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“Ooh, flattery will get you a blow job.” Tripp’s fingers dance over the back of my neck.
“Give me a blow job and then you can have my ass.” I bite down gently on his earlobe and give it a little tug, which makes him shiver.
“Deal, although if I top, I may have to ruin your man-bun. Even though it’s sexy as fuck, I’ll need something to hold onto while I pound you into the mattress.” He swivels his hips, pressing his semi-hard cock against mine.
“Jesus, we’re never gonna get out of here if we keep this up.”
“You could always just write a fat check and we can get straight to stripping each other down.” Tripp slides my hands to his ass, encouraging me to give it a firm squeeze.
“I wish I could.” I lick into his mouth—he’s been wholly on board with more kissing since our talk last week—groaning when his tongue meets mine. “We have to show up at several of these a year. Might as well get this one out of the way.”
I start to pull away, but Tripp squeezes the base of my neck. “I know you said this already, but are you sure you’re ready for this? Our first outing doesn’t have to be so public.”
“This is only our first outing because I’m finally healthy enough to hide my injury. And the Bulldogs organization already knows about us, so who cares if the rest of the world does.”
That was an interesting conversation, not because the top execs objected to me dating a man, but because Tripp and my coach, Xander’s dad, have very different ideas about what classifies as acceptable public behavior. In his defense, Tripp insists the guys gave him permission to feel how strong their pecs were before he touched them during the first team cookout he attended, which was long before my arrival. The act got him banned from all cookouts until Xander got tired of attending on his own and dragged Tripp along last year.
Still, I had to assure Coach that Tripp wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention to himself if we went public. I hate that stipulation—Tripp’s antics are part of who he is, and I don’t want him to have to change since he’s dating me. Fortunately, he said—privately of course—that being a little less crass is a small price to pay to have my cock all to himself. His words.
“I guess coming out is one way to take the focus off your injury.” Tripp slides his hand from my neck to my chest, resting it over my heart. “And it might be sort of fun to watch people try to keep a straight face when you introduce me.”
“It’s the twenty-first century. I doubt any of them will give it a second thought.”
“Bet?” He arches a sly brow.
“What are we betting?”
“I get to spank you this time.” A wicked grin spreads across his face.
“Fine.” I shrug. At this point, there are so many things he's helped me discover, most of which I never expected to like, let alone enjoy. What's one more? I won't say no until I try it. “And if I win, you move in.”
Just like he did during the boyfriend conversation, Tripp freezes, his breath coming in shaky spurts. I’m still not sure what causes him to react this way—I figure he’ll tell me when he's ready—but I’m not going to avoid the topic of us just because it scares him. We wouldn’t be here right now if I did, and aside from not skating, this has been the best week of my life.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and lean my forehead against his as I put my other hand on his chest. “You’ve been staying here a solid month, and nothing bad has happened, right?”
It takes a second, but eventually I feel a small nod.
“That’s right. And if you’re not ready to move in, then you’re not ready. It’s okay. But if you are, I’d really like to have you here when I get home from road trips, and I’d like to be here for you when you get home from work. Whenever you’re ready for that step, I want you to know I am too.”
Is it odd to put living together on the table before I’ve told him I love him? If it were anyone but Tripp, I’d say yes, but given his obvious hesitation, I actually think this order of operations makes more sense.
“Can I still spank you if you win?” The request is barely more than a whisper.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” I kiss his forehead, then bring my hands to his shirt. “Do you want to go bad boy who cleans up nicely or stick with the roguish I don’t give a fuck look?”
“Which do you like?” His emerald eyes are full of trust when they find mine, and I have to swallow down the lump in my throat before I can answer.
“I like roguish, but I’m supposed to get through the evening without mauling you, so we better go with cleans up nice.”
A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his lips as I button his shirt and work his tie into a perfect bow. I give it a gentle tug on both ends until it sits straight underneath his angular jaw.
“You’re stunning.” I place a chaste kiss on his lips.
“And you’re learning.”
“Hmm?”
“I might’ve just found another adjective for my dick.”
