Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I’m dropping to the ground almost as if I’m in slow motion. I watch hungrily as Bishop works his belt and jeans open. It’s sexy as fuck the way he pushes them down just a few inches, reaching his hand inside to pull out his dick, which is hard and already weeping precum from the tip. He brushes his thumb across the tip then holds himself out to me. I lick my lips and open my mouth, and he gives it to me so very slowly.
“Yesssss,” he hisses through his teeth as I suck him in. He tastes salty and his cock fills me up so much my eyes start to water. When the tip touches the back of my throat, I swallow past the gag reflex and slide my hands to his ass to hold him inside me.
Bishop starts to pull out and I hollow my cheeks to suck. Bishop groans, and when only the tip is in my mouth, I scrape my teeth over it until he pops out. Tilting my head back slightly, I look up at him through my lashes. He’s staring down at me with almost a harsh expression on his face, yet his eyes are blazing with wonder and lust.
“Do that again, baby,” he murmurs to me, his hand free hand coming up to cup my face.
I reach out and take his cock in my hands. When I bring him back into my mouth, he takes my head with both hands now and holds me tight so I can’t move. Only from the movement of his hips do I get his cock now, and he feeds it to me slowly and deliberately.
I can’t move…can only control the suction I give him and the sounds I make.
He’s in complete control and it’s exactly how I wanted it.
Chapter 14
Bishop
While I always start to get a buzz of excitement while putting my gear on in the locker room, it’s only when I’m warming up on the ice before the game that my adrenaline really starts flow. That’s due in part to the die-hard fans who come down to the glass to watch us, hoping one of the players will flip a puck up and over for them. To the kids with wonder-stricken faces who tell their parents they want to play professional hockey one day. Shit, even the hot-as-hell puck bunnies who also come down to the glass to watch us warm up get my juices flowing. I mean, what man doesn’t perform better when gorgeous women are watching?
But I’m not looking at the puck bunnies today.
It takes me three mini laps around our half of the ice while looking up into the guest block of seats for me to locate Brooke. It’s unusual for wives or significant others to travel to away games, but some of them do. It’s usually the guys who don’t have kid obligations to worry about so their wives or girlfriend are more flexible to travel. While they don’t fly with the team and are responsible for their own travel there, a block of tickets is always reserved for the Vengeance family members so they can all sit together.
When I’ve casually dated before, I’ve often had those women come to watch me play hockey. I mean, let’s face it, that’s what most of the women are in it for when they hook up with us: the fame and glory of being with a professional athlete. But during those games, when I step out onto the ice for the warm-ups, I never bother to look for them. Don’t even care where they are seated. Because the minute I enter the arena, I’m all about the game. I tune everything and everyone out but my teammates and my coach.
Except tonight is very different. I wasn’t able to turn my mind off when I got to the arena tonight. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Brooke since I left her a few hours ago to hit the locker room and get prepared. She rode on the team bus with us and sat next to her father—to give me space to get my head in game mode, she said—then disappeared after giving me a quick kiss right in front of him.
Right in front of a lot of people, actually. I think the kiss was for show, to prove to her dad and everyone that we were very much a couple like we’ve claimed. I was most impressed that her dad didn’t even growl or glare at me, but he also didn’t smile either.
Brooke sits about fifteen rows back behind our bench. She’s wearing a brand-spanking-new jersey with SCOTT across the back along with my number 32, and that A on the front done in silver with green and blue embroidery on the edges. I surprised her with it last night, telling her, “Well, you know. My girlfriend would sort of be expected to wear my jersey.”