Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
In the back of my mind I hear alarm bells. Stop this, they warn. But stopping is impossible when Summer’s blonde head is moving up and down on my dick. My fingers tangle in her hair, but I don’t seize control. I let her go at her own pace, trusting that she’ll get me where I need to be.
And she does. As the suction tightens and her pace quickens, my balls throb and the tip of my dick tingles and then I’m there. “Coming,” I choke out.
She doesn’t release me. I bite the side of my thumb to stop from groaning out loud as I rock my hips and shoot in her mouth. She swallows every drop while I shudder in pleasure bordering on pain.
When Summer rises to her feet, I pull her close and rest my chin on her shoulder. Still shaking from that climax.
“I needed that,” I say hoarsely.
“I know you did.” She plants a kiss between my pecs and brings her hand back to my dick, petting it softly.
I break out in shivers. “You’re killing me.”
Her laughter tickles my collarbone. “Sorry. I just really like touching you.” She pauses. “I should probably go.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to.”
I feel her trembling as she kisses me again, this time the fleeting brush of her lips over my shoulder. “What just happened here, Fitz?”
You blew my dick and my mind? I almost say. But I know what she means. She wants to know what this means.
“I—”
“Hoo-hooo! Hoo-hooo!”
My head snaps up in alarm. Was that an owl?
“Oh shit,” Summer blurts out. “That’s the signal.”
“Signal?”
“Yeah. Brenna is in the hall. I asked her to keep an eye out and make sure nobody catches me in here.”
She’s barely finished speaking when we hear the voices. And the footsteps. A lot of voices, and a lot of footsteps. My teammates are coming down the tunnel.
Summer snatches my fallen towel off the ground and hurriedly wraps it around my waist. Her fingers brush my dick, and I swallow a groan. I’m still hard.
I take a breath and nod to a doorway on the far end of the showers. “The PT room is in there. It leads to the coaches’ offices, and there’s another exit to the arena from there.”
The footsteps grow louder, accompanied by animated male voices and raucous laughter. My teammates sound happy, which means we won.
“Summer,” I say when she doesn’t move. “You gotta go. And you better do it fast, before the boys get in here and start pulling their dicks out.”
She hesitates. “We need to finish this conversation.”
“We will,” I promise. “At home.”
Her teeth dig into her lip. “Brenna and I are meeting friends at the bar.”
“Then we’ll talk at the bar. Or afterward. Right now, you need to go.”
Summer nods. She stands on her tiptoes, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and then she’s gone.
I’m a pussy. I don’t go looking for Summer after the game, and I don’t go to Malone’s. I also don’t go home.
Like an asshole, I get in my car and drive to Boston.
My friend Tucker bought a bar in the city this past fall. I helped him with the reno, getting it ready for its big opening in November. Doesn’t surprise me that the only person I want to confide in right now is Tuck. He’s easy to talk to and has a good head on his shoulders. Gives really smart advice too, and right now I’m desperate for some advice.
I’m reaching the freeway exit when my phone rings. My car is an older model and doesn’t have the Bluetooth feature, so I’m forced to use speakerphone. If it wasn’t my mother’s number flashing on the screen, I’d probably press ignore. But ignoring Mom is never a good idea.
“Colin! Sweetie! Are you all right?” Her greeting holds a hefty dose of concern.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your Uncle Randy was at your game tonight, and he just sent me a phone picture of your face!”
“You can just say ‘picture,’ Ma. You don’t have to specify ‘phone.’”
“But he sent it from his phone to my phone.”
“Yes, but—” I stop myself from continuing. Pick your battles, man. My mother isn’t an old lady and therefore has no excuse for her total lack of knowledge about anything tech-related. But she’s also set in her ways and arguing with her is pointless.
She still uses a BlackBerry, for chrissake.
“I promise, I’m fine. Got stitched up and now I’m good as new.”
“How many stitches?”
“Only two.”
“Okay.” The worry leaves her tone. Unfortunately, it’s replaced with anger. “This is all your father’s fault.”
Here we go again.
“How do you figure?” I don’t know why I’m playing along. I already know the answer.
“Because he forced you into hockey.”
“He didn’t force me. I love hockey.”
I may as well be speaking to my car windshield. “What a selfish prick that man is,” she gripes. “Come on, Colin. You don’t think it’s pathetic that a grown man is trying to live vicariously through his son?”