Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Hard, El. Fuck me hard,” he growled.
I obeyed. I pulled out and thrust forward, slowly at first. I didn’t want to hurt him, and I didn’t want this to be finished before it got good. But Braden was a man on a mission. He demanded action. He wanted it hard, fast, and raunchy. He liked it when I told him he was hot and tight and that his hole was fucking mine. That I owned him. I gripped his shoulders and gave him all the dirty talk he wanted times ten as I pistoned my hips while he stroked himself to oblivion. We came seconds apart.
I collapsed on top of him, raining kisses along his neck as I gently pulled out. The urge to gush was strong. I wanted to tell him how fucking amazing he felt and how much I wanted him. Always. I didn’t want to freak either of us out, so I concentrated on cleaning us up with the towels we’d brought with us from the bathroom.
Then I climbed beside him and pulled him close. Bray was a big after-sex talker. We’d cover everything from music and movies to afterschool cartoons we loved as kids. Apparently, today’s topic was video games.
“Name your top two video games from when you were a kid,” he said, propping a pillow against the wall in his room.
I was exhausted after our marathon sex session and not quite sure I could form a full sentence yet. “Uh…”
“Fine. I’ll go first.”
“No, I got this,” I insisted, caressing his thigh. “I loved Zelda and Mario Kart. I think I had those on GameCube.”
“Oh, me too.”
I held my hand up for a high five. “I knew I liked you. But let’s go back to that Nickelodeon nonsense. You gotta at least admit The Wild Thornberrys was lame.”
Braden sat up in a hurry and scowled at me. “Are you kidding? That show was awesome.”
“Was it, though?” I teased, raising my hands in surrender when he scowled menacingly. “Geez, you’re kind of a hothead.”
“Yeah, well…I take my cartoons seriously,” he huffed. “I had pretty severe asthma when I was a kid, so I had plenty of couch-time to become a true connoisseur.”
“It makes me sad to think of you sick.”
Braden smiled wanly. “It was a long time ago. I’m fine now.”
“Did your mom make you fudge and spoil you rotten?”
“Her fudge phase came later. My mom was pretty strict about sweets. But she definitely hovered with nebulizers, air purifiers, and warm compresses. She didn’t spoil me, she smothered me. She still does,” he groused.
“My mom does too. Just in a different way.”
“I like her. She seems more like your older sister than your mom, though.”
I slumped a little against the wall and shifted to touch him. Any part of him. “True. My sister’s more motherly than our mom. Jess made herself the keeper of sentimental bullshit that Mom probably would have thrown out otherwise. She has all my school pictures, volleyball trophies, and knowing her…she’s got my cartoons.”
“Your cartoons?”
“Yeah, I used to draw volleyball cartoons when I was a kid. I was a pretty good artist. But I was always a better volleyball player,” I bragged.
“Did you want to be an animator?”
I frowned. “No. I only wanted to play volleyball.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I used to watch the pros at the beach and think, ‘That’s gonna be me someday.’ ”
“Yeah, but will you always play volleyball?”
“I hope so, but making enough money at it to survive is the tricky part. I need a few wins under my belt, and then I’ll refocus my goals a bit. I’m trying to talk Tucker into going into business with me. We could run a year-round clinic for juniors and do well. There’s a huge demand in this area.”
“I thought Tucker was working at his dad’s firm,” Braden said, draping his leg over my knee.
“He starts in September.”
“Everything starts in September,” he mumbled.
Everything ends in September. I kept that depressing thought to myself as I massaged his calf.
“I can’t think about it until after the Manhattan Open. Gus and I did well in Hermosa, but we have a lot of work to do. And so many freaking sponsor events.” I groaned.
“Gus invited me to a big one at the end of the month. He told me that you’re working on a ‘theme.’ I’m guessing your mom opted out of adopting a stray?”
I snorted. “Who knows? I don’t pay attention to that BS. I’m there to play ball.”
“Good attitude.”
“Gus invited you, eh?”
“Yeah. It was a casual ‘You should come, dude.’ I bet he forgot the second I walked away.”
“You should come. I don’t know the exact date. It’s midweek though,” I said, absently brushing hair from his temple.
“Mmm. I’ll be practicing in LA then. Probably won’t work. I’d rather clear my calendar for the tournament than a sponsor party.”