Page 39 of Net and Chill

So, for an hour, while Bridget was sewing in the kitchen, I’ve been back in the bedroom, slowing everything down. Controlled breathing. Staring at the framed painting on the wall across from the bed, the way I’d find a focal point on the ice. I started listening to an audiobook about the history of shipping containers, which is something I listen to when I need to settle down before a game. But the wordboxgot me excited, so I switched to a podcast episode about how golf courses managedrainage. But drainage made me think of my dick, so I put on my headphones and some binaural beats for focus and went back to controlled breathing.

I used all the discipline I’d built to face a hundred-mile-an-hour puck to survive waiting for a timer to go off in my bedroom.

I just couldn’t think about Bridget.

I’ve trained my whole life tonotthink about the shot that’s coming.

My girl’s here with me now, in a ribbed cotton tank top that didn’t know today would be the last day of its life, and a pair of panties that are about to get what’s coming to them. But she can’t wait either. My shirt’s off. It’s just me and my boxer briefs and an erection that’s acting like a dog who’s been waiting to go outside for days.

Ten seconds.

Bridget glances up at me and says, “Do not exert too much energy.”

“Trust me, baby, I exerted more energy by refraining from doing what I’m about to do.”

Bridget turns off the alarm when it goes off, and I explode into action.

Mouth—mine to kiss.Ass—mine to squeeze.Hips—gimme.Tits—fuck.

I pick her up, and she wraps her legs aroundmy waist as I carry her to the dresser. She’s trying to stroke the stubble on my face, but I move her arms out of the way so I can tear that cotton off her body. Bridget squeals, and it’s the most delighted she’ll ever sound when someone’s ripping fabric. Arching her back and offering herself to me—that’s my girl—I sweep my thumbs across her hard nipples and devour her tits. Smooth skin. Soft flesh. Consumed by my tongue and scraped by my beard.

“I’m so mad at you for ripping my tank top!” she says, all breathless and writhing.

“Then you’re gonna hate what I’m about to do to your panties.” I spank the side of her ass, and she gasps when I grab hold of the side of her cotton briefs and tear them apart at the seams. Too easy.

“How dare you,” she says as she spreads her legs for me.

“What. Is. This?”

“You like?”

“You Goddamn beautiful sadistic genius.” She shaved. All of it. When? While I was sleeping? When she was supposed to be working? Why? To get my blood pressure up? Is she trying to kill me? “Fucking hell, babe.” So pretty. All glistening with arousal. “What are you trying to do to me?”

“I figured you might still be a little confused, so I made it easier for you to find my clit.”

That gets her another slap to the ass. I lower to my knees and get a taste. “I missed this pussy, baby.”

Hands in my hair, she squirms and then hooks her legs over my shoulders. “It’s only been a few days.”

God damn, she’s so wet.

God.

Damn.

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

Ow.

The throbbing pain.

It’s back.

But I will not stop.

I will persevere.