Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
She grips the edge of the counter with her free hand and meets my confused glare with a challenging one of her own. And then she moans. It’s a seductive, unnerving sound coming from my best friend’s little sister. “Right there. Oh, God, Tristan, you’re so big.” She throws her head back and rolls her hips.
“Seriously? What the hell are you doing?” It’s like she knows what happened in the shower and she’s taunting me in a pair of shorts that don’t cover much.
Her bottom lip slides through her teeth and she sighs, then moans again, eyes falling closed. “Oh, oh yes! Oh, God, yeesssss! So thick. It hurts so goooood.”
Maybe I wasn’t off base when I accused her of doing more than listening to me jerk off the other night. I’m about to call her out, but one of her hands glides down her soft, curvy body, and her thumb hooks into the waistband of her tiny cotton sleep shorts. She pushes them so low it’s nearly obscene, but then they snap back into place as her hand travels lower, running along the inside of her thigh. “Fuck. Right there. That’s it. Don’t stop!”
Yeah, my best friend’s little sister might be inconvenient to have around, but she’s also hot as fuck. It’s a terrible combination, apparently. Despite having taken care of myself fifteen minutes ago, my body is already reacting to this…whatever this is.
Her eyes snap open, and her hand curves around my nape, nails biting into the skin. Just like her tongue on my skin yesterday, the contact is unexpected and jarring. Her other hand moves to cup and squeeze her breast. I break eye contact long enough to confirm that I can see her nipple through the fabric. It’s not an optical illusion. She tugs on the back of my neck, and I lean in, confused and transfixed. Her lips brush my ear, her voice softer, raspy, and a little desperate. “Please, Tristan. Oh, God. Oh, fuuuuuuck.” She drags the word out, and this time I find my earlobe caught between her teeth.
My hand moves without permission, settling on her hip, and my knee finds its way between her thighs. This is wrong. Bad. Not what I want. She’s my best friend’s sister, but fuck if I don’t want a taste of that forbidden fruit.
She sucks in a breath, bites the edge of my jaw, and stutters, “I’m-I’m-I’m c-c-coming!”
Her fingernails retract from my neck, and she shoves my chest. I release her hip and stumble back.
“We can all fake it when we need to. Especially with an egomaniac like you.” She brushes by me and disappears into the bathroom, firing the bird at me as she slams the door.
I jolt. I hate the slamming of anything.
Flip’s bedroom door opens, and he stands there, shirtless, hair a mess, boxer briefs tented with morning wood. “The hell is going on out here?”
“Nothing. We have a team meeting in an hour. We should get a move on. There’s a breakfast buffet.” How would I have explained what was going on if he’d opened the door a minute earlier?
“Shit, that’s right. They always have the best waffles. I’ll be ready in fifteen.”
“Sounds good.”
I head for my room and close the door, then glare at my semi-erect cock. “Fuck you for getting excited.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with this arrangement?” Flip asks for what’s probably the seventh time in forty-eight hours.
“You should have asked me first.”
“I know, man. I’m sorry. She cried on the phone, and she never does that. It’ll just be for a week or two.”
“I don’t want another person to take care of.”
“You won’t have to. I can set her up with her own place if you want her out sooner.” He anxiously raps on the armrest.
“It’s fine.” I’m not sure it’s fine at all, considering what happened this morning. But I don’t need him stressing about paying Beat’s rent. I’ll just hope she finds a job and moves out so things can go back to normal and she doesn’t become my problem. In more ways than one. Besides, I have bigger things to worry about. “Is Hollis coming to the team meeting?” I tap on my knee.
“As far as I know, yeah.” Flip glances at me before focusing on the road again.
“You think they’ll start him off slow? Maybe second line until he gets his bearings again? He was out for almost the entire season last year.” It’s not that I don’t value Hollis as a player. He’s been with the team for the past seven years. He’s seen Toronto through the playoffs twice and to a Cup win once, but his return doesn’t necessarily mean good things for me.
“I guess it depends on how he performs during training camp and exhibition games. They’ll want to get a feel for how quickly he fatigues. You worried about being shifted back to the second line?” Flip asks.