Page 4 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
She nods, taking a sip of her drink. "Mhm. He was obsessed with hockey. Played it all through school and college. I never really had the inclination to get on the ice myself, but I was always there, watching his games. The more I watched, the more fascinated I became with the strategies, the planning, the maneuvers. Not the physical side of the game, but the mental one."
Leaning in closer, her enthusiasm palpable, she continues, "I started seeing patterns, predicting plays before they happened. And when my brother moved on to a minor league, I began suggesting strategies. Turns out, I had a knack for it. From there, it was just a short leap to the management side of things."
She finishes her tale, looking a touch bashful. It's a new side to her, one that intrigues me even more. "So, you're the brains behind the operation," I muse aloud, genuinely impressed.
She shrugs modestly, but her eyes gleam with pride. "Someone's got to do the thinking, right?"
Chuckling, I nod in agreement. "True that. Many guys I know just skate around, hoping for the best. But I always believed in the power of a good strategy."
Her face lights up, pleased with the validation. "Exactly! It's an art, a game of wits. It's what makes it exciting."
As the night wears on, the atmosphere between us lightens, making it easy to forget the outside world. It's her turn to probe now.
"So, Dominic," she drawls out my name teasingly, the soft glow of the bar lights making her eyes dance, "I've always been curious. After such a legendary stint on the ice, where did you vanish to?” Her playful tone falters slightly, "Of course, I mean after... the injury."
Instantly, her cheeks redden, as if realizing she may have overstepped. "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up."
I wave off her concern, the memories of that day, though painful, having been dealt with a long time ago. "It's alright, Isabella. Ancient history." I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under my weight. "You know, life has a funny way of pushing you in the direction you're meant to go. Sometimes it's a gentle nudge, other times it’s a shove off a cliff. Either way, I believe it all happens for a reason."
She seems taken by my response, her tense shoulders relaxing. A smile graces her lips, one that seems both relieved and genuinely pleased. "That's a refreshing attitude," she remarks.
Under the table, my fingers drum a nervous rhythm. Few people know about my recent endeavors in the hockey world. I've been working in the shadows, letting others take the limelight. And while part of me wants to spill everything to Isabella, a gut feeling tells me it's not the right time. Some secrets need to remain hidden, at least for now.
However, it's as if she reads my mind. Her gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing playfully, "What are you hiding, Mr. Steele? You have that look. The one people get when they're sitting on a juicy piece of gossip."
Caught off guard, I'm saved by the bartender's timely announcement, his voice echoing through the now almost-empty establishment. "Last call, folks!"
She shoots me a mischievous glance, leaning in as if to share a secret, her lips just inches from my ear. "You got lucky this time, Dom. But I have a knack for uncovering secrets." Her warm breath sends shivers down my spine.
Pulling away with a smirk, she collects her things, ready to call it a night. And as she does, I can't help but think that life's little push tonight was leading me right to her.
As the atmosphere between us thickens, the pull becomes undeniable. In a bold move, I reach over and slide my hand onto her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin even through the fabric of her dress. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, everything else blurs.
"You said you've got a knack for uncovering secrets," I murmur, my voice dripping with intent. "What else are you good at uncovering?"
A coy smile dances on her lips, and the glint in her eyes tells me she's picked up on my challenge. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
The next thing I know, we're rushing towards the elevators, barely able to keep our hands off each other. The world outside is a distant echo as our mouths collide, every touch a promise of the fire that's about to ignite.
The doors open to my penthouse hotel suite, and the sight that greets us is nothing short of breathtaking. But right now, New York City, in all its glory, plays second fiddle to the woman in front of me.
Clothes are discarded with haste, our urgency palpable. As I peel off the last of her garments, Isabella looks down with a hint of self-consciousness, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.
There's an energy between us that can't be ignored. As I lean into her, our foreheads touching, I can't resist teasing her just a bit more.
"So, Miss Strategy Manager," I say with a smirk, "got any tactics for this particular scenario?"
She chuckles, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, I've got a few moves in mind. Care to see?"
With that, her hand darts down, reaching around and grabbing my ass, giving it a squeeze. She grips me hard, a softmmmpouring form her mouth as she takes hold. No doubt she’s a fine strategist in more ways than one.”
When she’s had her fill of my glorious glutes, she brings her hand towards the front of me wrapping her fingers around my manhood. The sensation is heady, causing me to groan as I press my face into the crook of her neck, leaving soft, wet kisses there.
"You're quite the multitasker, aren't you?" I manage to say between gasps.
She laughs, her breath hot against my ear. "You have no idea."
It's my turn to show her what I'm made of. Sliding my hand between her thighs, I relish in her sharp intake of breath. I know just how to touch her, and in mere moments, she's writhing under my touch. She’s already wet and warm. I spread her lips and find her clit, teasing her.
