Page 66 of Campus Fake

“Touch your clit,” I told her.

She slid her hand between her legs without hesitation, her fingers working her clit while I drove into her. Her fingers brushed against my shaft as I pumped in and out, and a shiver went down my spine. Her pussy started clenching tighter and tighter as her moans grew in volume and her own rhythm started to falter. She was so close I could practically taste it.

“That’s it.” My jaw was clenched, my own orgasm bearing down hard. “Come all over this cock that was made for you.”

She broke apart with a cry, and her pussy clenched around me so tight there was no way I could’ve held back even if I’d wanted to. I buried myself deep, my hips jerking as I came so hard my vision whited out at the edges. Her name tore out of my mouth as a gasp.

I sagged on top of her, not putting my full weight on her but pressing us together back to chest. Fuck, I didn’t want to move or pull out of her. So I didn’t. Instead I carefully repositioned us so I was still inside her even though I was only semi-hard now, but we were both on our sides, her back still to my chest. My face was buried in her hair, and her fingers were now laced with mine as we caught our breath.

“Happy New Year, Harry.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Happy New Year, Sam.”

She turned her head to look over her shoulder so she could see me, her eyes sparkling. “So. Buried between my thighs for the rest of your life, huh?”

“That’s the plan.”

Her smile filled her face and made me feel ten feet tall. “I can live with that.” She snuggled deeper against me, holding my hand tighter against her chest.

This was how I wanted every year to start.

THIRTY-ONE

The guys had a longer break from hockey in the winter than most NCAA teams because they were a club team, but they still had to play before classes resumed again. So even though we still had a couple more weeks of winter break, their game came a week after New Year’s.

Harry and I had spent the last week in a complete honeymoon stage. I think we’d christened just about every space in the hockey house that we could get away with—and a few others. But between that and him doing more cooking, which I felt was inspired by his sister chasing her dream, he’d also just been solely focused on hockey. They’d had a lot more practices since returning from Christmas break, and I could tell he loved being back on the ice.

I loved watching him play. I’d stopped by toward the end of one of their practices, and watching his intensity on the ice as he blocked shots was a huge turn-on.

During a game like tonight, it was even hotter because that intensity practically rolled off him in waves.

Abby, Harper, Ava, and I all sat together in our usual spot. Harper had Rory on her lap with Rory’s little ear protection headphones on. Rory was gnawing on a teething toy that had a convenient clip attached to her sleeve as she stared at the ice, and I swear the girl knew exactly where her daddy was even though she was only a baby.

The arena wasn’t as packed as normal since it was still technically winter break, but there were a fair amount of students and locals who’d shown up to support the players. Dunridge took their hockey seriously, even if it was technically a club team.

The players came out for warm-ups and my eyes went straight to Harry. He moved through his pre-game routine, doing his post-to-post slides, dropping into the butterfly, then popping back up. He did one stretch to loosen his hips that had me practically drooling because the motion looked seriously obscene and gave me way too many dirty thoughts.

Foster skated past and tapped the glass near Abby, who pressed her palm against it with a smile that I’d tease her about later. Drew did the same thing to Harper a second later, except he also made a ridiculous face at Rory that had the baby squealing and kicking her feet.

A few minutes later, the puck dropped and Foster won the draw cleanly, sending it back to Drew, who fired it up the boards to Liam. The first shift was fast, and while I was still learning the sport, it seemed a little sloppier than usual. I wasn’t sure if that was just because they were rusty after break or what.

But Harry looked sharp, and even with his helmet on, I could tell his gaze was locked on the action. It was no wonder he was so good at reading people; it’s what he did on the ice and what made him one of the best goalies in the league. There was something about the way he settled into the crease that made it seem like the net behind him didn’t exist. Like the puck couldn’t possibly get past him because he’d already decided it wouldn’t.

A few minutes in, the other team had a player who raced across the ice with insane speed and tried to score, but Harry dropped, squeezing his pads together so there wasn’t even a sliver for the puck to go through. The rebound kicked to another player, who fired it high, but Harry snapped his glove up and caught it like he was picking an apple off a tree.

Ava whistled next to me. “Your boyfriend is a badass. I’m glad he’s on our team.”

“I know.” I couldn’t help the grin.

Harper bounced Rory gently on her knee, narrating the action in a deadpan sportscaster voice. “And the goalie says no. Denied. Rejected. Just like your father’s cooking.”

“Is Drew’s cooking that bad?” Abby asked.

“It should be a war crime, but we’re working on it,” Harper replied.

I was only half listening, because a shift change had just sent a new line over the boards and one of the CFU players caught my eye. Number 63. There was something about the way he skated on the ice that tugged on a memory.

I sat up straighter without meaning to.