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Good hockey is like good sex. Both require stamina, skill, and a willingness to take a few risks. Not to mention, if you’re doing it right, you should end up sweaty as hell.
“You didn’t come, Margo.” Heat flashes in his eyes as he adds, “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I know what you sound like when you actually come, and that wasn’t it.” My jaw drops open, and I flounder for a second, completely at a loss for words.
“I’m sure I’m not the first person to tell you that you have a big cock,” she says, glancing back up at my face. “This thing is a fucking monster. No one could miss a dick like this.” My grin widens. “Okay, fair. But it’s never sounded as good as when you said it.”
“Fuck.” His eyes narrow a little as he meets my gaze. “You liked that, didn’t you? You like me calling you a good girl?”
I glance back to see Margo poking her head inside. She’s got her eyes closed. “Is it safe? Is anyone naked?” “Just me,” I say with a smirk. She opens one eye tentatively, then opens them both and frowns. “You’re not naked.” “No, but I could be.” I lift my eyebrows suggestively.
“Although… you do realize I wasn’t the only person in the stands wearing your number, right? There were probably hundreds of fans at the game wearing your last name on their back.” “It’s different when it’s you,” I insist, running my hand up her back. “How?” “Because one day, it’s gonna be your last name too.”