A Secret for a Secret Page 8

We nod at the same time, both of us obviously mentally taking a trip down wet-hump memory lane. The feel of his shaft gliding over my clit. Our lips brushing as he rolled his hips. His heavy groan when the head nudged my entrance and slipped inside, just the tip.

We’d both stilled for a moment, clearly aware that it wasn’t a good idea, or safe, but it had felt really good. He’d rushed to correct himself, and that was the point where he told me that as much as he wanted to have sex with me, he didn’t think it was a good idea because we were both still under the influence, and he didn’t want either of us to regret it. Or not remember it. It was incredibly sweet.

So instead we wet humped the living hell out of each other, several times.

We’re both breathing heavily, kind of like we were that night.

His expression becomes horror struck again. “Did I come on you?”

I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “On my stomach, yeah.” I motion a little higher. “And my chest.”

His eyes slide closed, and he shakes his head. “Good Lord. I am so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You were pretty into it, and so was I.”

“It’s not normally something I would do.”

“Me, either, but I had fun, and I’m pretty sure you did too.” Sadly, it’s the only fun time we’ll ever get to have.

His face turns a more vibrant shade of red, which is impressive, considering how red it already was. “But you left.”

“I was late for a thing with my dad. We always go for a run on Saturday mornings, and then we have brunch together. He was worried, and you and I had agreed the night before that we weren’t making this a thing, so . . .”

He jams a hand in his pocket. “So it had nothing to do with my performance?”

“No. Your stamina is legendary and your performance was exemplary. You probably devoted a good hour or more to providing oral pleasure, which is more than I can say for any guy I’ve ever been with before.” I need to stop talking; instead I keep rambling, trying to erase the concerned look on his gorgeous face. “Plus, I came a million times, and we didn’t even have sex. And you needed almost zero recovery time before you were ready to go again.” I stupidly motion to his crotch, drawing attention to it. I also happen to notice that the fabric is tight there—indicating this conversation might be making him as excited as it’s making me, based on the hardness of my nipples and the very noticeable ache between my thighs.

Not that I’m going to do anything about it, even though I kind of want to. Okay, I definitely want to.

“That’s good. About my performance, I mean. And having legendary stamina.” One side of his mouth quirks up, the first hint of a smile since I caught him lurking outside my window. “You were great too.”

“Thanks?” I’m not sure if he’s tacked on the compliment just because.

“I’ve thought about your mouth a lot since that night.”

I’m not sure if he’s referencing my blow job skills or what. “That’s . . . good.”

“My ex-girlfriend wouldn’t do that . . .” He cringes and trails off.

“Whoa, wait. She wouldn’t do what?”

“Uh.” He motions to his crotch, which is kind of hilarious, since he’s very much a graphic talker when he’s getting down and dirty. Politely graphic, though. “Use her mouth on me.” He mumbles the last part, so it’s hard to hear.

“Your ex wouldn’t blow you?”

He jams one hand in his pocket and rubs the back of his neck with the other. “She had a sensitive gag reflex.”

“Did she even try?”

“Like, once or twice. It wasn’t . . . enjoyable for either of us.”

“I guess that relationship didn’t last long, huh?”

His cheeks puff out. “Uh, actually we were together for a long time.”

I’m totally enthralled with the turn this conversation has taken. “How long is a long time?” I dated a guy for almost a year once, and it was on and off during that time. It was during college, when I also almost completed my art degree.

“Around eight years.”

I’m very glad I’m not drinking anything; as it is, I almost choke on my own spit. “You went eight years without a blow job?”

“Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

I wave away the apology. My curiosity about this guy has shot up several levels. That chick must have really had him by the balls for him to go without oral for that long. “I mean, I guess I can see how she might’ve been a little overwhelmed, because you’ve got a lot going on in that department.” I gesture to his crotch again. “But it’s not like you’d try to force the whole thing down her throat without some baby steps first.”

I fight a smirk because I rocked the hell out of deep throating all that length and girth, and it’s a significant amount of both. My nosiness takes over, and I can’t seem to control the questions that come out of my mouth. “Did she even like, lick it? Kiss it? Suck on the head, at least?”

Kingston blinks several times in a row and then swallows thickly. “Uh, no. She didn’t.”

“Wow.” She seems like a prissy bitch. I don’t like her. All she had to do was lollipop it, even if she couldn’t get more than the head in. Mostly I think it’s an excuse not to be a giver. I keep that to myself, though, in case he’s the kind of guy who stays friends with his exes. For some reason that makes me jealous. I’m just a notch on his blow job bedpost. “How long have you two been broken up?”

“Um, more than half a year.” He shifts around, like maybe this is making him uncomfortable.

“So you’ve had lots of time to make up for all those missed BJs, then.” I’m being tongue in cheek. He’s a hockey player, a professional one, although maybe not super high profile, considering I had no idea who he was until today. Granted, my dad offered me the job two days ago, right after I got passed over for yet another service industry opportunity, so I didn’t have much time to prepare, or to study the members of the team. Also, I’ve been avoiding hockey since my first year of college, not because I hate the sport but because of the memories I associate with it.

“You’re the first. Since college.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Uh, no.”

“Wow. I hope I did okay, then.”

“You did better than okay. You were amazing. It was . . . I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” He turns his head and coughs.

“Me, either, if I’m being completely honest.”

“I wish you weren’t related to Jake.” Ryan’s voice is gritty and low.

“If you didn’t play hockey for the team my dad manages, I would totally get on my knees for you again.” I need to cut this honesty crap. I still feel bad for the poor guy. Being in a relationship for almost a decade with a woman who refused to blow him is reprehensible, really.

Ryan makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. He’s so close I can feel his breath caress my cheek. I’m half-afraid and half-hopeful he’s going to try to kiss me. I don’t think I’d have the willpower to stop him if he did, and I’m banking on his Boy Scout morals to keep that from happening.

I settle a palm on his chest to keep him from getting closer. “Ryan.”

“It’s King, or Kingston.”

“You introduced yourself as Ryan.”

“Only my parents call me Ryan.” He covers my hand with his, and a warm shiver trickles down my spine as the hair on his arms stands on end. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” My whole body is on alert.

“The same thing happened last time. Like there’s electricity in the air.”

My phone buzzes on the counter behind me, startling us both. His eyes flare and he raises both hands, stepping back so we’re no longer touching each other.

“It’s your dad,” he croaks. “What the heck is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be here. With you. Alone. Unsupervised.”

I put a finger to my lips, clear my throat, and answer the call. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“I’m on my way home now. I figured we could go out for dinner, celebrate your first day.” A horn honks in the background.

“Or you could pick up takeout on the way home.” I glance at Kingston, who’s standing frozen a few feet away.

“I made a reservation at our favorite place for seven, but I can cancel if you’d rather I pick something up.” I detect disappointment over that possibility.

“How close to home are you?”

“About five minutes away.”

“I guess I better get ready, then.” And get Kingston the hell out of here.

“Sounds good. See you soon.”

He ends the call, and I drop the phone on the counter. “My dad will be home in five minutes.”

“I need to leave. Your dad can’t find me here.” Kingston takes a step toward me and then backs up again. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to talk things out. I didn’t mean to get all up in your personal space, or make you rehash our night together.”

“Why don’t we just forget any of it ever happened?” I’m trying to give us both an out.

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