Page 14 of The Enforcer’s Obssession

“Rowdy, look… look at us.” Jett freezes, staring at us. My restraint is fucking gone. I lose control. I don’t give her another second to adjust. I grip her hips and thrust upward with a relentless power, my hips slam against her ass with heavy, slapping thuds.

Slap, slap, slap.

“Rowdy, oh fuck!” Jett screams out, her hands flying to grip at the back of my head as I drive in and out of her, filling her completely, hitting that sweet, deep spot with every single punishing stroke.

“Look at you, Jett,” I grunt into her ear, my voice taking on an edge as I pound into her from behind. “Look at the mirror, sunshine. Look at what you look like wearing my name while I fuck your sweet pussy.” She doesn’t take her eyes off our reflection. In the mirror, she watches as I lift her hips slightly before thrusting back in, the lips of her pussy flaring out and stretching wide around my length as I pull almost all the way out before slamming back deep inside her.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I growl, tightening my grip on her waist, my thumbs digging into her hip bone deep enough she’ll probably have a mark, my fucking mark. “Look how your sweet pussy opens up for my dick. You were made to take this. You were made for me.”

“Rowdy… please. I’m going to—” she sobs, her head rolling back against my shoulder, her eyes wild in the mirror as she watches me take her, sliding in and out of her wet heat.

“Do it,” I demand, thrusting deeper, faster, harder. So much so that we’re shaking the entire bed frame. “Come for me while you watch me take you. Show me how much you love wearing my jersey while I ruin you for every other man.” My words push her right over the edge.

Jett screams, a loud, helpless sound that fills the room as the walls of her pussy clamp down on my dick like a vice, contracting violently. The sheer sensation of her orgasm gripping my dick combined with the sight of her pussy flaring around me in the mirror shatters any semblance of control I have left.

I let out a low roar as my hips slam hard against her one last time, driving my cock as deep as it can possibly go. I lose my mind in the process as my own climax rips through me. I pump hard into the latex sheath wishing like hell it weren’t on my dick, and I could watch as I fuck my cum into her only for it to spill out with each thrust. My chest heaves against her back as I hold her pinned to my lap, riding out my orgasm.

I stay buried deep inside her, my chin resting on her shoulder, my hand sliding under the jersey to cover her heart, feeling it beating wildly. For the first time since meeting Jett, I kind of wish she had her camera and could capture this moment of us to keep forever.

“Damn, sunshine.” I press a kiss against the flush skin of her neck, sucking for a moment, marking her again. “Now tell me again how you don’t mix business with pleasure.”

ELEVEN

JETT

The cool Seattle evening air bites at my cheeks the second we step out of the hotel lobby, but the heat radiation off the man holding my hand keeps the chill at bay. Our fingers are laced together, he squeezes me here and there, looks at me, gives me that sly smirk of his, and I’m fighting the battle to tell him we need to go back to the room immediately.

Rowdy is dressed in what I’ve come to know as his signature outfit—low-slung jeans sitting impossibly low on his tapered waist and a dark form-fitting shirt that clings to every slab of perfectly defined muscles on chest and arms. Just then, he sends the devilish grin he wears like a weapon my way, and I’m caught in his crosshairs. I’m in a pair of my favorite light-wash straight-leg jeans, cuffed at the ankle, a pair of black combat boots, a simple white fitted V-neck tee, and my blacker leather jacket zipped halfway up. I’m wearing my layered necklaces, stacked earrings, and different style rings on my fingers.

Last night changed everything, and I’m still practically walking on air. I’m also slightly sore in the best way possible. Rowdy has officially turned me into a complete sex fiend. After the marathon sex we put one another through, starting with the wild, dirty, out-of-this-world sex in front of the mirror while I wore his jersey, followed by round after round, the sun peeking through the blinds only made it that much better. It seemed both of us were unable to get enough of the other. We matched each other perfectly, in and out of bed. Even now, as we walk down the sidewalk, his thumb glides back and forth over my pulse point, sending a constant, addictive reminder of how thoroughly he wrecked me.

And while I’d much rather be at the hotel tonight, locked behind closed doors, we’re heading to a local sports bar to meet up with the rest of the team for dinner and drinks on their night off. A sports bar. How cliché, I say to myself, shaking my head with a faint smile. But honestly? As long as there’s an abundance of food in the form of carbohydrates to satisfy the appetite Rowdy built inside of me after hours of burning calories in and out of bed, I’m game.

“Are you sure about this being a good idea, Bouch?” I look up at him. His sharp jawline is highlighted by the streetlights, and his dark eyes are sparkling with his easy, magnetic confidence. “Walking into a public spot with the team while holding my hand? If the press catches wind of this, Mitch might lose his shit.” I tilt my head toward our joined hands.

“Yes, I’m sure, sunshine.” He doesn’t loosen his grip for a single second. Instead, he tugs me closer, keeping me glued to his side. My shoulder presses into his ribs, and more of his body heat keeps me warm. “I’m not hiding you. Plus, my teammates already know about you anyway. There’s no slipping anything past them,” his deep voice rumbles smoothly in the cool night.

“They know?” My eyes grow wide. “What exactly did you tell them?”

“Didn’t have to tell them a damn thing, sunshine.” He chuckles, a smile tugging at his lips, and I’m given that damn smirk of his again. “They saw the way I looked at you during PT, and they saw you last night. Harrison already called me a goner before we landed in Washington, and he’s not wrong.”

Before I can formulate any sort of a comeback, Rowdy pushes open the heavy wood and glass door of the restaurant. The neon beer signs, the deep hum of chatter, and the rich smell of fried food and grilled burgers hit my senses. My stomach lets out a loud, embarrassing rumble, making Rowdy chuckle.

“Hungry, sunshine?”

“I’m currently starving, and it’s entirely your fault,” I whisper back, nudging his body with my hip.

“I can’t have that. You’re going to need sustenance for later.” He dips down to murmur into my hair, which causes a shiver to skate down my spine.

“Rowdy! Over here, man!” A loud shout comes from the giant corner booth near the back of the bar. A group of massive athletes is piled around a wooden table covered in pint glasses and baskets of food. Rowdy leads me over, his hand firmly clasping mine, completely unbothered by the sudden silence that falls over the booths, chairs, and high tops as we approach his teammates.

“Guys, this is Jett,” Rowdy announces. His voice is laced with a thick, undeniable satisfaction as he keeps me anchored to his side. “Jett, meet the line.” He points around the table, introducing them to me one by one. First is Harrison, the center, who immediately grins from ear to ear. Next is Liam Fletcher, the steady-as-ever left defenseman, who gives me a polite head nod. Beside him sits Pheonix Michaud, the right defenseman, leaning back with an amused expression. And finally, Chance Scott, the defender, who has a smile on his face and looks like he’s about to say something.

“So, this is the famous Jett,” Harrison says, sliding over on the leather bench to make room for us.

“The woman behind the miracle,” Liam adds.

“Nice to meet you all.” I let Rowdy guide me into the booth beside him. He slides his arm over the back of the seat behind my shoulders, his large hand resting casually around my neck, keeping me close.