Could he even take my cock?
“Oh . . . fuck . . .”
Connor turns around. “Seriously, Ryan?”
“Don’t even. You wore that in here for a reason.”
The asshole grins. “Too bad you’re on bed—”
“Don’t. Fucking. Finish. That. Sentence.” My grip tightens around my cock as I glare at my husband. “Take it all off but the jersey.”
“Dr. Francois said—”
“She said no hockey or lifting shit.” I wiggle as I push my joggers down with one hand. It’s the most ungraceful shit. “Get your fucking clothes off, Connor. Those ugly ass socks included.”
My husband claims he wears outrageous socks to piss off his parents, like the damn atrocity on his feet right now—yellow socks with hamburgers and hot dogs, and the words “Sun’s out Buns out.”
It’s a lie.
Connor actually likes wearing those stupid socks or they would’ve all been thrown out by now.
He watches me struggle to get my pants off, that fucking smirk on his face.
I huff, narrowing my eyes. “Gonna help?”
“Oh, I thought you wantedmeto get naked.” But when I shift wrong and wince, he grabs the waistband of my joggers and yanks them off. “Told you to be careful.”
“Then you should’ve helped right away.” My hand wraps around the base of my cock again and I give myself a slow stroke. “Connor, clothes off. Now.”
And like the asshole he is, he takes his sweet time stripping out of everything except his jersey and those goddamn socks. But when he lifts the hem of the jersey, exposing his cock, I can’t think of anything else but wanting him in my mouth.
Jesus fuck.
He’s so goddamn hard the vein on the underside is prominent, his balls heavy and full.
I shove my T-shirt up. Want take it off, but that means fucking with the sling. And if I wince one more time, Connor will stop this whole thing.
“Shoulder okay?” He's already grabbing the lube from my drawer and a condom from his.
“Stop fucking babying me.”
“So people can give me shit about why you fucked up your recovery?” He gets back on the bed and crawls between my legs, cock bobbing heavy between his thighs. “On your back. Don't need you getting wild and rippingyour stitches.”
Heat crawls up my neck, igniting my cheeks. I love riding him, love the feel of him inside me. I spread my legs wider, my hole already clenching, my ass needing to be filled.
So much for having Connor ride me. Maybe if we get a dildo, stuff me full first. “Oh . . . fuck . . . me.”
He laughs. “What’s got you so worked up?”
I slap his knee with my good hand. “Fuck off. Just . . . get me ready.”
He pops the lube open, then slicks his fingers, the excess dripping onto my thigh. “Your hole's already twitching for it. So fucking desperate.”
The first finger circles my rim, barely pressing, just teasing. When he finally pushes in, the burn is perfect. He pulls it out slowly, then shoves it back in harder.
My hips buck, a low moan escaping before I can stop it. “More . . . Connor . . . please.”
He adds a second finger without warning. The wet squelch as he pumps them in and out fills the room.
