“Why are you so fucking hard for me?” she growls, like she hates herself for even asking. “You hate me, remember?”
“Because you’re a fucking menace,” I manage, my voice breaking.
A sinister smile forms at the corner of her mouth right before she drops to her knees. My back buckles, my cock throbbing in anticipation. I adjust myself, pushing toward her full lips. Her tongue flicks out to tease the crown, droplets of water pouring down the sides of her face.
“Damn,” I mutter and reach out to touch her, toying with her now drenched curls.
Sam licks the tip, it’s quick at first but enough to make my toes curl. I watch as she savors my pre-cum then takes me whole. The way her lips purse around the head, her tongue swirling lazily. She works me slowly, taking me deeper, inch by inch, just to torment me further.
She’s not gentle, not really. She has a kind of calculated mischief that makes my knees weak. I hit the back of her throat, expecting her to gag, but it never comes, and she doesn’t let up.
I cup her chin, tilting her head back, and she follows the command without even being told. She lets me take control, my hand now fisting the hair at her nape. I hold her in place, my grip tight as I move my hips. Slow at first, picking up speed with each thrust until I’m pounding. And she lets me.
She doesn’t push away when it gets to be too much, doesn’t flinch when my fingers dig into her neck, doesn’t choke when I cram myself as far as I can go.
Suddenly, the sound of her moving around in the locker room snaps me out of my head. I peer at her through the opening,still stroking my cock while she remains oblivious to what she’s doing to me. Pressure builds and it’s unbearable now. My breathing quickens into a ragged pant. I bite down so hard my molars ache from me fighting back a howl.
My vision blurs, fireworks of white-hot relief detonating up my spine. And when my orgasm hits, it’s like a goddamn freight train. Over and over, long ropes of cum shoot to the floor. My breathing finally settles, and my eyesight clears.
Completely spent, I stare at her a little while longer. I’ve pleasured myself plenty of times, but it was never like that. It probably doesn’t help that her hand around my throat is etched into my memory. And when she told me to beg, I almost dropped to my knees then and there.
But I don’t beg.
Girls come to me, and that’s not about to change just because I can’t seem to getthisgirl out of my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BRYDEN (MOUNTAIN)
I lean back in my seat, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee. My attention should be at the front of the class. I might not need the credits but I’m here.
Instead, I’m half-listening and throwing my gaze around the room while Professor Wilson drones on about something. It’s probably important, final grade worthy, I bet. But it seems people watching is more interesting today.
It’s been like that a lot lately, especially after winning the finals. It’s the only thing that matters. You’d think that being in this position before, I’d rest easy about the looming Nationals Conference, but it never gets easier. In fact, the stress feels worse. Mainly due to the fact this is the end of our collegiate run.
That’s where my head is at these days. On the ice. On the game. Even when it feels as if I’m the only one with my eye on the prize. The whole team is up in arms, running ourselves to the brink of exhaustion. So much so that we played terribly in that last match. Yes, Kane took the winning shot, but it was a close game when it should have been a cake walk.
Kane’s usual disposition is heavier lately, more jaded. And I don’t even know what’s up with Alex. He’s moodier this season for sure. The pressure of being captain getting to him, perhapseven the tension from the team because of Sam. She wouldn’t be working for us if it weren’t forhisfather.
I find Sam two rows up, jotting down notes from the lecture. She’s quiet as usual, only speaking when called on. I realize it’s more of a tactic. The quieter she stays, the more invisible she remains. It makes sense why she chooses solitude over attention. It’s safer that way.
We’re alike in that regard. She’s more outgoing than me, more outspoken when called for. Smart, and resourceful, and even though it’s only been a few weeks of knowing her, I see her resilience.
I also see that she sees me. All my life people have had preconceived notions based on my stature. When you’re over six feet tall and a hundred eighty pounds by middle school, you’re bound to get attention. I hate it.
Except on the ice, then no one else exists. I’m a man of few words, and she gets that and doesn’t judge me for it. Sure, she jokes about my demeanor and teases me about being so straitlaced, but it’s different with her. It feels like she’s showing me just how much she sees Bryden, the man. Not just the Mountain.
I clear my throat when she answers a question from the professor.
“Good job, Ms. Collins. You walked us through that perfectly. Impressive. I look forward to your and Mr. Montour’s presentation.” Professor Wilson points at Sam before continuing.
A smile threatens to pull at my lips, but I bite it back. That’s another thing about her. I’ve never been much of a smiler, but wherever she’s concerned one always tries to sneak through.
Sam nods, then subtly glances back at me. Her eyes are bright, somewhat mischievous, and I can picture the arrogance running through her mind from here. We spent last night debating about this very theory.
Picking up my phone, I scroll to our text thread.
Bryden:Teacher’s pet.
