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“You mean aside from the big ‘FUCK YOU’ you’ve got tattooed on your forehead?” He gestures at my face with his hand. I purse my lips. “Oh, so you can see it. Good. For a minute there, I thought it must have washed off in the shower.”
“Yeah, I do. And right now, all signs point to me taking you down to my room and fucking your brains out.” Dead. RIP Jake Compton, the best grinder the NHL ever had. He died doing what he loved most.
“Were you afraid you’d lose me to a real man?” I murmur. “Not a chance, gorgeous,” he replies. “You’ve got all the man you need right here.”
“You need to stay over there because, if you don’t, I’ll fuck you right here in this elevator and there’s no way in hell that’s happening. I’m taking my time with you.”
The fact that he’s asking instead of telling—or just straight up ripping it off me—has my heart melting like a popsicle.
Of course, my perfect girl likes to play. I bet she’s got more kinks than a garden hose.
“What a good fucking girl,” he croons. I shiver. I typically like to be the one giving the praise, but coming from this sweetheart, it feels dirty and I love it. I love being his good girl. I love earning his praise. I want more.
“Don’t play with me, baby girl. I’ll happily stay in this room giving you what you need all night. I’ll eat that pussy like it’s my goddamn job. Say the word, and I won’t get off my knees.”
“You like that, baby girl? My hand on your throat, my fingers in your cunt…I’m gonna claim you, make you mine.”
“The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along.”
