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His moans only get louder as he closes in on his orgasm, and I fear I’m making just as much noise as I watch him use me.

My fingers dig into his hips as they piston forward.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he barks; it’s the only warning I get before his movements falter, his cock swells even bigger, and he spills his seed down my throat.

The moment he releases me, I sit back and suck in lungfuls of air. My head spins in the best kind of way as I lift my hands to wipe my chin.

Nash sags back against the counter, spent and sated, but he doesn’t take his eyes from me.

“Lick your lips,” he demands, and when I do, I discover there’s a drop of his cum on my bottom one.

I eagerly lap it up, groaning as his salty taste hits my tongue.

He doesn’t say anything else for the longest time, and I don’t move.

We remain there, frozen in time, with his ass resting against the kitchen counter and me on my knees at his feet.

I can’t decide if he’s going to tell me to leave, or if he’s contemplating taking it further. I really fucking hope it’s the latter.

I need it.

Fuck. Do I need it?

My hand moves of its own volition, and Nash’s eyes follow, watching as I rub myself through my pants.

A groan gets stuck in my throat. I’m so fucking close already just from sucking his cock. I swear, if he were to so much as graze my cock, I’d go off like a fucking rocket.

Maybe I should leave. It’ll save me from embarrassing myself.

I’ve spent years fantasizing about hooking up with a professional hockey player. And in none of those fantasies did I come too soon and ruin everything.

“Get up,” he suddenly demands, startling me.

I scramble to my feet, powerless but to do what he says.

But despite his order, he still doesn’t make a move.

“Should I…” Ripping my eyes from his, I glance toward the entrance hall. “Lea⁠—”

I don’t manage to get the rest of that question out. He answers with actions.

His hand wraps around the back of my neck, his lips on mine again.

It’s just as hungry and filthy as before, as if me sucking him off only made him hornier.

With one arm banded around my back, pinning our hips together and giving me almost enough friction to jizz in my pants, he begins walking me backward.

I don’t even attempt to look where we’re going. I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t stop kissing and touching me.

“Stairs,” he mumbles into our kiss, and I lift my foot, searching for the first step.

We begin to climb. It’s awkward as hell and takes way longer than necessary.

Nash clearly has more confidence in my ability to make it to the top, as he releases me to tug my shirt free from my pants.

The next thing I know, he’s pulling it over my head.

It gets stuck because it would be too easy for it to just slip off. And as he tugs at the fabric, I misjudge the next step and go tumbling down.