Chapter 6
Thayne
First blocked by a moody teen.
Now…an alien?
What in the Talking Heads is going on today?!
Blowing a whistle on the play – on the very obvious sponsored by Boys II Men play – is getting to playoffs difficult yet done. “Uh…you’ve got…a guest?”
Rather than flop onto the edge of her queen-sized mattress, Gilly glances over her shoulder to where I’ve kicked my chin in order to see a pale, heart shaped plastered face pressed against her window. “That’s Owlfonso!”
Alright then.
Not an alien but an owl.
Better?
Same?
Whichever it is, it’s still in the net blocking what was in the process of naked happening.
Somethin’ I haven’t done in far, far too long.
“He’s my owl,” she exclaims prior to turning around completely in my arms to enthusiastically wave.
He immediately extends his wings and hisses.
Not hoots.
Fuckin’. Hisses.
“You sure that’s an owl, Gillybean?” I nervously investigate, hands settling comfortably on her hips. “That doesn’t sound like a hoot to me.”
“Barn owls don’t hoot. They hiss.” She momentarily locks eyes with me again. “Shouldn’t you know that? Didn’t you grow up on a farm? Or farmland? Or a ranch?”
“Doesn’t mean I’ve seen every critter that’s out there.”
Her giggles precede her sweetly turning back around to face the creature still observing us. “That’s fair especially considering the fact they’re silent flyers.”
“We talkin’ Simon however, it transposes into instant horror upon spotting the small silver tube with a pink lid. “Ohmygod!”
Her scurrying to not only catch but hide the object has me rolling off her in suspicion. “Is that not…lip stuff?”
“Ohmygod,” she murmurs to herself, face rapidly reddening. “Nonononono!” The object gets violently shoved into what appears to be a decorative basket on the bottom of her glass bedside table. “Icantbelieveyoujustsawthat!”
“Not entirely sure at all what I jus’ saw if it ain’t makeup.”
She snaps her crimson complexion in my direction. “Let’s pretend that it is!”
“Or…” my body takes on a completely upright sitting position, “we can be actual adults and healthily discuss what I’m now guessin’ was a sex toy.” Seeing her lips press firmly together innocently pulls mine upward. “Am I right?”
“You shouldn’t have seen that,” leaves her right above a whisper.
“Is that ‘cause you’re embarrassed to have it?”
“Yes.” Gilly’s teeth chomp down aggressively on her bottom lip.
“No.” The sight of her brow pulling tightly together sparks an ache in my chest. “Maybe?” It’s impossible to ignore the nervous fidgeting her fingers begin in her lap.
“Idontknow. Should I be?” There isn’t an actual pause long enough for me to respond.
“Kira – the bestie that initially pulled me away from you in Middlebrook – she has a whole philosophy that if your man can’t get the job done then you train him how and not take the easy way out with toys while Aly – the bestie that was there to see your bestie apparently not get married – insists they’re the perfect accessory for every sexcasion, and Rhonnie – my patient service lead – swears they’re a necessity for every single woman on the planet with a pulse and working vag.
” Her bare shoulders slump in defeat. “And I would tell you what my brother thinks – because yeah we’re that level of close to where we talk about basically everything – but I don’t wanna go total scorched earth with the guy I hope will someday still wanna see me naked. ”
“Like Ace Of Base sings, Gillybean, ‘Always Have, Always Will’.”
Light laughter is attached to a small headshake. “You literally have a song for everything, don’t you, Jukes?”
“Without a doubt,” escapes between my own chuckles. “It’s my second language.”
Thankfully the tension in the air begins to dissipate, a truth seen courtesy of her twitching fingers stilling and stiff spine comfortably relaxing.
Reminds me of the boys when I stop a shot despite having no help on defense.
If we were on the ice, stick taps to my pads would be next.
“What…um…” she slightly shifts her curvaceous figure in my direction, “what do you think?”
“That’s easy.” My position matches hers.
“Sex is like coffee. Some people don’t like it at all or unfortunately, only feel obligated to have it.
Some people prefer it black or plain. Some people want it with everything in it.
Some want it scalding hot. Others want it warm or need it frozen.
None of it’s right or wrong, Gillybean. Just preference.
” A bashful beam begins to grow prompting me to add, “It only matters to the one drinkin’ it or who they’re tryin’ to drink it with. ”
An impish glimmer glosses over her brown graze. “You know a song about coffee?”
“Gramps would turn in his grave if I didn’t at least mention ‘Cup of Coffee’ by Johnny Cash, but my own soul might wither and die if I didn’t say ‘Black Coffee’ by the First Lady of Song herself.”
“You’re a fan of Ella Fitzgerald?!”
“The fact you knew her by her nickname simply further proves you’re meant for me.” The waggling of my eyebrows gets her blushing again, yet this time in the shade I prefer. “Now, you tell me, Gillian.”
Hearing her full name noticeably causes her to shift.
“You like toys?”
“Alone?” Confidence remains tucked away. “Yeah.”
“And with someone else?”
“Idontknow.”
“Alright.” An innocent shrug bounces my shoulders. “Let’s figure it out.”
“What?!”
“Jus’ like we’ve been doin’, Gillybean. We’re gonna figure out what you like.”
She quickly shakes her head before countering, “Why don’t we just do what you like and see if I like it too?”
“I’m a pleaser.” The statement stuns her quiet. “I get off on pleasin’.” Sliding my hand across her thigh seems to hitch her breath. “The more pleased you are from gettin’ what you want, the more satisfied I am.”
“Meaning?” escapes at a whisper.
“You wanna be punished and called a dirty little slut? Then I’m right there, willin’ and ready to put you over my lap and do just that.
” Another small gasp is taken. “You wanna be praised and pampered? Then I’m willin’ and ready to tell you how amazin’ somethin’ feels and kiss you all over in between. ”
“I think I’d like that…”
“I think you would too…” My cock begins to thicken in my pants once more. “But jus’ ‘cause it’s what you want one night doesn’t mean it’s gotta be what we do every night, Gillybean.” Her fingers brush the side of mine at the same time I look for acknowledgement. “Understood?”
She dazedly nods.
“Why don’t we clean the ice? Start fresh?”
Fear immediately blitzes through her expression. “You wanna call it a night already?”
“No,” the hand on her leg moves to warmly cup her cheek, “I jus’ don’t wanna go from warmies to the final minute of the game.”
“Okay,” bashfully creeps out.
“Let’s get into our first shift before decidin’ the next, aye?
” My thumb gingerly traces her bottom lip.
“Can you get naked for me, baby?” Reluctance is the first response I see, one that pushes me to pre-emptively praise, “Can you let me see how beautiful you are wearin’ nothin’ but that smile that gets me blocker hard? ”
“It does not,” she sassily shoots down.
Without hesitation, I relocate her palm to my crotch, pleased – yet again – when a sharp gasp is stolen.
Cockily smirking is attached to my repeated request, “Can you be a good girl and strip for me?”
Shaking more than a rookie fresh out of college at his first official NHL pracky, Gilly takes to her bare feet in front of me, stare stubbornly pinned on them, so much anxiety flowing from her system that I’m tempted to call it game already.
But I won’t.
She needs this.
I can feel it.