I run my finger from base to tip. The smooth skin is stretched tight, and I wrap my palm around him, in awe of how far apart my fingers are. I look up and touch my lips to the head.

He does this jerky-shudder thing, which I take as a good sign, so I give it a test lick.

The satin softness and slight wrinkle of foreskin fascinates me as I take more of him. I don’t get very far—halfway at best, probably more like a third. I bob a little and lick around the head. Alex is quite the vision; lids low and lips parted.

He skims the contour of my bottom lip where it wraps around his cock. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

Popping off, I say, “I wouldn’t mind.” Even if it tastes like shit, I’d swallow Alex Waters’ jizz. Then I’d get the T-shirt.

“Maybe another time. I’d rather be inside you when I come.”

He positions me to straddle him. I’m so wet. I couldn’t be more ready if I jumped into a pool of lube.

“Shit, that’s—” Heavy breath follows a pained sigh as he reaches for a condom and rolls it on.

Rising to my knees, I grip the absurdly thick shaft and assume the position. I sink slowly until I’m so full of cock it’s ridiculous.

Alex holds my hips as I start to rock. His mouth is on my neck, my jaw, my chin, my lips. I push on his chest, and he lies back to let me ride him. It’s the most delicious feeling—the sensation of emptiness followed by the nearly painful fullness. I’m probably ruined for the next dick that comes my way. Alex is stunning below me. His face is set in intense concentration. A slight sheen of sweat covers his chest. His abs flex with every rotation of my hips.

“Gimme that mouth, please.”

With a palm on my nape, he holds me close, fucking my mouth with his tongue at the same leisurely pace as his cock inside me. When I gasp for air, he covers my throat and my breasts with wet kisses.

“I should tell you I’m in love with your tits,” he says while doing that nuzzle thing again.

“You can date them if you want. They like bras from Victoria’s Secret.” I half laugh, half moan when he sucks my nipple roughly.

The combination of sensations—him inside me, the way my clit rubs against his pelvis with each shift of our hips, and his teeth grazing my sensitive nipple—sends me over the edge. He sits up, preventing my trembling arms from giving out. I’m coming so hard everything goes black and returns in bursts of gray and stars.

“Is that good? Does it feel good? Jesus, Violet, I can feel you coming on my cock.”

I’m chanting something incoherent into his neck. With absolute horror, I realize I’m repeating the phrase I love your cock. The possibility I might accidentally leave out the cock part and profess actual love is too shameful to fathom. Obviously I don’t—love him, that is. I am developing a strong bond with his penis, however. I bite his shoulder to stop the words, porn-moaning instead. It’s safer.

He urges my head up, freeing my teeth from his skin. I’ve left a giant hickey. Actually, I’ve left several. His lips brush mine in a soft kiss. Alex whispers against them—how good I feel, how he’s going to come, how he loves watching me come. The orgasm keeps going, steamrolling over me; it’s a sensory explosion like no other. Alex groans through his final thrust.

My eyes snap open, because dammit, I want to see his come face. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and a fine tremor runs through his body like a low level earthquake. For the first time in my life, I can feel the twitch and pulse of a man coming inside of me. I’m going to put this one in the bank for future jilling sessions.

He flops down on the mattress, taking me with him. “That was even better than the first time.”

Too exhausted to speak in full sentences, I say, “So awesome. Tired.”

He laughs softly, stroking my hair. A few minutes pass, then he shifts my limp body, and pulls out. Alex sets an alarm for me and leaves the key card on the nightstand. I should get dressed and go, but my body won’t obey the command to move. I mumble about needing to be in my room early, but I’m not sure my words make sense. He turns off the light and slips his arm under me, drawing me against his side.

“Fall asleep with me?”

I pass out with my cheek on his chest and his lips on my temple.

I wake with a start. My right side is sweaty. I can’t see the clock on the nightstand without my glasses. Alex’s arm is heavy as hell. He’s wrapped around me with his nose pressed into my hair. I lift his arm—it takes some effort—and slide gingerly out of bed. My thighs and my cooter ache, and my skin pebbles in the absence of Alex’s furnace-like body heat.

The reality of what I’ve done hits me like a UFC uppercut. I’ve had sex with one of Buck’s teammates. I will invariably see him again. Repeatedly. This was a terrible idea. He’s a hockey whore, and now I’m a hockey hooker. I experience a swell of shame followed by desire as I stare at his fuckhot form lying alone in that well-used bed. He mumbles in his sleep, so I nab my key card and Spidey pants and tiptoe into the living room. I stumble around in the dark, searching for my shirt. It’s on the couch, but my glasses are nowhere to be found.

A faint beeping sound from Alex’s bedroom means I’ve run out of time. For one terrified second I freeze. I hastily pull on my shirt, snatch my phone from the coffee table, sprint to the door, and let myself out. I take the stairs all the way to the sixth floor.

Inside my room in the suite, I slide down the door, breathing hard. I hit the floor with a wince; my cooter has been in an epic battle—with a cock monster.