Page 63 of Broken As Puck

If so, was I prepared to say no?

I was hesitant, sure. Reluctant to trust him again. But this wouldn’t necessarily be that. It was just a little release of pent-up energy. Perhaps some much-needed closure.

Yeah, right.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from nodding or unzipping my jeans and shoving them down over the swell of my ass. My underwear followed.

“Fuck, baby.”

He gazed at my pussy as if it held the secret to nirvana, and my face heated. I wanted to look away from him, embarrassed by how I’d exposed myself and wondering belatedly if my body had changed much from what he remembered and, if so, whether it was for better or worse.

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes or stare at the wall on the other side of the room like I knew I should if I wanted to protect my heart. Instead, I studied the colors of his hair, which were even more impressive from this angle.

“Your hair is incredible,” I told him.

He grabbed the waistband of my jeans and peeled them farther down my legs, uncovering my legs down to mid-calf. “I can keep it like this.”

He ran his hands up my legs and I whimpered, the touch setting my nerves alight. I was glad I’d shaved this morning. I couldn’t imagine how embarrassing it would have been if I’d been behind on self-care, as sometimes happened.

“I like it both ways.”

Gripping my thighs, he gently urged them to part—not enough to trap me in my jeans, but enough to grant him access. He planted a kiss at the top of my sex and nuzzled it a little, as if it were a kitten. I frowned, about to complain, when his tongue darted out and licked a stripe down my center.

My hips jerked, and my breath caught in my chest. I pressed myself to the wall and reminded myself not to get carried away. But then he trailed sweet little kisses from the top of my bikini line down, and it became harder to recall why I was trying to be sensible.

If he’d just buried his head behind my thighs, it might have been easier to remember who, exactly, was doing this to me and why it was a terrible idea, but each gentle kiss and moment of tenderness he bestowed upon me wreaked havoc on my self-control.

Once he’d peppered every inch of my exposed skin with kisses, his tongue finally delved deeper. I leaned against the wall behind me and let it support my weight as he wedged his shoulders between my thighs and hummed his approval as he licked and toyed with me.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against me, the vibrations sending a pulse of pleasure through me. “So sweet. So fucking right.”

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, unable to look at him any longer.

That didn’t deter him.

No matter how many years had passed, he knew exactly how to make my body sing. He drove me higher until I had to bite into my forearm to hide my whimpers. Even then, he had no mercy.

“This is for you,” he whispered, and somehow, I was able to hear him despite the pounding of my pulse in my ears. “I’m yours.”

I shook my head, silently disagreeing, but when he fastened his mouth over me and wave after wave of pleasure cascaded through me, it was impossible to deny that some part of me always had and always would belong to him.

And that terrified me.

As my orgasm receded and my brain functioned again, an icy knot formed in my chest.

Oh my God. I’d had sex with Matt.

My ex.

A player on the team I worked for.

At best, it was stupid of me to let this happen with the guy who’d already let me down once before. At worst, it was glaringly unprofessional and, if someone caught us, it could blacken my name in the sports industry.

If this got out, other teams might hesitate to hire me, especially if there were other options who didn’t have a track record of sleeping around.

I looked down at Matt, words of denial on my lips, but then I stopped. He looked wrecked. His lips were puffy and damp, his cheeks splotched with pink, and his eyes were a gut punch of emotions. So many swirled in them that I didn’t dare name.

My gaze journeyed downward to the hard bulge visible behind the fly of his jeans and it was only then that I realized he hadn’t gotten anything from this. He’d made me come, but he hadn’t done the same, and much as it would be polite of me to offer to return the favor, I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to get on my knees for him. That was a level of vulnerability beyond what I was capable of right now.