End Game (New York Stars Book 1)

BY THE TIME we head downstairs, it’s midnight.

“What’s with the brownie?” I ask, eying the box in his hand.

“It’s for Quentin.” At my confused expression, he explains, “He helped you the other night. I owe him.”

If my heart goes thunk, then that’s between my chest cavity and my lungs.

Still, I tighten my hand around his and because I can’t deal with that level of sweet, I state, “You had fun,” the moment the front door closes behind us.

Maybe I sounded smugger than I thought because the next thing I know, a cake box is being dropped onto the hall console and I’m being pinned against a door with a whole lot of Liam Donnghal pressed into me.

When his mouth collides with mine, it comes as some surprise because hell, it was unexpected, but the boner burrowing into my stomach is a clue as to where this is heading.

Never let it be said that I’m not smart.

Seeing as I’m also not crazy, my lips part to welcome him in.

Fuck, he tastes good.

Like after-dinner mints and a hint of a forty-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey that Aidan, who’s apparently a connoisseur, strong-armed him into sampling.

Man, I can taste the dollar signs in his kiss as his tongue thrusts into my mouth and his hips pump back and forth, rocking his dick onto my stomach.

The ache in my core is ‘steal the breath from my lungs’ strong, hitting me like a sucker punch because it’s surged from out of nowhere.

My arms slide around his waist, hands digging into his ass to draw him closer. He’s so big, all muscles and strength and height, and while my neck is going to have a permanent crick in it, I’ll suffer for the cause because I don’t want this to end.

Ever.

As he tastes me, sampling me like I’m better than that whiskey he just drank, I groan into his mouth. There’s no nicer way of saying it—he fucks me there. The way he thrusts into me, mimicking what his dick could be doing to me right now, is nothing short of criminal.

Because I need more friction and it acted as ‘open sesame’ the other night, I hitch my leg on his hip.

Unfortunately for me, I’m a short ass so I barely reach him mid-thigh, but there’s the beauty of dating a hockey player who has massive thighs and huge biceps—he lifts me and pins me to the door. My legs immediately cup his hips and the friction, dear Lord, the fucking friction!

Because it’s more than I anticipated, I pull back to cry out as he grinds into me.

For the first time in my life, I regret that I hate skirts and dresses because if I didn’t, he could be doing more than dry-humping me.

When his mouth attacks my throat, my eyes flare wide and my heels dig into the small of his back while I wriggle and writhe as the sensitive area has my core zooming ever nearer toward a critical meltdown.

“This is so hot,” I moan.

He stills before he starts back up again.

“Your dick feels so good,” I whisper, tilting my head so I can bite on his earlobe. When he shudders, all his muscles seeming to lock up in response, I figure that was a smart move to make. “I love how big you are, Liam. Did you know that? You make me feel tiny. Every woman needs to feel tiny.”

He grunts out a laugh before he sucks down on the join between neck and shoulder.

“Are you going to mark me again? I loved that. Loved everyone seeing that you’d claimed me—”

“Jesus, fuck, Gracie!” he exclaims. “If you keep it up, I’m going to come in my pants.”

“That would be a waste,” I tease, moving into him so that I can kiss him.

This time, it’s slower. Softer.

Our heads tilt and angle just so, each part of the ongoing caress like it’s choreographed—that’s how perfect it is. No noses colliding, no accidental clashing of our teeth. One time, I even managed to damage a guy’s glasses. There’s none of that here.

It’s seamless.

Perfection.

Nails digging into his sweater, I start to draw it up his back, wanting it gone, craving the sensation of his bare skin, those thick muscles against my palms.

I know how hard hockey players have to work to stay at the peak of their form, but seeing Liam grit his teeth when he had to say no to Aoife’s brownies made me appreciate it even more.

He lets me drag his sweater off him, ripping it over his head and tossing it onto the floor.

As I take in those massive shoulders and the pecs that are totally biteable as well as the abs that go on forever, I don’t even care that he’s doing the same to me—messing around with the hem of my blouse too.

I’m no skinny miss, but I like my curves. If I’m bothered about inches, it’s height-wise because being so short is a severe pain in the ass. So when he starts to drag it over my head, I don’t even bother sucking in my stomach.

This is Liam.

I just don’t feel the need to.

And he rewards me for my faith in him—when his eyes lock on my tits and they drift over my upper body, his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Fuck, Gracie. How am I supposed to forget you look like this?”

I blink at that. “Why would you want to forget?”

“I have to work. I have to focus on my game,” he complains, his voice thick as he discards my blouse.

The sound of tinkling hits me. “You threw my pin onto the floor!”

“It’s silver. It won’t get damaged,” he promises—though he’d probably tell me blue was black to shut me up—before he messes with the front clasp of my bra.

That’s when the groan turns guttural as my tits spill free.

His hands are immediately there, cupping them, pinching the tips, squeezing them together in a way that’d probably annoy me if it were another guy but which I rather enjoy because it’s him.

When he bows his head and grazes his teeth over one of my nipples, a hiss breaks free from me and all thoughts of lavender and his gift to me fade. I arch my back, wanting to give him better access, and he rewards me by sucking down, alternating between gently biting and flicking it with his tongue.

I’d never have said that I had much of a response to a guy playing with my boobs, but hell if I don’t feel the connection between my core and my nipples right the fuck now.

Unable to stop myself, I unfasten my jeans and because he’s busy, I slide my hand into my open fly, behind my panties, and I find my clit.

I’m wetter than wet and it makes it easy to jill off, especially with the show in front of me.

My clit’s so goddamn sensitive that with barely a couple strokes and him teasing me, I’m whimpering and rocking into him, scant seconds from getting off.

That’s when he figures out what I’m doing.

Damn.

He stops his tormenting, killing my mojo, to rasp, “I need to see you playing with your pussy again, Gracie. You gonna show me how you like to be touched?”

I go to bite my lip but the second I do, he’s there. On me. Kissing me.

A man of his word.

Like I didn’t already know that, yet here he is, backing up my belief in him anyway.

Though his tongue thrusts against mine, before I can retaliate in this battle, he’s gone. Those heavy-lidded eyes of his are staring at me as he whispers, “Well, Gracie? You going to show me how you like that sweet little cunt of yours to be played with?”

He did not say that word!

And yet, why did the pulse in my C U Next Tuesday throb as if he were sliding into me?

Panting, I promise, “I’ll teach you but I expect you to take notes and not to forget what I like.”

His grin is cocky. “I won’t forget, baby girl. Don’t you worry about that.”

Hands drifting beneath my ass, he shifts away from the door, making me shriek. When he walks us down the hall, he doesn’t continue to his bedroom—he stops at the kitchen.

Placing me on the breakfast bar, he orders, “Lift your butt. I’m going to take these off.”

I obey, watching as he strips my jeans down my legs.

“You looked hot as fuck in these tonight, Gracie. But then, you always do. You’re so goddamn beautiful it drives me crazy.”

A shaky breath escapes me. “Really?”

“When I saw you come out of your room tonight, my cock was so hard for you. I wanted to pin you to the wall and fuck you then.”

I think back to how hot he looked when I first saw him. “I almost wish you had.”

“Next time,” he vows.

With my jeans hooked around my ankles, he tugs off my ballet pumps and then whips the denim so that it flies across the room.

When I’m sitting there, practically naked, there’s not an ounce of shyness in me because there’s no time to feel it. His eyes are fastened to my panties like they’re shielding the promised land and I tease him further by sliding my hand behind them.

He watches my knuckles protruding through the fabric, then he rumbles, “You’re wet, Gracie. That for me?”

“Y-Yeah,” I mewl. “It’s all for you.”

“You going to give me another taste? Already addicted to it, Gracie. Need more.”

I cry out as I slide a finger down to my slit and soak it with my arousal. Carefully maneuvering away from my panties, I circle the drenched tip around his lips.

When he licks around the edges, I whimper, the sound shattering when he growls, grabs my hand and sucks on my finger like a popsicle.

It’s supposed to be the girl who does that to the guy, but Jesus, that’s hot. So hot.

I’m panting by the time he lets go, and my core clutches at nothing when he says, “Get your clit nice and wet with my spit, Gracie, and let me see.” He snags his finger behind the crotch and pulls it away, using his hold to draw my panties over my thighs and knees.

Once I’m free from their constraints, I spread my legs and bare every inch of me to him.

Unashamedly.

Unreservedly.

Because this is Liam.

Because. This. Is. Liam.

My Liam.

When his gaze locks on my pussy, he orders, “Show me how wet you are for me.”

With the finger that glistens from his saliva, I part my folds and show him what he did to me.

As his nostrils flare, he murmurs, “You going to take every inch of me, minou?”

Not the French. Dear Lord!

Thickly, I rasp, “Always, but it’s your turn for show and tell first.”

Though he smirks, he’s quick to comply. His hands drop to his fly and before you know it, his briefs and jeans are being shucked off.

My eyes flick over the piercing that hits the top of his pubis, but that’s before I take in his massive dick—it still comes as a surprise that the gossip was true about him and his third leg.

Honestly, you could rest your drink on it.

“You keep looking at my cock like that, Gracie, and you know what’ll happen, don’t you?”

“You don’t have any pants left to come in,” I retort, gingerly rubbing his piercing while I watch his hand slide over his length.

Slowly.

It takes a while because he’s so long…

Thick…

Heavy…

Damn.

My pussy does a little shimmy because it knows how wonderful it’s going to feel having that fill it up nice and full.

“What are you thinking?”

“Huh?”

“Something just crossed your mind. What was it? It made you release a shaky breath.”

“I was thinking how good you’re going to feel sliding into me again.”

He steps forward at that. “You know that’s true, ma belle.” His shaft lands on my slit as he steps into me.

The second I feel his heat against me, I release the deepest of moans because, God, that feels good too.

“When you get inside my pussy, I’m going to die,” I whimper.

“No dying,” he snarls.

My lips twitch of their own volition and I mock, “You’re the French speaker. Aren’t you going to give me la petite mort?”

He releases a soft laugh even as he’s thrusting his hips back and forth, making his length collide with my clit.

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

“We don’t call it that.”

That’s when he breaks me. He goddamn ruins me.

He starts talking.

In French.

It’s a blur of words that I don’t understand, but I don’t need to because it’s in his tone, in his cadence. Every sentence is like a song and the key is tuned to my body.

“I want you, Liam,” I whine, breaking into his lyrical torture.

Hands curling around his biceps as I draw him into me, I dig my nails in deep so he experiences the same kind of pain as I am.

“Where do you want me?” he rasps. “You have to tell me what you want, bébé.”

I reach between us, grab his shaft at the base, and circle my slit with the head. “There. I want your dick in my pussy, Liam. Fill me. Please. I need you—”

His groan is more music to my ears, but my appreciation of it fades as—miracle of miracles—he listens.

The tip starts to penetrate me. It’s thick and fat and, Lord, I need it.

Deep.

I bear down, trying to relax so he knows I want him inside me, then as he hisses because the tip pops in, I clamp around him in a nonverbal welcome.

“You’re a fucking cocktease, minou,” he growls, his hands coming to my hips before one slides high and cups my tit.

“I’m not a tease,” I deny, rhythmically pulsing my pussy around the head of his dick. Not just to torture him but because it feels awesome for me too. “Teases don’t fulfill their promises, but I always will.”

His nostrils flare as he pinches my nipple. Hard. In time to the way I’m squeezing and releasing his cock. I yelp as the pain ripples through me, sending sensation bursting around my system. In that split second of inattention, he thrusts into me.

All.

The.

Way.

Then, when I’m still groaning at how he fills me, my ass is in his hands again and he’s drawing me off the counter and into his hold. I yelp, certain he’ll drop me, but he hugs me to his chest, embracing me with his strength.

I half expect him to carry me to the bedroom but he doesn’t. He just starts walking. It’s weird but good. Each step acts like I’m riding him, yet there’s none of the effort which is nice. Plus, he feels thicker.

Thicker than I already thought he was.

And that piercing…

Wow.

Slightly warm with him, oddly slippery from my wetness, the rub of it over my folds has me shuddering against him.

“You like me in you, ma belle?” he asks, nuzzling his nose into my jaw.

When his lips mimic my earlier path and he nibbles on my earlobe, I release a breathy sigh. “You feel so good.”

Humming, his hands cup my butt, the thumbs tipping inward toward the pucker. As he moves us around the room, my mind is focused on those thumbs.

Of all the things, that’s what I can’t let go of.

Every step he takes is torture because it impales me deeper onto him, but those thumbs!

“Your pussy is so tight,” he rumbles. “Silk. Hot, so hot. Tabarnak. I used to think you’d feel like heaven, Gracie, but instead, you feel like hell, and fuck, I don’t care if you burn me to ashes.”

That low growl has me staring blindly at him as I whisper, “We can burn together.”

He mutters something in French that I don’t hear properly. It sounds like for too jures but I know that’s wrong and right now, I don’t care. One of those thumbs shifts. And it starts to rub around my asshole.

It should feel dry and chalky—in fact, screw that—it should feel uncomfortable.

It doesn’t.

My wetness has spilled down, gravity letting it flow south, so when he teases the rosette, it’s delicious.

In surprise, I tighten on him as I release a shocked gasp. When he thrusts deeper, the thumb hitting higher, I slide my arms around his neck and bury my face in his throat.

When that thumb burrows inward, pressing against the tight confines of my pussy, I release a soft cry. Eyes closing, I focus on that. On the heat and the thickness and the fullness and the way I bounce on him with each step and how good it feels and how right this is and how—

I come.

I don’t even know that’s what’s happening until the keening wail that escapes me hits my ears.

The darkness behind my eyes would ordinarily concern me, but I’m past caring.

All I can feel is him.

He’s at the center of my universe.

His heat pulls me in.

His heart draws me deeper.

The depth of my need for him is something that ricochets from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes and in between, an agonizing pleasure whips around my nervous system.

That’s when his pointer finger torments me further.

I have no idea how he’s doing it, but the tip starts playing with the already-stretched entrance to my pussy.

Grinding into him, feeling so unbearably, delightfully, wonderfully full, I just know I’m going to shatter into a million pieces because of it.

The scream I release will make ‘tomorrow me’ glad Liam has no neighbors. ‘Tonight me’ doesn’t give a fuck. Especially when he groans in my ear, each one deep and guttural and loaded with his need.

For me.

Fuck.

Fuck.

We cling to one another as if we’re the only stable points in each other’s universe, and maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Maybe that’s how we’re supposed to be.

One another’s epicenter.

As I fall back down to earth, I’m relieved we talked about me being on the shot because he came inside me. It’s warm and wet and it feels too fucking good. My pussy definitely approves.

Everything about this was perfect and the only question that’s on my mind is:

When can we do this again?