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)
And me? All I knew was hockey. My focus was so singular, it was almost embarrassing. What did I have besides hockey? Not a lot. I didn’t have a hobby or any interests outside of my sport. My family lived thousands of miles away, my friends were all hockey players, and the one I was closest to had retired a couple of years ago. No wonder I was ready to get back on the ice. I had nothing else.
Except…now I had this cranky French-Canadian who’d taken a few hours on his day off to hang out with me at a skating rink to “help” me train or maybe just to be with me, and geez, that was really fucking nice. I was grateful for his company and this gratitude had morphed into affection that collided with desire, and it all made me feel—happy and…hopeful.
And horny.
Current situation: In spite of the autumnal chill in the air, I tied my sweatshirt around my waist and strategically positioned my workout bag in front of my crotch to hide my semi. It was safe to say my dick was anxious too.
“Same. We could always jog,” I suggested. Jean-Claude’s deadpan stare made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants. “Just kidding.”
He didn’t bother responding. He shot a quick glance at the diner when the light turned green, then tugged at my elbow and made a right on Maple. Two blocks in, I veered toward my street.
“No, no. This way. I’m closer.”
He led me along a path lined with low hedges to a two-story brick colonial with topiaries flanking either side of the wide black door. He fiddled with the lock as I gazed at the orange and yellow leaves falling from the majestic maple tree in his front yard, lost in tranquil thoughts in this idyllic corner of New England.
I’d been here for well over a month and I loved it. I loved the old lamplights throughout the neighborhood, the cracked sidewalks, the stately trees, and well-kept homes. I loved the smell of bonfires and wet leaves, and…I loved feeling like I belonged here. If only for a little while.
We tumbled into the foyer, dropping our bags as we slammed the door shut, and crashed into each other. He caged me between his arms and pushed his tongue into my mouth. I moaned, hooking my fingers under the elastic of his workout pants as I pulled him close.
I squeezed his ass, grinding my aching dick against his. Fuck, that was good. And it only got better.
Jean-Claude angled his hips and joined in until we were humping like animals, clutching and clawing at skin, rattling picture frames on the white walls.
We broke the greedy kiss with a gasp when one fell onto a bench and hit the hardwood floor.
“Oops.”
He bit my bottom lip and smacked my ass. “You’re breaking my house.”
“Sorry about that.” I snickered as I cupped his rigid cock through a couple of layers of cotton. “This is what I want.”
He dragged his mouth over mine and growled. “Upstairs.”
If I hadn’t been out-of-my-mind horny, I would have hung back to study the photos on the wall, peek in his kitchen, and check out the sofa and flat-screen situation in his great room. From what I could tell as we whizzed up the wide staircase, Jean-Claude had expensive tastes—modern chandeliers, Persian rugs, and tasteful oil paintings. I was so curious.
And for some reason, it felt like a big deal to get an invite here after spending so much time together. My place was a rental that belonged to his ex-boyfriend. He knew more about how things worked in that house than I did. There was nothing of me there…other than my clothes. To be honest, the same could be said of my actual house in Seattle. Nice modern home with panoramic ocean and mountain views…but it was kind of cold. Grand yet generic.
This, on the other hand, was a lovingly curated treasure trove. I paused in the doorway of the suite he entered, admiring the wall of landscape paintings opposite his king-sized bed.
“Quebec?” I asked, inclining my head meaningfully.
He whipped his shirt over his head and toed off his shoes. “Oui. The Saint Lawrence River, the Otish Mountains, Bouclier canadien…I can show you my art or I can show you my dick. What will it be?”
My choked-out laugh turned into an appreciative groan as he stepped out of his boxer briefs and kicked his clothing aside. A naked Jean-Claude was a beautiful thing indeed.
I moved into his space and reached for his thick cock, my grip firm and so sure you’d never guess I was new to this. I licked his neck under his beard and scraped my teeth along his Adam’s apple as I stroked him, twisting my wrist and rubbing my thumb over his slit. He shoved my joggers and briefs over my ass with a hungry growl and captured my mouth. His hands were all over me, tweaking my nipples, raking his nails on my back, kneading the meaty parts of my ass and pulling them apart, then sliding a single digit over my crack.