The Bad Boy Rule (Hellcats Hockey #1)

by Maren Moore

Finally, she drops her hand but doesn’t step back, and I use the opportunity to drag my gaze from her eyes to the light freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks, then dropping to her full pink lips. Those fucking lips. I haven’t stopped thinking about them, painted in that bloodred lipstick she wore at the fundraiser, wrapped around my cock, dreaming about me fucking her throat until she swallows my cum down. I continue the perusal, not giving a single shit that she’s tracking my gaze, watching as I drink her in. My gaze drifts down the delicate slope of her neck to the front of that purple leotard that’s practically painted on her body, curved around her small but full tits, the kind that would be the most perfect fit for my hands. Lower and lower. Down to the flare of her waist, where her athletic skirt hugs her hips tightly, stopping at the creamy, pale skin of her upper thighs. She’s fit but still soft in all of the places I want to kiss, drag my tongue along and find out if the same freckles are scattered where no one can see. Lennon Rousseau is every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.