The Goal(Off-Campus #4)(10)

By: Elle Kennedy



And he seems steady, as if an earthquake wouldn’t shake him. I even admired the way he stuck up for Dean, even though I know the loyalty is misplaced. Tucker had to have known that if he’d lied about his friendship with Dean, he could’ve stood a better chance with me, but he chose honesty, which I value most out of everything.

“Need some direction?” His voice is low and gravelly, drawing out those syllables. Die rehhhc shun.

Sweet Jesus, that accent.

“Just considering my options.” I love that he’s just sitting there, instructing me to take what I need. As if his big cock exists just for me.

I can’t wait, but I can’t decide what I want to do first, either. My mouth waters at the thought of his shaft dragging against my tongue, but my core aches at the anticipation of him stretching me, filling me all the way up.

“Why don’t we start with the kissing you’re so fond of?” he suggests.

I meet his hot gaze. “Where?” I ask coyly, which is weird, because I’m never coy. But there’s something about the surety in him that draws out the woman in me, and I find I don’t mind it at all.

He taps one big finger against his lower lip. “Right here.”

As seductively as possible, I crawl over the console and onto his lap, allowing my heels to drop onto the floor of the truck. His mouth parts in invitation, but I don’t immediately press my lips to his.

Instead, I run my fingertips across his beard, from one side of his jaw to the other. “Soft,” I murmur.

His eyes darken and grow so full of lust that it’s hard to breathe. And then he grabs me, tired of waiting and tired of talking.

Our mouths slam together. He tangles a hand in my hair and I’m not sure if it’s to get a better angle or provide more leverage for the force of his invasion. Either way, his tongue is making me feel magical things downstairs. I’m forgetting why I almost turned him down.

I mean, tall, hot, dark auburn hair, scruffy beard? Why did I even hesitate? Oh, that’s right. Because he’s a hockey player.

Tearing my mouth away, I pant, “Just for the record, I hate hockey players. This is a one-time-only deal.”

He sweeps my hair to the side to expose my throat. “Noted. I won’t even remind you of this when you’re begging me for a second round.”

Laughing, I grab his head and hold it against me as he tongues his way down my throat to the tops of my breasts. “Never happening.”

“Don’t tie yourself to absolutes. It makes it easier to back away. More graceful.”

His words are somewhat muffled as he buries his face in my cleavage. A callused hand pulls at my shirt, and then I hear a frustrated growl when the neckline doesn’t lower enough to give him access to what he wants.

Good thing our needs are aligned. I reach between us and yank my sweater off, and his mouth latches on to my nipple before I can get my bra undone. When I reach around to undo the clasp, his hands bat mine away.

My laugh at his eagerness dies in my throat as his palm closes around one bare breast. I arch into his rough caress. Oh gosh, it’s been way, way too long. As Tucker’s mouth gets busy sucking on one puckered nipple, his fingers pinch and tease the other one.

He’s good at this. He knows how deep to suck, how hard to bite, how tender to kiss, and despite the rod in his pants, he acts like he could do this nipple-sucking deed all night long.

I rock my lower body over his erection, fumbling to push my skirt out of the way so I can really feel him. I want it off, damn it. I want his naked body rubbing against mine. I want him inside me.

I want it all.

I fish for the bottom of his T-shirt. He offers me zero assistance, because he’s too intent on my breasts right now. I find the hem and pull it hard. Only then does he separate from me, and the cool air in the truck causes my nipples to tighten even more.

“I don’t need more foreplay,” I tell him as I drag his shirt up over his head.

Oh God, muscle alert. Lots and lots of tight, smooth, rippled muscles glide beneath my palms. Gotta love athletes.

His hands tunnel under my skirt. “Is that right?”

There’s nothing graceful about the way his fingers shove aside my thong, and there’s no warning when he thrusts two of them inside of me. It’s dirty and so hot. Air whistles between my teeth as I inhale sharply.

“Like that, do you?” he murmurs.

“It’s okay,” I lie, and am immediately punished when he withdraws. “Fine. It feels good.”

He withdraws again and uses his now wet fingers to lightly circle my clit. My entire body strains and clenches and screams for more.

“Just good, huh?” he taunts.

I give in. “Great. It’s great.”

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