“Scared we’ll get caught, princess?” Jake asks, coming around my desk and bracing his hands on the arms of my chair, caging me in. He leans down, kisses my throat and speaks his next words against my skin. “Or does it make you hot to know that our bosses could knock on that door while I’m buried inside you?”
A squeak escapes me, and Jake chuckles, one hand settling on my thigh. The thin fabric of my tights suddenly feels non-existent.
He’s wearing his practice jersey and pants, not having put on his protective gear yet, and I can’t help but reach for him, grabbing the front of his jersey in my hands and pulling him closer.
Before I can steal a kiss, though, I’m pulled from my chair, Jake’s hands gripping my thighs as he turns us both so he can sit me on my desk. On instinct, I part my legs so he can stand between them, wanting him closer, as close as physically possible.
My skirt rides up, and Jake groans.
“You have no idea how badly I want to rip these things right off you,” he says, stroking his thumb over my tights on the inside of my thigh.
“I have a spare pair in my bag,” I tell him with a flirty smile. I’m forever accidentally getting ladders in my tights from catching them with my keys or on the edge of a table or on my jewelry when I’m running about places, so I’ve taken to carrying a spare pair to change into in case it happens. I can’t thank my past self enough for that now.
In a split second, Jake grips the thin fabric high on either thigh andrips, the seam in the middle splits clean open to show off my panties.
“Fuck, princess, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs as he cups the wet fabric between my legs, making my hips buck, seeking pressure and the pleasure I know he can give me.
“Quick, before someone comes to find you,” I breathe, desperate for him.
I moan as he presses his lips to mine, his tongue finds mine and claims me, sparks flying between our bodies. As much as I’d like to return the favor of literally tearing his clothes off, his hockey gear is literally built to withstand forces much more powerful than me, so I settle for tugging his pants and boxers down frantically until I can wrap my hand around his cock.
The kiss turns hungry as he yanks my panties to one side, and I guide the head of his cock to my center. We both moan as he presses inside, filling me slowly, savoring every inch of our connection. I grip his shoulders tight as one of his hands slides up my blouse, cups my breast through my bra, and his other hand is tight on my thigh. He pulls me right to the edge of the desk so that he can thrust deep, and swallows my moan when I can’t control it.
“Careful, or they’ll hear you all the way from the rink,” he says in a low voice, nipping at my bottom lip.
I try to keep quiet, I swear I do, but when his hand moves from my breast to my clit, drawing small circles around the tight bud, there’s no way on earth I can keep myself from moaning his name.
“Fuck, that’s the best sound I’ve ever heard,” Jake swears, lips against the pounding pulse in my neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there.
“Jake…” I moan again, loving the way he reacts to it, how his grip tightens a little, how he thrusts harder, the way his breath comes out ragged. I’m addicted to him. In love with him. Obsessed with him.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Come for me, princess,” Jake demands, his cock reaching the spot inside me that makes me see stars as he keeps his attention on my clit, throwing me over the edge.
I bury my face against his chest, trying to muffle the moans that fly from my mouth as I come. Jake groans my name as his orgasm hits him, and I shudder, clutching him.
We’re both panting as we part, my tights ruined and my desk a mess. My grin is so wide it hurts.
“You’re trouble, Jake Jones,” I tell him, still smiling.
Jake kisses me softly. “You love it, princess,” he counters.
And he’s right.
I really do.
8
JAKE
There’s a kind of rush that comes with playing on the ice that can’t be explained. Like every ounce of my blood, my focus narrows to skates and sticks, the puck, and the sound of shouts and cheers from the stands. I live for it, and I’d never found anything that gives me the same rush... until I met Cara.
Now, I get both those at the same time, and I’ve never felt more alive.
My skates cut across the ice as the Lions’ defense slams into me, trying to block me from the puck. I spin away, minimizing the impact, and make my play for the puck, snapping it into the net.
Their goalie moves to stop it, but it’s too late.
