Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
She’s quiet for a moment. “Me neither.” Another pause. A crinkle of her brow. “Was that how you wanted to fuck me?”
“It’s one of the ways,” I say honestly.
“Will you show me the others? We have time, you know.” It’s asked with raw hope. Like she thinks there’s a chance I’d say anything but yes.
“I will. I promise.” Little does she know I’d probably promise her everything. Damn the complications. Damn the risks. Damn the challenges.
I run my other hand over her freshly fucked hair. She sighs, long and contented as I stroke her strands with no plans to stop. But we probably should clean up. “Do you want to shower?”
I should add with me. So she doesn’t take the question the wrong way. But before I can say another word, she says, “Your shower is better than a sex toy. I’ll get up in a minute. But right now I’m kind of into the bed.”
A laugh bursts from me. I barely know where to start with that statement. “Would you like some sex toys in the shower too, Maeve? You can have a collection of five supersize vibrators there as well.”
“I require six,” she says, then settles into the bed with a contented hum. “It’s hard to get out of your bed. It’s so nice.” There’s a pause, then she adds, “I slept so soundly here.”
My stupid heart speeds up from that statement. Maybe the bed will make her want to stay longer. But I also picture Vegas and how she conked out right away. “Maeve, when do you not sleep soundly?”
She snuggles up against me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “I’m just saying…I did.”
“I think it’s in your nature to sleep soundly,” I say, since I’d be a fool to get ahead of myself and think it’s me. But I did sleep well with her too.
“I’m a sleep champion. What can I say? Maybe someday you can have a nap date with me. Wait, do you even nap?”
“I nap before games,” I point out.
She scoffs. “That’s like exercise. Like eating broccoli because it’s good for you.”
“It’s still a nap.”
“I meant like a nap where you don’t have anything to do, anywhere to go. Where you lie in the sun and let afternoon dreams take you away.”
“No.”
“You hate relaxation.”
“Not true,” I say.
“A little true.”
“Fine,” I grumble. “It’s a little true.”
“I know you well,” she says, pleased, and I mostly am too from those four words. She does know me. She knows I’m more wound up than I let on. She knows I like to be in charge, to fix things, to play hard and have fun on the ice, to show up for my friends, to hang out with my dads, to go to new places with her, and now, I suppose she knows this—how I like to fuck.
But would she want to know me better? See more of me? Discover the parts she doesn’t know? To know what keeps me up at night? What stresses me out? More so, will she ever catch up to where I am? And while we’re at it, what do I want? Besides for her to really like my big bed.
Those questions ping through my brain, repetitively. I try to ignore them, but they’re making me antsy. And, well, so is the fact that there’s a wet spot on the bed. I turn to her and swat her ass. “Shower. Now.”
“Are you saying I’m dirty?”
“You’re filthy,” I tease.
“Pot. Kettle.”
I point to the bathroom. “Go,” I tell her.
“So filthy. And so bossy.”
“You say that like you don’t love my kind of bossy.”
“So cocky too,” she adds, hopping out of bed with a playful grin, and heading straight to the bathroom.
But I can’t move. The sight of her naked, walking so casually, so comfortably into the bathroom is stealing the air from my lungs.
Yes, she’s sexy as fuck with that gorgeous heart-shaped ass. But it’s the way she looks in my home.
Like she fucking belongs.
It’s killing me.
And exciting me.
And fucking me up.
Dragging a hand through my hair, like it’ll sort out my wild thoughts, I get out of bed and follow her to the bathroom. She’s already looping her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, then stepping into the shower.
She turns it on, and yep—she owns this place.
And, really, me.
I dim the lights, step inside, and shower with my best friend for the first time. I grab some of her body wash, and rub it onto her stomach, her breasts, her ass, then I get down on my knees and clean her thighs, looking up at her.
“Thanks for making a mess of me. And thanks for cleaning me up,” she says, in a tone I haven’t heard from her before.
It’s soft, maybe just shy of romantic. I want to hear that tone again. Mostly, I want to earn it. I stand and drop a kiss to her forehead. “Anytime,” I say, and that barely covers the scope of things.