Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Riley narrowed his eyes as he set his knife down. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, I want to make zee soup. We’re almost finished. Just zee carrots to add and zee spices, and voilà.” Calisse. My zees were out of control. Any second now, I’d forget how to speak English, and that would be an awkward end to what had started out as a very nice evening.
I’d stopped by Riley’s house on my way home from the diner. I brought him the chicken cordon bleu I’d made for the party and ingredients to make a soup tomorrow, but we’d come together in our usual frenzy and the food had taken a back seat to immediate sexual gratification.
Greedy kisses had led to furtive grinding, and hurried unbuttoning and unzipping. The next thing I knew, his mouth was on my cock. And that was new. Riley had never given a blowjob in his life. Yet he’d dropped to his knees without hesitation. He’d breathed me in, stroking me experimentally with his lips hovering at the tip. Then, oh so very slowly, he’d licked a path along my shaft, opened wide, and swallowed as much as he could.
My eyeballs had rolled in my skull as he’d worked some kind of magic on me. He’d been tentative yet determined, as if he’d given this some thought and decided tonight was the night he’d burst his blowjob cherry. Who was I to argue?
I’d leaned against the counter with my trousers and briefs around my ankles, my fingers sliding through Riley’s hair as he’d pleasured me. He was good. So very good. His gaze had flitted to mine as though he’d needed my praise and that was enough to summon a powerful orgasm. I’d pulled away to finish myself off and ordered him to do the same. He’d obeyed, but his mouth was still too close. I couldn’t hold back, and he wouldn’t move, so…I’d painted his lips and his chin, shivering when he came a moment later.
He’d sat on his heels, chest heaving and a bewildered expression on his gorgeous face, and said something completely odd and adorable, like, “Why did I wait so long to do that? That was fucking amazing.”
Yes, it was. My knees still felt weak from that orgasm.
I’d had visions of sharing chicken cordon bleu with a glass of Pinot Blanc before making our way upstairs to shower, falling in bed naked, and doing a little BJ reciprocation…until he’d asked why I hadn’t told him that once upon a time I’d played hockey.
Now that was a tough one.
Suddenly, making soup had seemed like a good idea. I’d set him up with a knife and the vegetables I thought he’d do the least amount of damage to, and given a soliloquy on the perfect way to julienne basil. In other words, I’d ruined the evening.
I didn’t know how to fix it without tearing bandages off old wounds and showing scars I’d never wanted anyone to see. Especially not Riley.
“Can I ask what position you played?”
I gave a quick sideways glance. “Defense.”
“I thought so. You’re a big dude.”
“Yes.” I pointed at the neglected carrots on his cutting board. “Are you going to finish those?”
“Nope. My eyes are tired and I’m tired.” He slinked around me and stole my wine, taking a generous sip. “Also…it’s almost eleven o’clock, and I don’t want to make soup. I don’t think you do either.”
“Of course, I do,” I bluffed. “I love soup.”
“Hmm. Look, if I hit a nerve, I apologize. You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m curious, that’s all. If you ever feel like talking about it, I’m all ears.”
“All ears. Odd statement, but okay, I’ll let you know,” I conceded, aimlessly stirring the vegetables and broth with my head down.
The ensuing silence echoed uncomfortably. I couldn’t tell if I hated that I was the cause or that I was irrationally irritated at him for asking about my life. Definitely the latter. The last person I’d shared any part of my past with was Nolan. We were friends and work associates now, so I had no regrets there, but Riley…I didn’t know what we were.
“How was the party?”
“How is your head?”
We spoke at the same time.
I chuckled ruefully, adjusted the heat to a simmer, and stepped away from the stove, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed in a decidedly defensive stance. I couldn’t seem to relax, but I offered a small smile as if to let him know I was trying.
“The party went well, but I was in the kitchen, so what do I know? Tell me about your day.”
“I skated today.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. First time on the ice in so long, I could have fuckin’ cried. It was…amazing.”
I grinned. “This is good. And your head is okay?”
Riley tapped his temple and gave a thumbs-up. “Yep. I think being on the ice helped. Kimbo kept the lights dim and maybe it’s partially psychosomatic, but I never stopped to think it might be bad for me. I felt…free out there. No stick, no puck, just ice. My mind cleared and the thoughts that popped up were sweet memories of hanging out with my grandfather and that low rumble that vibrates through my whole body when the crowd goes wild. I made up plays in my mind…Xs and Os, and drilled shots with my imaginary stick like I did when I was a kid. I can’t wait to do it again. It was cathartic…like the best medicine ever.”