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“You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna shoot your load in your underwear because you want me so much? I’ll lick it all off my fingers like an appetizer before the main meal. You come now so later, when I take your ass, you can go all night.”
“Jesus!” He cried out, fucking my palm until his balls emptied. I rutted against him, fucked his leg like I couldn’t control myself. My body shot to the sky, then fell down again like dead weight when I came.
“You’re right. It does feel like cotton candy,” I said against his mouth, kissing him again before I licked my hand clean like I’d promised I would, Patrick’s gaze never leaving me the whole time. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
He looked as I sprung to my feet, then held my hand out to help him up.
Patrick took it without me even having to ask again.
13
WHITT
The Denver Rush’s starting center was in my house. He was in my house, and we were about to eat dinner like old friends or, worse, like lovers. Then he was going to fuck me. Malik Tucker had taken a flight from Denver to LA just to fuck me. Everything else—the dinner, the wrestling, the conversation—was like tissue paper wrapped around that fragile knowledge. I felt the anticipation and nerves with every beat of my heart but maintained a casual air as best as I could. There were a shit ton of other things to consider, like…that he was in my house in the first place. A hotel in LA had seemed too dicey, though. The high-end ones often had paps within easy reach, and the seedy ones…yeah, that wouldn’t work either. I’d rarely had anyone to my house since I’d moved here, aside from a woman I’d dated for a while. But that had been years ago. Shit, had I even had anyone I was dating or hooking up with here since? I was sure I had, but could recall nothing from the last two years, which just seemed kind of weird now.
“Do people come over to your house in Denver?” I asked once we’d sat down at my dining table with our plates of grilled chicken and veggies—which was also fucking weird. I hadn’t sat down at this table in ages, and here we were, again, doing something completely “normal” in a situation that was anything but.
“Huh?” Tucker said, popping a bite of chicken in his mouth, brow flickering up in apparent confusion.
“I mean, do you have people over to your house a lot? Women? Men? Friends? Hookups? Whatever?”
Tucker’s brow held its perch before he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Some of the shit that comes out of your mouth, man… Yeah, people come to my house all the time. That’s kinda what a house is for. I like having people around. Barbecuing, hanging out, watching games, whatever.” He paused, seeming to catch himself. “Not hookups for a long time, though.” He swiped a hand across his mouth. “Meant what I said about that. But in the past, sure? Why?”
I shrugged. I knew what Tucker’s house looked like. It’d been in some magazine article once. Now, I tried to imagine him in it, doing what we were doing, but with someone else, and it made my stomach tighten. “Just curious.”
“Don’t you?” He glanced around. “It’s a pretty sweet place.”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
I’d known that question was coming but still wasn’t prepared for it. “Don’t know. It just doesn’t happen. If the guys are getting together, it’s usually at LaForge’s because he got that crazy deal on that compound in Thousand Oaks. Talk about sweet. The theater room is legit the size of the real thing.” I’d only been there a couple of times, but Tucker didn’t need to know that. Besides, I’d been making more of an effort lately to hang with the guys, go out with them, even if my nights always ended up with me alone, wishing I had Tucker’s hands on me.
Tucker had stopped eating and was looking at me thoughtfully before he offered a “huh” that I couldn’t parse the meaning of. Before I could ask, though, he followed up with, “So who’s the last person that was over here?”
“Candice.” He knew how Candice fit within the family but still frowned. “Okay, and before that?”
“If you’re asking who the last person is that came here to hook up with me, I guess that’d be Lila Monroe.”
He barked out a laugh. “Lila Monroe, no shit? I had no idea. I thought she dated Cullen Atwood for a while.”
I shrugged again. “She did, I think. We just hooked up for a few weeks.” She’d ghosted me, probably for Cullen now that I considered the timing on it, but I hadn’t been butthurt over it. The sexual chemistry between us had been hot, but that was pretty much where it’d ended for me, and we’d both had crazy schedules.
“Huh,” he said again, in that vague way that was starting to drive me crazy because I felt like he was making some assessment of me. Fuck if I cared to ask about it, though. The closer we got to finishing our meals, the more the buzzing sensation in my body amplified, like my dick was on a timer, counting down to what came next.
When Tucker pushed his plate away, I did the same and then stood too fast, almost knocking my chair over as I reached to grab his plate and clear it.
Tucker’s warm chuckle ran through me like spiced honey. “Eager much?”
I hoped my answering laugh didn’t sound too forced. I took the plates to the sink and dropped them in before spinning back to the table, where Tucker was resting back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, watching me with those dark eyes.
“I should shower, probably,” I said, and Tucker stood.
“Me too.”
I didn’t offer the guest shower. The look in his eyes said he was coming with me.
Once inside, we washed quickly, and with the spray of the dual showerheads pelting us, Tucker pressed against me, lips moving over mine, down my neck, and back up again. It was a slow and sensual contrast to the roughhousing that had happened outside earlier, and with the heat and steam billowing around us and the knowledge of what was about to happen, it ramped my arousal higher. Our slick bodies moved against each other, and in seconds, I was thrusting against him, moaning when our cocks bumped and glided together.
