Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jocelyn
Hutch’s lips press to mine, and then his tongue traces them. I arch my neck, and his lips and tongue follow the line down to my collarbone before he plants wet kisses on the exposed tops of my breasts.
“Bring them up here,” he demands, which is so unlike him that it surprises me. Damn, sexy times bring out the inner Viking in my cinnamon roll bestie.
I kneel on the sofa with a leg on either side of him. He places his hands under my breast and pushes them up until my hardened nipples are aligned with his mouth. Then he sucks on them through the fabric of my dress.
A primal sound releases from my throat, and I lurch forward, trying to grind against his lower abdomen like a horny teenager.
Hutch drops a hand and fidgets with the material of my dress until he is able to reach between us. He runs a finger back and forth against the drenched cotton between my legs. I’d be embarrassed about how wet I am if I weren’t so desperate for him to bring me to orgasm again.
I jerk against his fingers.
“Patience. I want to take my time,” he says as he continues to stroke me.
I reach between us, trying to grasp him again, and he bats my hand away and then goes back to massaging the breast he’s not suckling with his one free hand.
“This time, we’re doing it differently,” he urges.
“You’re really bossy,” I protest.
He laughs, and then his teeth graze my nipple, and I practically come again.
“I can be bossy,” he counters.
“Clearly,” I reply as I continue to press against where his fingers are doing magical things without even touching my skin.
He pushes my panties to one side. They are so embarrassingly wet that they basically stay there.
Then he squirms and uses one hand to pull his pants a little so only the fabric of his underwear separates us.
I look down and see the head of his cock poking up from the waistband.
It takes every ounce of my restraint not to bend down and lick it.
“Eyes up here,” he urges, pressing a single finger under my chin and pushing upward. Our gazes lock, and he uses his hands on my hips to guide me over him, settling my weight so my soaking slit lines up with his erection that’s still covered by his underwear.
“There, now make yourself come,” he demands. His hands go back to my breasts, allowing me to move at my own pace. I press down, and I feel my folds part around his length. Holy shit! That’s hot as fuck, but also, he’s enormous. I’m not sure I can have sex with him. How would that work?
“Eyes here,” he says again, and we lock gazes as I start to move. Up and down, harder and then softer, I keep moving until I find the rhythm I need.
“Almost there,” I breathe. I move a little too fast, a little too hard, and my wet and swollen clit rubs the head of his cock that’s now fully poking out of the fabric.
I should stop. I should move back down, but I can’t. I keep rubbing against it, harder, faster.
He groans and his eyes fall shut, and I feel liquid trickle from him, and that does it for me. I fall into the abyss as I lean back so the rest of his length presses back between my wet folds while my clit presses his flesh. It’s too good.
“Hutch!” I yell, vaguely thankful this cottage is soundproofed. My body spasms, as all my muscles seem to shake with the intensity of my release. A rush of fluid between my legs drenches his underwear.
“Fuck!” he shouts as I feel his dick jump against me, and then his warm release shoots against his abdomen and runs down onto my clit.
I feel a final spasm of my muscles as I slide down him and crumble into a boneless pile against his hard body.
His arms wrap around me, cradling me to him. His lips kiss the top of my head. And for the first time in any relationship, I feel cherished.
I sigh in contentment and snuggle against him. “I think we have a problem,” I whisper.
“Why’s that?” he asks, his voice gravelly, and damn if that isn’t sexy.
“I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” I confess as I smile against him.
“Jocelyn, if I were being honest with myself, I’d say we were never going to be just friends,” he admits. We’ve only known each other for a few months, but he’s right. There’s been an attraction there the entire time. We just haven’t been in a position to take the next step until now.
“Well, it only took us what, like five, six months to figure out we should be together?” I tease. “That’s like the slowest get-to-know-you ever.”
He chuckles, and I grin again.
“When did you know?” I ask him, popping my head up to look at him.
“The first time I saw you,” he says as he brushes some hair away from my face.
“Seriously?” I ask, frowning as I try to remember when we first met.
“You were walking to get coffee at the café,” he explains. “I saw you from my window and I just knew I wanted you to be mine.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me out?” I question, feeling slightly offended that it took him so long to admit he liked me.
“Because I have trust issues and I’m a chickenshit,” he says.
“So that bitch ex of yours really fucked you up, huh?” I say as I practically snarl at the thought of this woman who could hurt Hutch like she did.
He laughs. “Calm down there, killer. It was more than that. Yes, she slept with my teammate. And honestly, considering all the crap that had happened, I might have been able to forgive her, but she made it clear she couldn’t be with me any longer.
It hurt like hell at the time, but I’m glad she left.
It’d have been worse if she stayed out of pity or loyalty and then kept cheating on me.
” He pauses, his face getting serious. “What was worse was that my family got all weird after the accident, and some of my former teammates ghosted me. I really didn’t know who I could trust for years.
And then I found everyone at one-eleven Hearts Lane, and slowly I began to trust them.
But I still didn’t feel ready for a relationship until you. ”
“It just took you like six months to figure that out,” I state.
He nods. “It took me this long to build up the courage to admit I wanted you. I think I couldn’t have dealt with the rejection before,” he confesses, and that makes my heart hurt for this man.
I run my fingers through his beard and cup his jaw. “I was a chickenshit too. Good old daddy issues.”
“Well, aren’t we a pair,” he teases.
“I suppose we are,” I reply as I move off him. “I’m going to change, OK.”
He nods, and I scamper upstairs and rinse off in record time, throwing on my pajamas and returning downstairs. Hutch has on his signature gray sweatpants and t-shirt. He lies down on the sofa, and instead of lying perpendicular with my head in his lap, I curl up next to him, or I try to.
“Come up here,” he demands as he pulls me on top of him. I lie down in between his legs and place my head on his chest. He pulls a blanket over us and turns on the television.
“What are we going to tell the others?” I ask.
“That we have decided to date,” he says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Do the guys know?” I ask.
He laughs. “I may have been persuaded by them to come talk to you.”
I start giggling and pop my head up to look at him. “Funny story, that same thing might have just happened with the ladies.”
“Oh?” he asks.
I nod.
“Well, that is a funny story. Guess we should thank them all for forcing our hands,” he says.
“It wasn’t really forced,” I start as I lay my head back down. “I was going to do it, eventually.”
He laughs again. “Oh?”
I poke his chest. “Shush. Now, find us a good movie.”
“Rom-com?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say as if there are no other movie genres.
He flips through some options, and we settle on The Hating Game. He runs his hands through my hair, massaging my scalp, and I feel my eyelids grow heavy.
“Hutch?” I whisper.
“Yes, baby,” he says. I like that he calls me that.
“This week all really happened, right? Because it feels like a dream,” I say on a yawn.
“You want me to pinch you?” he asks.
“No, but if it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up,” I say. His hand stops for a second, and I feel him lean forward and kiss the top of my head.
“Me either,” he admits, and my belly fills with butterflies.
“Why’d we have to wait for so many months? That was stupid of us,” I state.
“I agree. Maybe we should just stay here and have sex for the next thirty-six hours,” he teases. “You know, to make up for lost time.”
I poke him again. “Haha. Very funny.”
“Go to sleep,” he whispers and kisses my head again. And just like that. I close my eyes and fall asleep to the sounds of the movie and Hutch’s heart beating against me. Could things get any more perfect? Probably not.