The Pucking Wrong Number: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 1)

He didn’t let go of me once as he all but dragged me into the back hallway, growling when he saw how many people were there. Abruptly changing directions, we made our way through a few more twists and turns until we were completely alone.

He caged me against the wall, his gaze so fucking…interested.

I’d never felt more seen before in my entire life.

I’d been the shadow in the corner ever since I was little, first forgotten by my mother, and then unwanted by all the foster parents that came after.

Lincoln’s attention was heady. It was addicting. It was already a craving I didn’t know how to get rid of.

“Lincoln,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes as if he was in pain. “Love the way you say my name, dream girl.”

Butterflies were free-falling in my stomach as I absorbed the tenor of his voice, the way it seemed to caress my skin.

Dream girl.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he murmured, one of his hands suddenly cradling my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek. I had the urge to nuzzle into his hand, but I held myself back.

This was all moving way too fast. But he was intense and spellbinding…and I was hooked.

I didn’t even try to move away from him.

“Neither did I. It was a last minute call.”

“I’m so fucking glad you are.”

He smiled lazily, a brief flash of perfect white teeth against his tanned skin.

“Lincoln-”

He cut me off…

With a barely there kiss, a brush of lips, that nonetheless had me gasping. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he boldly parted my lips with his tongue, not an ounce of hesitation anywhere to be found.

The air crackled around us with electricity as if the universe knew something magical was happening.

I melted as his tongue slid over mine. There was an ache deep in my core growing with every pass of his mouth. He moved forward, until we were perfectly flush. Until I could feel everything. The hardness of him. My heartbeat a roar in my ears.

His hands gripped my hips, tiny pinpricks of pain where he touched, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

My reaction to him was violent. I’d never in my fucking life done anything like this. I’d just met him in person and yet I had the urge to let him do anything he wanted to me. One of his hands moved from my hip, to the base of my neck. His fingertips gently gripped me, massaging my throat gently and igniting a trail across my skin. His lips left mine, and I whimpered, the sounds only to be replaced by soft moans as his lips ghosted over the sensitive spot I had behind my ear.

My body was lax, melted against him. His smell enveloped me, a combination of fresh, crisp notes, mixed with something deeper and more masculine. It was a heady scent that made my knees weak and my heart race with desire.

His length felt huge nestled against my stomach.

Then his lips returned to mine, a feverish energy behind his movements. His kiss turned desperate, a combination of lips, tongue, and teeth. ‘Fuck,’ he breathed, pressing harder against me, the gravelly sexiness stoking the ache between my thighs.

Another whimper escaped my lips, building in intensity as my hips rocked against him, lost in the lust burning between us.

I gripped his shoulder with one hand, while the other wrapped around his waist, exploring the hard, powerful muscles of his back. The sensation of his strength under my hands fueled my desire even further.

‘Ride my thigh, baby,’ he commanded, his hand on the small of my back holding me in place. Unable to resist, I rubbed against his hard thigh, shivers of pleasure spiraling through my body, my mind clouded with lust and longing.

‘Make yourself cum, Monroe,’ he growled into my ear, his voice rough and demanding. His hand on my neck squeezed, forcing me to stare up at him. He searched my gaze, for what, I wasn’t sure. But I hoped he found what he was looking for.

I wanted to be special to him. I wanted to be different from the millions of girls I imagined had come before. I wanted more of him. I wanted everything.

There were gas lanterns on the walls in the hallway, the flames set to flicker, casting shadows across his features as I stared up at him. He was too gorgeous to resist. I wanted him to make me fly.

Lincoln started fucking my mouth with his tongue, deep, long licks that resonated everywhere. He dominated my mouth, his hand on my lower back pulling me closer, pushing his firm thigh against me as my breasts pressed on his chiseled chest.

I moved my hips in a frantic, driving rhythm, rubbing my core on his thigh, as he breathed dirty words against my lips, promising me everything if only I would come. His lips captured every whimper and moan from my mouth.

I faintly remembered we were in public, but it seemed unimportant at that moment. I just needed release.

And then it happened—my core spasmed, waves of pleasure shooting through my body as I shook against him, my whole body throbbing. It took my breath away, leaving me feeling dazed and out of sorts.

He pressed his cheek upon mine, his tongue darting out to lick my sensitive skin before he growled, ‘Good girl. That’s my fucking girl.’

Once more, he pushed his thigh against my core, the scent of him wrapping around me, suffocating me with its heady intensity. His lips roamed along my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I surrendered myself completely to his touch, the rush of desire overwhelming me with its intensity.

The door at the end of the hall suddenly slammed open and a rush of photographers poured in, their cameras all aimed at us.

“Fuck,” Lincoln growled as I froze against the wall.

“Who’s the girl?” was yelled by one guy in a thick black trench coat, his camera shuttering away as he took a million photos. It was finally enough to jerk me out of the lust fog I’d been temporarily paralyzed by.

I lurched to the side, removing Lincoln’s hold, and then I took off down the opposite way of the photographers.

“Monroe!” he yelled after me, but I didn’t look back.

I opened the first door I came across, yelping when I saw a couple fucking against a wall.

“Sorry,” I squeaked, slamming the door shut and taking off again, my heart hammering in my chest.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Lincoln was talking to the photographers. A small part of me winced that he wasn’t coming after me, but I pushed that thought away.

Why would he?

After checking two more doors, I finally found one that led back into the staff area. I ran through a doorway, and there was the kitchen.

“Monroe!” Caleb called as I dashed past him.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” I tossed over my shoulder before bursting into the cool night air.

The door slammed behind me and I closed my eyes, a shudder racing across my skin.

Flashes of him hit me like a bullet train. His hands caressing my skin, the feel of his lips tasting mine…I’d just left him. And I already felt hungover. Undone.

Destroyed.

Because I wasn’t sure that I would ever recover from what had just happened.

Not for the rest of my life.