Pucking Billionaire: A Hockey Romantic Comedy by Misha Bell

Author:Misha Bell [Bell, Misha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mozaika Publications
Published: 2024-08-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Sophia

Iknow Mason is just kissing me, but I feel on the verge of an orgasm.

I blame all the build-up. The way he smelled during dinner, the way he looked at me, and particularly the way he flashed me his fist so many times—as if on purpose—turned my brain into a panna cotta.

Wait a second.

Why am I letting this happen?

I shouldn’t.

But it feels so good. His lips are soft, but the rest of him is hard. Speaking of hard, Uber is pressing against my belly, making my insides flip.

But no.

Unlike on F-Day, alcohol won’t be able to serve as an excuse today. If I go through with this, I will have slept with him of my own free will.

Then again, many philosophers don’t believe in free will. Many consider it an illusion.

No.

Free will is real, or else I would not be able to summon mine and use it to push Mason away from me—even though I desperately don’t want to.

“Are you going to invite me in?” His eyes are wild, his breathing shallow.

I manage a shake of my head.

“You sure?”

No, I’m not sure. But I intend to fake it until I make it. “Is this your way of trying to sweet-talk me into selling you the team?”

He frowns, the wildness in his eyes dimming. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re on the cruise? To get me to sell you the team… by any means necessary?” And hey, if I had a cock like Uber, I could probably get women to sell me whatever team I wanted, be it hockey, basketball, or toe wrestling.

Mason steps back and looks like I’ve slapped him. “Look, Ladybug… Yes, I’m on the cruise to try to talk to you about selling, but what happened after the bar that night had nothing to do with that, and if⁠—”

“That’s a lie,” I interject forcefully. “You gave me the tickets to the game as part of your quest to get me to sell. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have ended up at that bar and F-Day wouldn’t have happened.”

“F-Day?”

Shit. I shouldn’t have shared that moniker. “It doesn’t matter what I call it. It’s not happening again. But even if it were to happen, it wouldn’t help your cause. You’re not that good.”

Actually, he’s very close to that good. I just have more experience with deceitful seducers than the average person.

Mason’s expression turns thunderous. I guess that was a hit below the belt.

“You know what? Fuck this,” he growls. “Don’t sell me the fucking team. I don’t give a shit. But at least sell to someone else.”

I draw back. “Why?”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to financial matters.”

My pulse spikes as I process what he’s implying. “I what?”

He winces. “Never mind. That’s not what I meant to say. Look, the truth is, the owner’s job is challenging even for people in the hockey industry. Since you⁠—”

Keeping him under an unblinking glare, I tune out the rest of his words as a few little things that had bothered me through the night click into place.

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