Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Because there’s no denying that whatever tonight was, he won. For all my mouthiness, I’m the one gobsmacked and staring at his dick like I’m ready for a hot dog eating contest.
“You’re licking your lips,” I hear him say.
That breaks the in-cock-tation spell I must’ve been under, and I force my eyes up. “I was not!” I argue, but I wipe my finger over my lip in case there’s any drool.
He doesn’t look happy about my response, though. His eyes are dark, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his jaw set in stone as he readjusts his clothing, tucking himself away, while my pussy cries in disappointment. “I should probably get going,” he says, sounding unsure as he takes a step toward the door.
“Yep, flash and dash.” I mean it to sound light and flippant, but it comes out a little desperate. Still, I throw the blankets off and, stepping over the piles of clothes, follow him toward the door.
“Thanks, Joy.”
I freeze with my hand on the doorknob and risk looking up at him. Fuck, he’s huge. I’ve never been this close to him, which sounds extra weird now that I’ve seen his penis twice, but the two of us crowded in my tiny entryway area is absurd. He towers over my five-five frame, and is easily twice as wide as I am. Not to mention, he has a presence that’s dark and dangerous.
You’re in danger, girl! I hear the movie quote warning in my mind, coming straight from my subconscious to the forefront of my brain. Dalton Days is dangerous, but not in a threatening way. I don’t think he’d ever hurt me, but he’s bad for my steadiness, something I’ve fought hard for and am ridiculously good at faking.
“No problem, Days. Good luck tomorrow night,” I say politely, as if I loaned him an egg for his pregame omelet, not let him show me his penis. I even hold up my fist for a friendly bro-bump.
He clears his throat awkwardly, bumps my knuckles with his own, and then he’s gone.
I lean back on the closed door, nearly panting with need and confusion. One thing I can deal with easily, the other, not so much, so I virtually run for my bedroom. I fling myself across my bed as I dive into my nightstand drawer.
“Woody, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your nights are numbered. A few months at best given the season just started and dick-flashes are apparently part of Days’s pregaming now. I promise that though it won’t be a long life, it’ll be a good life. At least for me.”
At least before I have to upgrade you to your industrial-strength big brother. Emphasis on big.
It only takes a few seconds of buzzing over my clit and I come hard, never even getting the length of the vibrator inside me. Floating in the blackness of bliss, I grit my teeth, refusing to say his name. But I’m picturing Dalton’s penis, that’s for sure.
His beautiful, perfect, big dick.
If only it didn’t come with him. Too bad I can’t Mr. Potato Head him and keep the one part I like while trashing the other ninety-nine parts I don’t. Like his irritating mouth.
Chapter 8
Dalton
We won. We fucking won. Not only that, nothing got past me again.
Final score: Moose: 5. Americans: 0.
“Hell yeah!” Shepherd shouts, working his way around the locker room to high-five everyone. When he gets to me, he grabs my head and plants his forehead against mine. “I told you, man! We’re dominating this season! All. The. Way.”
He continues around the room, not realizing the tsunami of shit our win has started. It worked. I don’t know why, and it’s not my place to question it, but showing Joy my cock gave me luck, confidence, and the ability to defend like Patrick Roy.
This is bad, so bad.
I get cleaned up as slowly as I can, dressing at a pace only a snail would envy, and when I can’t put it off anymore and am the only person left in the locker room, I throw my duffel bag over my shoulder. I take a steadying breath before walking out because I know Joy will be in the hallway, hoping for one-on-one live interviews with the team for the eleven o’clock report, and I don’t know what to say to her.
It worked?
Thanks again?
Uh, we have another game tomorrow night, so . . . your place or mine?
Fuuuck. Shepherd is going to eviscerate me if he finds out where I’m getting my newfound confidence and luck. But that’s an issue for future me, and even then, it’s not enough to make me stop. Not when I played the way I did tonight.
In the hallway, I’m surprised to find . . . no one. Well, Joy’s cameraman is packing away his gear, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She’s not here. My breath escapes my lungs in a rushing whoosh of relief. Or is it disappointment?