Pump Fake (The New York Nighthawks #9) Read Online Fiona Davenport

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: The New York Nighthawks Series by Fiona Davenport
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Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
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This was still all so new to me, but I wasn’t embarrassed by my reaction to him. How could I not be drenched when he played with my breasts and talked about wanting to lick my pussy? Especially now that I knew exactly how much pleasure he could give me with his mouth. Not to mention his fingers…and dick.

“Of course, I am. Watching you play was impressive as heck. Seeing you get all growly with your teammate over me was incredibly hot. And hearing how much you want to taste me…holy heck.” I fanned myself with a sigh.

“Just wait, baby. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Hooking his arms under my inner thighs, he lifted me as he got to his feet, burying his face in my pussy as soon as my back hit the mattress. Then he started devouring me like a starving man, using his tongue and teeth to drive me close to the edge in no time. Licking, sucking, and nipping at my drenched flesh while I writhed beneath him, his big hands splayed against my hips to hold me exactly where he wanted so he could get his fill.

Brady hadn’t been kidding when he said I hadn’t seen anything yet. He’d eaten me to orgasm several times already, but this was more intense than anything I’d ever felt before. He kept taking me higher until the pleasure finally crested, and I screamed, “Yes! Brady, yes!”

“That’s my good girl,” he mumbled between licks, eating me through my release without missing a beat. “Give me another, Talia. I want to hear you scream my name so loud, the neighbors might hear you.”

After experiencing that powerful of an orgasm, I wouldn’t have thought I had anything left in me, but he proved me wrong in no time at all. Brady was as relentless in his quest to give me pleasure as he had been leading his team on the field.

“Oh, yes,” I gasped as he sank a finger inside me. I was already close to a second orgasm, and when he twisted his wrist to circle my clit with his thumb, my release crashed over my body in waves.

Brady pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh and murmured, “So fucking sweet,” before he got to his knees and shoved his pants and boxer briefs down his muscular thighs. He didn’t even bother taking them all the way off or removing his shirt. Instead, he positioned himself between my legs, notching the tip of his dick at my entrance as he looked down at me. Filling my tight heat with one powerful thrust, he groaned, “I swear, having your pussy wrapped around my cock feels even better than scoring a touchdown.”

“Brady,” I whispered, my heart swelling with emotion that felt an awful lot like love. I’d only known him for less than a week, so I forced the words down and reached for him to show my feelings in another way.

Tugging him lower, I twined my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. He quickly took over, and our kiss turned heated, our tongues moving in unison with our hips. Lifting the hem of his shirt, I slid my hands up his back while I dug my heels into his butt, urging him on.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, baby. Pretending to be your boyfriend was the best damn decision I’ve ever made.”

Digging my nails into his shoulders, I held on while he pounded in and out of me. “I’m close again.”

“Good,” he grunted, circling his hips. “I can’t fucking wait for you to milk the come from my cock until I fill you to overflowing. I want it to drip down your thighs, marking you as mine.”

His dirty talk was the last push I needed to toss me over the edge, and fireworks went off behind my eyes as I screamed his name. Brady rode me through it, not giving in to his own orgasm until I was a boneless heap beneath him. Then he made good on what he’d said, his cock jerking inside me while he filled me with his come. I didn’t have enough energy to complain about the mess when he was done, but I didn’t need to because he grabbed a damp washcloth later to clean me up without me having to say a word.

12

BRADY

“Brady, glad you could make it,” Roan said with a big smile as Talia and I walked out into the yard. “And so happy you brought something pretty for us to look at instead of your ugly mug.” I growled in warning, but he just laughed, then grunted when a towheaded toddler came barreling into his legs.

“Daddy!” she screeched as she clung to him. “No nap!”

Roan’s wife, Ava, came stomping up the steps to the deck, glaring at her youngest child. “Daddy isn’t going to save you, Carebear.”


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