deliciously dark, “I will make you cry, and beg, but I won’t stop, even when you say ‘no I can’t’ because I will make you until I’ve decided you can’t handle anymore.”
A thrill dances along my spine, and I shiver, clinging to him, unable to see his eyes but feeling the intensity of his words ripple through me. “No safe words?” I laugh nervously.
He shakes his hand no very slowly, a small smile curves his lips as he adds, “No, because I will never hurt you, princess.” His nose inhales me deeply. “Besides, you have never been fucked by a man, and I am sure you don’t know how much your pretty little pussy can take, but I do.”
A sharp breath leaves my lips, just as my pussy throbs with need— because any release would feel good right now, even if he ripped it out of me. “What about option two?”
I tilt my head to catch his gaze, my heart racing, but all I see is the confident set of his jaw and a smile so wicked I am as scared as I am excited. “Option two will leave you breathless, because instead of ripping every orgasm out of you. I’ll let it build and you’ll beg me for more, and more, even when you are done. Your body will want me again, and again.”
“Will I have a safe word then?” I whisper, as he shifts me in his arms to unlatch the cherry red double doors, pushing them open with a gentle nudge.
“If you want.” He shrugs, entering the room and forcing all of my senses to be invaded with him in a way that excites just as much as it scares me.
The rich scent of aged leather mingles with that of burning wood from a stone fireplace that looks recently lit. Dark oak beams span the high ceiling, and the walls are painted a deep charcoal, contrasting with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in thick, black velvet curtains.
His bed dominates the center of the room, a massive, dark mahogany frame draped in a charcoal duvet with piles of crisp, slate gray pillows. Hockey memorabilia decorates the walls: framed jerseys from his college days, black-and-white action shots of him on the ice, and a glass case housing an array of pucks, each engraved with a date and score. A leather armchair sits by the fireplace, paired with a sleek, black-topped coffee table scattered with hockey strategy books and a few worn paperbacks, the spines cracked from use.
As he carries me gently across the threshold, the room feels intimate and deeply his, in a way I feel so comfortable in this room like everything that enters it is his to possess— even me. That thought scares me but I don’t have enough time to think about it, as he strides to the bed, and lowers me onto the plush duvet.
His hands linger on my hips as he pulls away, and I sink into the comforting softness beneath me, my heartbeat hammering in my chest. My pulse stutters when he straightens and reaches for the hem of his fitted black tee, pulling it up and over his head with an effortless motion. His skin catches in the low light, golden warmth playing over the hard planes of his chest and sculpted abs making my clit quiver, fuck I may pick option one if he keeps this up.
“Wait—I thought you said no sex?” I question, in such an eager manner that I want to face palm, because why am I so giddy at the idea of this man fucking me?! I could have had anyone at the club tonight, but none of that matters when you just want him.
His brows lift slightly, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, more amused than wicked. “Relax,” he murmurs, stepping closer and brushing a calloused thumb over my cheek. “We are going to take a shower.” He pauses, his gaze softening. “Then, I’m putting you in one of my jerseys, and we’re going to bed. Nothing else.”
I stare up at him, breathless, as a wave of longing and sadness washes over me. “Just... sleep?”
He nods, gentle and steady. “Just sleep,” he promises. “Unless you cum….then no one sleeps.”
I bite my inner cheek and nod, feeling my pulse race as I pull the leather dress over my body. The fabric clings to me and I catch Christopher’s eyes darkening, transforming into that familiar storm I’ d love to be drenched in.
My eyes trail over the sculpted lines of his body, every muscle carved like a work of art, and my fingers twitch with the need to touch him. I’m drawn in by the intricate tattoos that span his chest, the inky black designs etched into his skin. Stark, swirling patterns spread across his left pec and weave around his ribs, creating a story I haven’t yet been told but desperately want to learn. Lines and symbols form a map of pain and passion, beautiful and haunting.
My gaze shifts, lingering on the one burst of color in the sea of black—a vivid design on his left pec. My name, Josie , in elegant, sweeping letters, surrounded by watercolor splashes of deep blues and reds. The colors blend and bleed into each other, vibrant yet soft, as though the tattoo artist captured a dream and made it permanent on his skin.
My breath catches in my throat. The shock of it, of seeing my name inked over his heart, leaves me frozen. My mind spins, trying to comprehend the weight of this, the permanence. It’s more than romantic—it’s all-consuming, a declaration that’s almost too intense to bear.
“Christopher,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward, his hand cradling my jaw, tilting my face up to his. “You’re safe with me,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek.
His gaze is sincere, steady, and so devastatingly intense that I feel like I might shatter under it. I want to believe him, I mean the tattoo is new enough, but what type of guy gets a girl's name tattooed on him and they haven't even been on a date, or fucked. I can feel my chest tighten and a large part of me wants to run, but he moves in closer.
“I’ve been obsessed with you since the moment I laid eyes on you at the winter showcase over a year ago. You’re mine, Josie. And I’m yours.”
My heart thunders in my chest, the gravity of his words pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. His confession wraps around me like a heated embrace, and memories come rushing back—of that winter showcase over a year ago. I remember seeing him there, leaning against the rink with his sharp jawline and gorgeous cerulean eyes, exuding this untouchable confidence that makes my pulse race.
I remember the way he invaded my space that day, close enough that his presence lit my body on fire. The pull between us was undeniable, raw and electric, but I had brushed it off as a fluke. I thought he was just some fuckboy hockey star, all charm and no substance, desperate for the bragging rights of saying he’d slept with a future Olympic gold medalist. I didn’t think he was drawn to me, that he felt that same gravitational force pulling us together. But now, with his words hanging between us, I realize that moment was as significant for him as it was for me.
I wanted him back then, needed him, but I’d been too afraid to believe that what I felt could be real. Then Dylan came in, and we were still dating, so I pushed everything down and ignored the rushing heat of my body.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, I reach out, my fingertips brushing the tattoo on Christopher’s chest, right over where my name is inked in vivid color. The skin there feels warm and alive beneath my touch, and my heart twists in my chest. The gesture is so intimate, so permanent, that I can’t help but wonder if this is his way of saying I love you . It’s not the words, but the intention is clear, etched into his skin, impossible to erase.
And then the thought hits me like a tidal wave: Do I love him? I’m terrified of the answer, of everything that loving him would mean. It’s risky, it’s messy, and it’s more vulnerable than anything I’ve ever allowed myself to be. But as I trace the ink with trembling fingers, I can’t deny the way he makes me feel. He’s chaos and comfort, safety and danger, all rolled into one. And even as fear grips me, something deeper, something real and undeniable, starts to unfurl inside me.
It’s too much, too fast, but also everything I’ve secretly craved. My mind races. Is he about to say it? The three words I’ve been waiting for, dreading, and dreaming about?
He pauses, his fingers tangling gently in my hair. I’m bracing myself, feeling overwhelmed, my body taut with anticipation.
But instead of those three words, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “I won’t say it until the moment is right,” he whispers, his voice a tender promise.
Relief and longing flood through me in equal measure. My chest feels tight, and I almost sag against him, grateful and terrified.
I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath, nodding against his touch. The storm in his eyes softens, and he cups my face in his hands, as if he’s afraid to let me go.
I whisper against him. “You’re obsessed with me?”
He nods, and I pull out of his embrace to look into his eyes. Since he came back into my life, it’s like the Olympics didn’t matter anymore, the ice came second for the first time in my life because all I want is him. I need him.
“You are all I want.” I respond, leaning back so he can take in what is his .
“Shit, princess.” He whispers. My lace red bra doesn't leave much to the imagination, along with the matching thong that’s a shade darker in the middle from how worked up I feel. I open my legs wide, just like Margot Robbie in Wolf of Wall Street, and he inhales deeply, his eyes trained on my pussy.
“I’m all yours, Chris, all yours.”
Christopher groans, unbuckling his pants as he takes me in.
“Fuck! I can smell how fucking turned on you are.” He pushes his jeans down his legs, kicking them off, and leaving the distinct tent of his dick, which shows that he could go again.
“And what is that smell?” I tease, crossing my legs again forcing his eyes to lock with mine.
He growls, pulling me towards him by my ankle. I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Like cherries, and my fucking death.”