Page 66 of Put a Rink on It

“You’re rock hard,” she reveals against my lips, like I didn’t know.

Her fingers slide up and down my dick, a bit unsteady but no less useful in increasing my arousal.

“Ships,” I grit out, breaking the connection between our mouths and peering at her. It feels good, but too good. I want to be inside her when I explode. I need her tight heat like I need a pass from a teammate to score.

“I want you inside me when I come.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.

Shifting to a better position to slide inside, I do that, her hands falling away. A deep, satisfied moan echoes around the room.

“Do you need the outside stimulation?” I’m seated all the way in, and I take stock of where she’s at.

Her body’s slid down, the back of her head against the pillows, loose tendrils falling from her ponytail. Her gaze burns with desire.

“Been too long since I could try it. Feel free to test it.” Her sentences are clipped, her lust-filled tone breathy. It’s the words that have me pulling out and thrusting back inside, her body moving on the bed with mine.

“How close are you?”

“Pretty fucking close.” I laugh at the curse. “Don’t think I need my fingers if you keep this up."

“Perfect.”

I increase my speed, pushing in, pulling out, chasing my release as Marina pursues hers. Her eyes close, she bites her bottom lip into her mouth, and her fingers dig into my back. It’s more of a pleasure point than painful, something I don’t want her to stop, even if that’s a fallacy and could never happen.

Another thrust in, and she screams, my name pervading my bedroom, the best sound ever.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop,” rushes from her mouth as her orgasm takes her under.

I’m on the cusp, my cock a steel rod, harder than ever. This encounter has been more than I could have bargained for, and the urge to take her again—when this round’s not even finished—courses strongly through me.

My orgasm wallops me, the feeling so fierce, I nearly have to stop. I allow the overpowering intensity to race through me as I empty everything into Marina with a handful of nonsensical grunts.

When it finally ends after what feels like an eternity, I pull out—not caring about the mess—and roll onto the bed next to her, needing to catch my breath.

“Nero.” There’s so much fervor packed in the two syllables of my name.

“Marina,” I parrot, stuffing her name with gratitude, passion, hope.

“We crossed a line we can’t come back from,” she murmurs, no hint of her opinion on the matter.

My breathing more under control, I flip to my side so she’s in my periphery. She’s staring up at the ceiling, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her breasts taunting me. Resist as I might, I can’t help outlining them with my finger.

“What line is that?”

“The friendship one, for starters.”

“Didn’t stop us before. Won’t stop us now.” Confidence leaks into my voice. I don’t want her to regret what we did because I sure as hell don’t. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll go again. Maybe kiss her lower lips as a treat.

“Can I tell you something without your ego coming into play?”

“I make no promises.”

Her head tilts my way, and her look is pure wicked. She’s quiet for a moment, and there’s a chance she won’t tell me. “Fuck it.” Her chest rises with her inhale before deflating with the exhale. “I had to forget what it was like between us.”

“What’s it?” I have a good inclination but need her to confirm.

“Sex.”