Mario McGarrity has been around the block – and rink – more than a few times.
He’s creeping up on retirement age, has some dings and dents, and says what’s on his mind. Not exactly what most would consider a luxury ride, but his beautiful Lila - the transgender woman who stole his heart - loves him like no other woman ever has despite a little rust here and there.
Everything is good - no, great - aside from the distance issue, until a surprise from Lila’s past crops up and moves in with her. Can Mario be the family man that Lila needs, or is this one game the old vet is unable to skate in?
“Every time I see you in my bed, I have to wonder what I did to get so lucky.”
Her hand wiggled between my legs, her warm fingers cupping my balls then squeezing. My legs spread for her of their own accord. The ice pack fell off my lower back. I figured she might pick it up and fuss, and I was right.
“I can’t imagine anyone thinking that having a washed-up hockey player in a kilt rolling around on their fancy pillows is lucky.”
My cock was pinned between my stomach and the bed. She began working on the muscles up by my shoulders after placing the ice pack back where it belonged.
“It takes a special man to come back to my bed,” she said while her strong fingers dug deeply into my flesh. It felt fantastic. “Most come once, pun fully intended, and then they leave, curiosity abated, never to be heard from again.”
I rolled onto my back to look at her. Her eyes widened slightly.
“Okay, that is total bullshit. Any man should be dropping to his knees and thanking God Almighty for a woman like you.”
“And I love that you think so.” Her gaze was tender for a moment, then it flittered from my banged-up face to my cock. The tip of her pink tongue moved over her lower lip, her eyes growing smoky and sensual. “I wish you’d keep ice on that nasty.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve had much worse, trust me. Why don’t you lose that nightgown and shawl and plant that sexy ass right here?” I patted my thighs.
She struck a thoughtful pose, her long yellow fingernail tapping her chin, her red lips pursed. I wanted to roll her onto her back and laugh all at once.
“Come on, baby. I drove all the way from Cayuga for some sweetness.”
Her gaze flickered to me right before she reached up to push her hair from her face theatrically.
With that pronouncement, she stood. The shawl shimmied from her shoulders to the floor. I grabbed my cock and ran my thumb over the weeping head. A shudder ran through me. She stood with her back to me.
“You sure you’re up to this, Seamus?” she asked with a coy peek over her broad shoulder.
I tugged on my hard dick in reply.
“You do have a way with words,” she sighed humorously.
“You want a redhead with flapping gums, hook up with Kalinski.”
“If he and Daniel weren’t wed, I’d do so, and happily,” she teased, pushing one thin strap off her shoulder.
“Over my dead body,” I snarled, just as she wanted.
The other strap shimmied down her arm. I gave my dick another tug, my gaze locked on her as she wiggled free of her nightgown, slowly revealing her bare body.
“Fuck,” I moaned when she turned to face me, arms over her head in a pose aimed to titillate.
It worked. Oh man, how it worked. She was stunningly beautiful and as sexy as a fucking pagan goddess. I ached to get my hands on her, but I knew she had a wee bit more prancing to do.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.
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