Hockey Smut Books Novels & Stories

My hand slid down his chest slowly, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, before boldly palming the growing bulge in his pants. Nate sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ve read your books, Nate,” I whispered, my voice husky and desperate as I stroked him through the fabric. “I know you write about girls who beg to be taken. Who want to be used. Fucked. Ruined…. raped!! I read that chapter so many times I lost count… the one where the man takes her even when she pretends to fight. You can’t lie and say you don’t know some girls crave that.”

I grab it out of her hands and begin going through it, touching all the different pictures as I turn the pages. "Their addicting, aren't they?" she asks me. "Okay, I get it. This book is definitely worth…" I flip it over and look at the price. "Eight-fifty. I could probably play with this this soft sheep for a while." She smiles and turns back to the books, searching for another one. But a bright red book catches my eye. Grabbing it, I know I found exactly what we're looking for. "The ABC's of Soccer Board Book," I say outloud.

He’s just focused on getting the best out of his client, Cicero, and is ready to go the extra mile to do that if he needs to. So, at that time, when the act took place, I found a way to convince him that if Cicero finds out, it will affect his career, knowing he doesn’t play with Cicero’s career. So, he agreed to keep my secret because, as we all know, Cicero is a ticking time bomb. Frank opens the door, and the faint scent of men's cologne, heat, and masculine odor permeates the air. The sight of half-naked hockey players hits me as he leads the way, walking ahead, while good-looking and well-chiseled hockey athletes stare and whistle as we pass them.

The seduction bloomed unintentional: humidity making my skin glow, his drunk haze blurring lines, our the steam. He leaned in, nose grazing my hair, inhaling deep. "You smell... fuck, so good." Words accidental, but they ignited. I turned my head, lips brushing his jaw soft, unintended. His hand settled on my waist, fingers splaying over the bare skin where tank met shorts, burning through me. "Jax... we can't. Mia..." But my body arched subtle, traitorous, the ache between my thighs growing insistent. He groaned low, forehead pressing to mine, shifting his hips and there it was, the hard length in his shorts pressing against my hip, thick and unyielding.

She stroked him once, twice, thumb smearing precum over the broad head, and his hips jerked forward. He didn’t let her play for long. Large hands gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted—effortless, like she weighed nothing—pinning her against the lockers. Mila wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, skirt bunching high, panties soaked through and clinging to her folds. Ryder’s mouth found her throat and sucked hard as he rocked against her, dragging the length of his cock along her slick fold through the thin lace. “Tell me you want it,” he rasped. “Tell me you are wet for me.”

“Strawberry smoothie with a bit of protein powder for the assistant hockey coach, banana smoothie for the assistant to the assistant hockey coach, and strawberry banana smoothie for the little hockey player in training.” Dylan doesn’t even get to say thank you properly before they’re saying goodbyes and both parents are giving Hyeri a stern lecture about how to behave at practice. Once they start driving, his intention wasn’t to be silent. But Andre placing his smoothie in the cupholder in favor of grabbing Dylan’s thigh instead startles him out of his thoughts. “You okay? You could’ve stayed if you didn’t want to come.” “No, no.” he smiles, squeezing Andre’s hand and extending his own smoot

The arm holding my wrist flexed. “You want it,” he said, voice dropping lower. “You want me to shut you up the only way that works.” “I want you to go to hell.” “No you don't.” he murmured. He stroked me faster, fist tight, using my own precum as lube until the sound turned wet and filthy. My hips kept moving without my permission—small, aborted thrusts into his hand. Shame burned hot under my skin. Hate burned hotter. I could feel how soaked I already was, the head of my cock glossy and dripping onto the floor in slow drops.

I wаnnа see those tіtѕ," said Jіm. Wow hе wаѕ bеіng fоrwаrd, but ѕо fаr аѕ hе knеw I wаѕ a ѕlut. Sо whу not. So fаr іt ѕееmеd lіkе I was. Tоm lооkеd аt me. A ѕmаll smile саmе to hіѕ lірѕ. I wаѕ ѕtіll facing hіm. My аrmѕ аrоund hіѕ neck. Hе rеасhеd bеhіnd me аnd fumblеd a lіttlе wіth mу bra сlаѕр. He undid іt. I dropped my аrmѕ аnd lеt іt slide оff mу ѕhоuldеrѕ. It fell to thе grоund. I рrеѕѕеd mу bоdу against Tom hіdіng mу tіtѕ from vіеw.

She lifts it to look at it then looks up at me. "Smut slut?" she asks. I chuckle a little and nod. "That's what's kind of embarrassing. The type of book it is. When we first showed up, we thought it was a fantasy war kind of book. Turns out, it's smut." I say. "What's smut?" she asks. "A uh... descriptive romance. Literary p**n. Cliterature, if you will." I say with a grin. I watch as she processes my words, her face going from scrunched and confused, to surprised until a wide smile splits across her face.

We both got excited by that and knew we'd both have fun doing it again that night. Over the next few weeks we memorized that magazine and shared the books. Old 70's smut fiction wasn't very good but to innocent teens it was the most exciting thing ever. We'd had a few sleepovers and she'd bring the magazine with her and we'd swap the books back and forth. By this time we'd given up being shy and would openly play with our nipples through our tops as we read and talked about "would you?" situations. I was thrilled doing this with her watching and doing it too. (to this day I love mutual masturbation without touching each other, just watching and being watched and talking about it!) The next w