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Or I could be reading way too much into this. He might just be tired.
I raise my hand in a wave, not really sure what the protocol is after your pretend boyfriend spends the night as your personal orgasm dispenser, but it will have to do.
Foster cocks his head to the side, his mouth hitching up in a lopsided grin. Instead of leaving, he prowls toward me and doesn’t stop until we’re only inches apart.
He leans down, his forehead resting on mine as he whispers, “Hope you didn’t think I was going to leave without a goodbye kiss.”
Before I can respond, his lips brush across mine. Once. Twice. It’s a brief touch, but one I feel down to my toes. I run my hands up his abs and curl my fingers in the front of his shirt as I let out a soft whimper.
Something inside him snaps.
His kiss turns aggressive as he scoops me up and sits me on the edge of the kitchen island. He grips my knees, forcing my legs open and taking up the space between them.
My hands wind in his hair as he slips his tongue in my mouth and grinds his already hard cock against my core.
I pour my emotions into the kiss. The months of longing, the desperation I feel every time we’re in the same room together. How damn much I want this to mean something. Anything.
And he gives it all right back.
His hands are everywhere, trying to touch every part of me, and I want him to. I don’t want to leave anything unexplored. I want him to brand me, claim me. More than anything, I just want to be his.
Foster pulls back, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. “What are you doing to me?” His words are barely above a whisper as he traces my face with the tips of his fingers.
“I don’t know, Foster. I don’t know what any of this means.”
He closes his eyes and gives me a chaste kiss. “I don’t know either.”
We stay there like that for what feels like several minutes, leaving so many things unsaid. I should be redefining the lines of our relationship and making sure we don’t cross them without some hope of a real relationship, but I can’t bring myself to say a word. This man is my weakness, and if he’s willing to give me a small part of himself, even if it’s for a little bit, I’ll take it.
“I’ll text you after practice.”
I nod, running my hands through his soft hair and letting him go.
He presses his lips to the sensitive spot behind my ear and is out the door seconds later. I stare after him, running a finger back and forth across my lips, losing myself in the memory of his taste, his mouth… him.
Fuck.
Gloria. Mason.
I need to pull myself together.
If I stay here, I’ll lose myself in the world of possibility, and I have way too much to do today.
Gloria has the door open as soon as I knock, rocking Mason in her arms and grinning like she accosted Foster on his way out. Knowing her, she probably did.
“Did you have a good night? I couldn’t help but notice a very handsome, very British hockey player leaving your apartment in a very wrinkled dress shirt.”
I cross my arms and raise my brows, trying my best to give her a stern look. “How did you even know he was in the hallway?”
“It’s that big dick energy. It was calling my name. Who am I to deny its call?”
Paul scoffs from the armchair where he’s hidden behind an open newspaper.
Being married to her twice, I’m sure he’s used to her antics. He knows she’s all talk anyway, and according to Gloria, he likes to remind her who’s in charge in the bedroom. I don’t want to think about how that dynamic works, but I’m happy for her.
“What?” Gloria turns to Paul, the unicorn slippers bumping into each other. “It’s not like you were calling my name.”
“I call your name plenty,” he replies as he crosses his legs and turns the page.
