Kane (Face-Off 2)

“Tyler,” I moan, having trouble controlling my breathing. “We can’t do this.”

“Give me one good reason,” he mumbles as his lips travel up to my neck.

“It’s unprofessional,” I spit out, unable to concentrate.

He slides my dress up, still kissing my neck. My ovaries are ready to explode. There’s too much happening between us without it actually happening. He either needs to do something about the aching between my legs or get the fuck off me and let me go home and take care of it myself.

“We don’t work together.” His voice is low and sensual. “So, I don’t see how this is unprofessional.”

“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to report the news. What would people think of me if you gave me an interview because I had sex with you?”

“Who said you’re getting an interview? Maybe I just wanted you to come over so we can play.”

I cover his hand with mine, and that gets his attention enough to stop kissing my neck to look up at me. At this moment, I don’t care about the interview. I care about having the hottest hockey player in the NHL getting me off. It’s not like I haven’t watched him tear it up on the ice over the years and think how hot it would be to have my own puck bunny moment with a guy like Tyler.

Spreading my legs, I place his hand on the inseam of my thigh. “If you’re not giving me an interview, then you better make me come, or I’m leaving.”

His wicked smile reaches up to his eyes. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Before I can say another word, his lips are on me, and his tongue slips inside my mouth, tangling with mine. Our kisses are animalistic, rough and hard, like two enemies trying to fight each other off. I want him, but I don’t. I should leave, but I won’t. I’m an idiot for not resisting him. My head spins from the passion behind each kiss, unable to get enough.

Once he has my dress pushed up my thighs, exposing black lace panties, he glances down and licks his lips before looking up at me beneath his brows. “You were hiding these under this ridiculous outfit.”

“What’s wrong with what I have on?” I whisper, still trying to catch my breath.

“It just doesn’t match you at all. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were wearing this on purpose to distract me. Sort of like how girls will wear an ugly sweater to break up with a guy just so they don’t want to fuck them when all we can think about is what’s under the fucking sweater. So, if that was your angle, it didn’t work. You’re sexy, and I still want to fuck you.”

Gripping his shirt in my hands, I pull him to me, our lips almost touching. “Then shut up and fuck me already.”

He pushes my legs together to slide my panties down to my ankles and throws them behind him. The look in his eyes is primal, devouring every inch of my semi-naked body. I’m still wearing my dress with the jacket bunched at my elbows, but I feel so exposed with my dripping pussy on display.

Without another word, he tests my slickness before he plunges two fingers inside me. “So wet,” he groans. “I can’t wait to fuck your tight pussy.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle my moans. At first, Tyler starts slow, his pace quickening with each second. My mind spins into a frenzy of sexual bliss, consumed by the high that Tyler has given me as my muscles tighten around his fingers. I am so close to finding my release, and I think he knows it, because without stopping, he lifts my leg over his shoulder, leaving a few kisses on my skin, before he bends down to suck on my clit.

I. Could. Die.

Tyler’s lips, his mouth, the tiny bit of stubble all rubbing against my pussy, feels so good I want it to last forever. Tyler Kane is as good with his hands and mouth as he is on the ice. Not that I ever doubted that. I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I never should have let him kiss me. And I should not have let him finger and lick my pussy. But…and this is a big but, I don’t want him to stop.

“Tyler,” I scream, gripping a fist full of his hair in my hands as my entire body trembles, the heat spreading from my cheeks to my toes.

After my body stops convulsing and my moans die off, he slides his fingers out of me and looks up at me, his lips covered in my juices, looking sexy as fuck. “Damn.” That’s all he says but the cocky smirk says it all. He owns me now, and I want him to own me—or at least until after he fucks me.

“I just gave you some new material to write about,” he says, playful, “and we haven’t even started.”

Then he stands to take off his shirt. He raises it over his head and drops it on the floor. I can’t stop staring at his eight-pack abs, tracing the curves of each muscle. But the real muscle, the one that makes my mouth open wide and my pussy do a happy dance is the one in his pants. Because when Tyler pushes his track pants over his hips that he had on without any underwear and drops them to the floor, I need to wipe the drool from my chin. As if I thought I knew how big it was from the outline I saw earlier, my mind did not do it any justice.

He steps out of his sneakers and pants, kicking them behind him. I bite down hard enough to draw blood as I stare at his massive erection, giddy but somewhat nervous. Will the whole thing even fit? I guess we will find out. That could be another blog article. Instead of How to react when his stick ain’t all that, I should write How to react when his stick is so big you want to scream, cry, jump up and down, but are scared to death that you may never walk straight again.

My ovaries are like yeah, bitch, ready to give me a high-five because they are going to be on overdrive tonight. Giving himself a few strokes, Tyler stalks toward me and lowers himself between my legs. But for whatever reason, I don’t want to have sex with him on his couch even though I had no problem with him going down on me a few seconds before. It makes me feel…cheap, which confuses me even more.

I write about one-night stands and every type of sexual encounter imaginable, most of which I have experienced for myself or vicariously through Sydney or our viewers. With Tyler, I want this to be right—no, perfect.

“Do you think we can move this to your bed? The couch isn’t all that comfortable.”

He shoots me a confused look and sits back on the sofa. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, I understand. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready to do.”

I hold out my hand to him. “Oh, I’m ready all right. Lead the way, handsome.”