“Fuck.” Again, his growl is a whispered rumble.
Or is it a promise?
“I thought you said I was the one who cursed?” I ask.
“I want to hear that too.” He lifts my hand to his lips and gently kisses my knuckles. “Mandy, you deserve much better, but may I please have a little more of your time?”
I look around the parking lot. It’s true that it’s nearly empty, but I can’t fathom what he has in mind. “What do you want?”
“Oh, beautiful. I want you.”
Five minutes later, with Malcolm in my passenger seat, we park at the far back lot of a neighborhood park not too far from the restaurant. It’s rather secluded and probably supposed to be off-limits this time of night. With no streetlights and a ring of trees surrounding the parking area, it’s mostly dark; the only exception comes from the stars visible high above the canopy of trees.
I can’t believe we’re here on public property about to do what we’re about to do.
My heart is beating out of control, and my entire body is on alert.
This is dangerous.
This is sexy.
This is stupid.
This is erotic.
This is something that sex-crazed teenagers would do, not grown adults…and then it hits me...
This is something Mandy Wells would do.
Malcolm reaches for the button on his jeans, but before he undoes it, I lean over. “Let me.”
The sense of empowerment grows as I unfasten his button and lower his zipper. His mammoth length springs forward. Commando is how he is—nothing beneath his jeans but his giant erection. Embracing the inner vixen I never knew I had, I give Malcom my biggest smile as I lean forward and lick the musky dew from his tip. My actions elicit a deep, reverberating groan from somewhere in his chest. When I look up, his sparkling eyes are on me.
“Beautiful Mandy, there isn’t a lot of room in here. Shimmy out of those panties and come sit on my dick.”
I giggle as I sit up and reach under my dress for my underwear. “If that’s your best pickup line, I now understand why you aren’t seeing anyone.”
As he sheaths his massive erection, I pull my panties down my legs, shamelessly leaving them on the driver’s-side floorboard. With my panties gone, my core clenches in anticipation as I climb from my seat to his. My hands grab ahold of his shoulders as my knees straddle his lap.
“You’re wrong,” he says.
“I am?” I look around, wondering if he had something else in mind.
“Not about your position, beautiful. You’re right where I want you. You’re wrong about me.”
“About you?”
“I am seeing someone.” He scans me up and down. “I’m seeing you.” He reaches to the front of my dress and undoes the row of buttons. Like last time, he pushes my bra down until my beaded nipples are peeking over the cups. Palming one of my breasts, he praises me again. “Your tits are perfect. Made for my hands.”
My head falls back as I groan and writhe with his caresses, but it’s as he shifts and his fingers find my entrance that I let loose my first curse word. All at once, the walls of my pussy clench around his fingers.
“You’re always so wet.”
I shake my head. “No, not always. Only when I’m with you.”
Malcolm lines up the tip of his cock, purposely holding my hips away, teasing and building my anticipation. And then all at once he guides my body, yanking me down, hard and fast, surrounding his rod as my essence allows him to slide into place.
“Oh!” My mouth stays in an ‘O’ even after the word trails away.
So deep.
In this position his cock is a thick rod, a post, staking his claim. Buried inside me, he makes me squirm as he stretches and fills me. Though I have a sense of control, it’s his hands guiding my hips, moving them in time with his.
The friction is staggering as my knees flex, and I ride him up and down.
His lips continue to suck my nipples, pulling, biting, and marking them.
The night’s chill disappears as perspiration coats our skin and the windows fog.
“You’re so tight. So fucking good.” Malcolm’s admiration is stilled only when his lips are busy. The scruff of his beard abrades my sensitive skin in the most erotic way. Despite the heat inside the car, my nipples are rock-hard as he continues to move me, allowing me to ride him. Then he reaches for my clit. The newfound friction is cosmic as flashes of light explode behind my eyes. I’m no longer aware of what I’m saying or the sounds coming from my mouth.
Harder and harder one of his hands grips my hip while the other teases my clit. His hold is so tight that I wonder if I’ll have bruises of his fingerprints upon my skin, and then all at once, we both come, our bodies detonating together. We’re like fireworks connected to the same fuse, and the epic explosion is a grand finale.
My head falls to his shoulder as I catch my breath. Only the panting of our gasps is audible as we settle into the cloud of his masculine scent and our lovemaking. He holds me tight until our heartbeats begin to slow.
“That was fucking great,” he says.
I nod against his neck as a smile tugs at my lips. “It was.”
Chapter Fourteen
Malcolm
“Mr. Peppernick, I asked you here today to offer you the position of our middle-school boys’ head soccer coach. As you may know, Mr. Ellis, the current head coach, is undergoing medical treatment that makes it difficult, if not impossible, for him to maintain the coaching schedule.”
I stare at the school district’s athletic director, Mr. Keys, as I consider his offer. “You know I played hockey, right?”
His stoic expression melts. “Yes, we’re all aware of that. And since I’ve been a Blackhawks fan for all of my life, I have more than a few memories of you ruining our hopes at the Stanley Cup.”
Scenes from my past flood my thoughts. Like an old play reel, I remember the long days, the hard work, and the longer nights. The hotels and travel. The season, the playoffs, and the adrenaline.
Twice during my career, it was the Lightning versus the Blackhawks in the playoffs. The year we won the Stanley Cup, the Hawks had the home-ice advantage. We stole that from them in the second game—I stole it—with a last-second shot that sent us into overtime. You’d think after the first overtime our players would have been tired or theirs would have been. No, overtime is like a drug to athletes, the intense unrelenting need to keep playing overrules all else. Our bodies may hurt like hell the next day, but while it’s happening, we’re on overdrive.
Our goalie was standing on his head, saving us many times. That year, the Blackhawks had some of the top scorers in the league. It was the final seconds of the second overtime when Brian managed to get the puck away from one of the Hawks. It happened so fast that I recall the scene more from the highlight reels than from real life. As the buzzer was about to sound, Brian sent a Hail Mary sailing down the ice. That series never made it to the seventh game. It was the Lightning’s only Stanley Cup win.
I smile. “So is coaching middle-school soccer my penance?”
The truth is I went into teaching because of the work I did with kids and hockey. The team’s public relations people wanted us to do volunteer work. I’ll admit it all began that way. But after I started, I couldn’t stop. I loved getting to know the kids at the camps, so much so that I volunteered with the U12 hockey league in Clearwater. It wouldn’t seem that in a hot state like Florida there would be that many kids who were interested in hockey, but there are. Maybe it was the ice. Maybe it was the hard work and camaraderie of being part of a team. Maybe it was that watching the Lightning inspired them. Whatever it was, I looked forward to my volunteer work as much as my real work.