End Game (New York Stars Book 1)

LATER THAT NIGHT

𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Smooth – Santana, Rob Thomas

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU IN THIS,” he growls as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to my lips. “You’re like a pocket rocket Dolly Parton. But I need you out of it.”

Grateful Liam moved Mom and Ollie into the apartment next door, I bite his bottom lip as he plucks at the jacket that’s branded with his name on it. “Sure you don’t want to fuck me in this?”

The rumble that escapes him is so animalistic, I know my core is going into overdrive.

This whole claiming shit shouldn’t appeal to the feminist in me, but it does. It really does.

And that rumble is so good for my confidence, which has taken a beating tonight seeing as he’s right—I do look like a Canadian Dolly Parton. With my teased hair and the dumb sports coat that’s tailored to my waist and has tassels, bright-red, glittery tassels on the back in a deep V that brings attention to my man’s name and number.

“Ouais, I wanna fuck you so bad in this, ma belle,” he snarls, shoving me to the wall beside the kitchen entryway.

His mouth drops to my throat which he nips and sucks—right over my pulse point. I can feel it throbbing against his tongue, reacting to how turned on he is.

Adrenaline + a win + me wearing his name = a very turned-on Liam Donnghal.

And I volunteer for tribute.

My hands scrabble at his slacks as I try to get the ball rolling here. The last thing I want is for him to tease me when I’m literally aching.

What a game that was!

Sweet Jesus, he was good.

The way he flew across the ice and how he and Lewis and Kerrigan finally worked together to slam hit after hit after hit—so hot.

Unable to bear it any longer, I hitch my leg on his hip and climb him like a tree because that always gets me results.

When his dick pushes into my crotch, I cry out, “Liam, I need your cock. In me. Now. Like, right now.”

He shudders. “Say that again.”

“I need your dick, Liam.” Back arching, I whimper, “I need you to fill me. I need you to slide home—”

As hot as the other statements got him, it’s the last one that lights his fire.

With a final suck on my pulse point, one that has me writhing against him, I pluck at my fly until he takes over. I’m not sure what the hell is happening but my linen shorts are suddenly being ripped at the crotch. The sound of fabric tearing is obscenely loud and delicious.

“How the fuck did you do that?” I moan, not caring but still impressed because his hands are back to being busy. One circles my neck, pinning me to him with the best kind of jewelry around—a hand necklace—the other finds my slit, a finger testing me before thrusting home.

Instantly, he starts to press against the front wall of my pussy.

That meltdown I thought was happening?

Nah, that was a prequel to the main event.

As he thrusts into me, making sure to hit that spot over and over again while the butt of his wrist rubs my clit and his mouth tears into mine, I can feel the orgasm build.

It’s there—already hovering within reach.

Mewling into his lips, my fingers tear at his jacket, plucking and biting into the expensive silk as I fight the bewildering urge to pee, knowing what it is, well aware of what’s coming.

I tear myself away from his kiss to warn, “Liam, I’m going to come.”

“Give it to me, bébé. Fucking give it to me. I want you to come all over me. Come all over my goddamn name.”

A frantic laugh escapes me—what does he think I am? A geyser?!

Panicked and desperate, I rock into him, thrusting back, feeling like I’m dying and being reborn and that’s when I scream, “LIAM!”

My head swings from side to side, but I ride through the wave of pleasure and experience that high-pressure burst which happens so rarely and feels like an implosion and an explosion at the same time.

My whimpers chase me, following the way he continues finger-fucking me, priming me for more until I’m sobbing, chanting his name, needing him to stop but craving his continued attention.

When it happens again and I squirt, this time, I grab at his shoulders and push my forehead against his, connecting with him even as he takes me higher and higher.

While I cry and keen and whimper, he whispers, “You’re so beautiful, Gracie. And you’re mine. All mine. No one else’s. No one will ever see this, no one but me. Not anymore. You’re mine. Liam fucking Donnghal’s.”

I don’t even care that he’s talking about himself in the third person!

I just have to screech, “Stop teasing me!”

It draws him from his caveman-like speech and he stills before he lets loose the lowest, deepest, darkest chuckle.

That’s when, out of nowhere, he’s no longer holding me up.

Suddenly, I’m standing, my face is turned to the wall, and I’m being bent over a console table that’s a bare foot away. My hands clutch at the edge as he drags off the tattered remnants of my pants, which is when I hear his zipper.

For endless seconds, I don’t even breathe.

I’m just waiting.

Waiting.

Forever waiting.

Then, his dick is there.

Right there.

And he thrusts into me, hard, fast, deep. All in one go. Taking me from barren emptiness to overwhelming fullness.

But he doesn’t fuck me.

He goes slow.

“You bastard,” I scream into the console table, nails scraping over the surface as I buck against him, craving everything he has to give.

He laughs but doesn’t reply.

“Give me your dick,” I demand, beg, plead. “I need it. Need you. Please, Liam. Please. Fuck me. Take me! I’m yours.”

“That’s right, Gracie. You’re mine. My good girl. Say it. Tell me what you are.”

“Your good girl. Only for you,” I sob. “Please, please. I can’t take it. I can’t. Oh, fuck, please.”

He plows into me.

His fingers bite into my hips, dragging me into him so that I feel it with every thrust. It should hurt, but I’m so sensitive that it just makes the wail that escapes me go on forever as that high plateau he discovered inside me soars toward the heavens.

When he pulls out, I freeze.

Then, he slaps my clit before rubbing it with all four fingers. Another slap. Then, those four fingers are inside me. Thrusting, spreading. I can feel it—

“LIAM!” I cry, dancing onto my tiptoes at that burst of pressure.

I can feel it drench my thighs, know it’s sprayed onto him.

His cock is back in my pussy before I can take a shaky breath and suddenly, black dots flicker at the corners of my vision.

Then, those wicked fingers are dancing with the devil once again.

Both sets.

One goes to my clit.

Fast flicks in circular motions.

The other goes to my slit.

The fingertips slide around his thickness, edging into my pussy, spreading me wider.

“Li—” My voice fails me.

Those black spots don’t just dance at the edge of my vision. They hover there, do a little wave, then start to surge forward, overtaking everything else.

When I come this time, it’s like a detonation.

My whole being contracts then explodes, giving way to his claiming.

Because I am his.

Forever.

Always.

Endlessly.

And when he comes, his roar of completion melting into my name, I know, one hundred percent, that he is mine.

Tirelessly.

Ceaselessly.

Completely.

And I’d have it no other way.