“You okay?” he asks after I bite down on my lip and close my eyes.
I open my eyes and nod, digging my heel into his back. “Yesss,” I purr. “Please, don’t stop.”
As he slides in and out of me, careful not to hurt me, I get used to him, and with some of the pain comes intense pleasure. Tyler picks up the pace, his movements so in sync as he grips my hips and fucks me. He really fucks me, hard and fast. This time, he doesn’t wait for me to give him the go ahead, and I don’t need it.
“Tyler,” I moan, scratching my nails down his arms.
“That’s it, babe. Come for me,” he says, his voice soft.
No problem.
With a firm grip, he lifts my legs over his shoulders and pushes further inside me. This. Feels. So. Good. I don’t want him to stop. Ever. My insides clench, a brush of heat spreading from my cheeks to my toes, as my moans turn into screams and an intense orgasm rocks through me, commanding control over my body. I have come undone.
Tyler has crazy fucking stamina—not that I am the least bit surprised with him being a pro athlete. He pumps faster, the sweat trickling down his forehead with each thrust, dripping onto my leg as he kisses my skin. We lock eyes, another earth-shattering orgasm brewing within, and when he starts to groan, his facial expression changes, a look so sexy I come again.
His body trembles one last time before he leans down to kiss me, slow and passionate as if we had made love instead of fucked. After he leaves a trail of kisses along my chest, he slides out of me. I have no doubt I will be sore in the morning after all the hammering he did between my legs.
Tyler heads to the bathroom, naked and glistening with sweat, his toned body perfection in every way. I could admire him all day. Not until he saunters back into the room with a bright smile on his face does it register that I just fucked Tyler Kane. I have a slight fangirl moment because…I just had sex with Tyler Kane, the highest paid player in the NHL.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I have been a fan of his since his first year in the league, and as a hometown boy, he has gotten a lot more attention around here than other players. And he deserves it. He’s hands-down the most talented center in the NHL, outscores all of the people who play his position, and is by far, one of the fastest and most dominating skaters on the ice.
And he just wrecked my pussy, took charge of my body and fucking destroyed me. I loved it, loved every second of him taking what he wanted. I need more. But he has other plans, stepping into his boxers and jeans, flashing me an evil grin as he dresses.
I feel so exposed and shove my skirt back down over my thighs, then search for my bra and shirt. I find them on the coffee table, soaked in coffee because they landed right in our mugs.
“Stay like that,” Tyler says after he slips his shirt over his head and tugs it down his torso. “I want to remember this for later.”
I laugh, about to get up from the couch when he plops down next to me, hugging me against his chest. “I want to see you again. I thought I could give you a tour of the Wells Fargo Center this week. I’ll call Mike in the morning to schedule a meeting with him so you can get all the info you want on the trades. Sound good?”
“Yeah, that would be awesome. Thank you, Tyler.”
“It’s a date then.” He says, confident and with a wicked smile that matches mine.
“Yep, it’s a date.”
I am going on a date with Tyler Kane. A small part of me giggles and squeals with delight, but I try to hide my excitement from Tyler. I can have my fangirl moment later with Sydney.
Chapter Twelve
TYLER
As we walk through the Wells Fargo Center, Kennedy is glowing from her excitement, a childish grin plastered on her face as she checks out every hallway and opening in the damn place. She reminds me of Blake the first time I had taken him here to see where Uncle Tyler plays hockey. Kennedy is a real sports fan, not just a girl who studied communications and somehow fell into sports reporting because she couldn’t land her dream job.
She knows hockey almost as well as me, which turns me on. A woman who likes sports is not hard to find but one who speaks your language, understands the meaning of icing and doesn’t think it’s something that you find on top of a cake is a fucking keeper in my book. The models I briefly dated were the worst, clueless about sports and too high maintenance.
Puck bunnies only want to suck my dick because I’m a famous hockey player. I swear they get a thrill out of it, and while I will never understand the fascination, there is no shortage of women lining up to take the next girl’s place.
But Kennedy is different. She knows who I am, understands there is more to me than a hockey player with a big dick. Of course, that part of me Kennedy loves. She showed me how much she loved it in her apartment right before we left to meet Mike Turner, the Flyers general manager.
I setup a meeting with Mike who had spent over an hour with us going over every trade the Flyers had made in the last year. Of course, Alex Parker came up about a thousand times, his mid-season addition to the team something I had helped my agent work on after Parker was balls deep in another puck bunny scandal and found his ass on the chopping block.
The Capitals loss was our gain because Parker is hands-down the best defenseman in the league, and he works well with our line. Now, if only we could get the rest of the team to step up their game and earn their salaries. We were never the team with the best stats but we sure as hell have the most heart. It’s a shame there’s not enough talent to back it up.
Before our meeting, I had given Kennedy the VIP treatment, let her snap about a thousand pictures for her p
aper, and told her as much about the Flyers organization as I know. I had planned for us to skate for an hour before we have to leave to make our reservations at an Italian restaurant that offers more privacy than other places in the city. Parker had Donovan and me meet him at Luciano’s when he came up with an idea of how to get Coach back. His plan worked, and I ate one of the best meals of my life, all while plotting Operation Get Coach Back. That place seems to be a good luck charm, so that’s where I am taking Kennedy.
The stadium is vacant, with only a few people scattered throughout, doing menial errands for upper management and setting up for tomorrow’s event. I run into the locker room for a minute to retrieve my skates from my locker and jog back down the long hall where I left Kennedy.