Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
A physical altercation with this numbskull wasn’t smart. At all. Trinsky outweighed me by at least twenty pounds of pure muscle. He was scrappy and thick, and I had no hope of winning this fight. But anger and adrenaline were powerful motivators.
I pushed his chest, hiked my thigh over his, then threw a punch that didn’t land before diving for him again. Trinsky caught my elbow and instead of retaliating with a left hook, he pulled me against him, tightening his hold like a boa constrictor.
Note: We were now on our knees facing each other in thin cotton pajamas, locked in a weird-ass embrace. He wasn’t moving, and his tight grip made it difficult to wiggle away.
The darkness added an aura I couldn’t quantify. All I could think was, Fuck, he’s strong, and that thought sent a thrill up my spine and—
Holy crap.
Trinsky’s warm, hard body plastered to mine kind of…turned me on.
No.
No, no, no.
I bit his shoulder, shoving him as he yelped. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“You attacked me, ya dirty raccoon. I’m gonna need a damn tetanus shot.”
“Why don’t you get one now?” I snarked, straightening my sleeping bag with military precision, my heartbeat reverberating in my ears.
“Gee, I’ll get right on that. Oh, wait. It’s midnight, and I’m stuck in a tent with an animal in the fuckin’ forest.” His sarcastic tone was so over-the-top, it was funny.
Or it might have been funny under other circumstances. But now…
I had a boner. No kidding. I had a raging fucking hard-on.
I was stunned.
Popping wood at the merest brush of another body, any body, was a condition for teenagers, not grown men in their thirties. I didn’t get it. I mean, I loathed this guy. Trinsky was combative, ridiculous, and annoying.
I swallowed hard, zipped the sleeping bag, and burrowed into the down warmth. Do not freak out. Do not freak out.
There had to be a logical explanation—no doubt it had something to do with exhaustion and the release of pent-up agitation. It had felt gratifying to get some angst out. Unfortunately, my subconscious had just taken it to a weird level.
“You have my pillow. Toss it over.” My voice was deep and gravelly. Shit, that was a sex voice. Any second now he’d call me out for—
“Nope. It’s my pillow now. Night, Jakey,” Trinsky singsonged.
A wave of pure rage hit me. It was feral and base, and came with a side of something primal. I balled my hands into tight fists and cautioned myself not to lunge for him again.
What was my deal? I was even-tempered…ask anyone—but this guy brought out the worst in me.
I wanted to tell him not to call me Jakey and to give me the fucking pillow, right here, right now, like a little kid at a sleepover gone wrong. I wanted to wipe the smug lopsided smile off Trinsky’s stupid face, kick him out of the tent, and let him fend for himself.
Ugh. I just had to get through one night and—
I frowned at the sound of a soft rumbly noise.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I grumbled, squinting in the dark at my roomie, lying on his back with two pillows under his head, snoring away.
My anger slipped as I studied Trinsky. His features softened in sleep, giving him a deceptively boyish look. He had a tough exterior with his copious tats, muscles galore, a crooked nose, and full lips.
The media called Trinsky charming yet cutthroat, disarmingly nice yet brutally cunning—public persona versus his reputation on the ice. I called him an annoying asshole ’cause it fit. And was there anything more annoying than being subjected to close quarters with an enemy who had the gall to claim that associating with him was good for my career?
This entire situation pissed me off, but I had a bigger problem. I was still hard as a rock. In fact, my dick strained the elastic band of my boxer briefs. I cupped my shaft through my lightweight pajamas and squeezed.
Only the world’s biggest hypocrite would jerk off after giving a lecture about tent etiquette. I knew that. I really did. So I sucked in a deep breath and counted sheep, fingers still firmly wrapped around my pole, hoping to drift off to the sound of the big oaf sawing wood nearby.
No such luck. My cock pulsed insistently. It was uncomfortable as fuck, and no, I wasn’t going to do anything about it. I wasn’t. My hand was just…there. Touching, not stroking.
But after a minute of sweating it out, I had to make a strategic adjustment to avoid chafing.
I slipped my thumb under the elastic, slid my palm over my length, and— Fuck. It wouldn’t take much to come. Just a couple of strokes would do it.
I stole another peek at Trinsky as I oh-so stealthily gripped my throbbing cock and slowly dragged my fist up…and down. Up…and down. My nostrils flared, and my skin tingled everywhere. I tried to think super sexy thoughts to make this quick. Sure, I’d been on an epic dry spell for a while, but my brain could be trusted to conjure porn-worthy pert boobs in wet T-shirts, lacy thongs, and round asses.