Chapter 8
EIGHT
My heart is beating so fast, I’m certain she can hear it. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my skin tingles as Whitney straddles me again.
I’m so close to coming, and I’m not even inside her yet.
“How do you want to do this?” Whitney asks, looking more nervous than I feel.
“I can’t believe I’m the one telling you this, but relax.” I glide my hand around to the nape of her neck and thread my fingers through her thick hair. “I may not be experienced, but I know how this works.”
“Porn?” She grins at me with a little of her usual spark of excitement.
I chuckle softly and bring my mouth to hers. If she only knew how many times I’ve thought about this. Not having sex for the first time with some random girl, but me and her. Basically, since the moment I met her, she’s occupied every dirty thought I’ve had and plenty of clean ones too.
Her body melts into mine, and she presses her tits into my chest, grinding against my dick in the process.
“I’m not going to last if you keep rubbing that perfect pussy all over me.” The words come out almost without effort. It’s a strange, beautiful thing that’s likely a result of all the blood rushing to my dick and my brain completely shutting off. I nip at her full bottom lip.
“That’s okay. I’m already close again.”
“Thank fuck.” I lift her and line myself up before slowly pushing into her tight heat.
Whitney wraps her arms around my neck. I move my mouth to one nipple, licking a circle around the tight bud as she shudders and lowers onto me.
White-hot need wraps around my spine when she’s fully seated. She’s squeezing me like a vise and I’m throbbing, aching to move. In my head, I’m already making promises that if I’m lucky enough to do this with her again, I’ll take my time.
Whitney locks onto my stare. Her words come out breathless and strained, but the concern on her face is apparent. “Are you okay?”
“Never been better.” Which is one hundred percent true.
At least until she lifts her hips, slowly releasing me, then lowering down and taking me again.
A new kind of pleasure hums through my veins and heats my insides.
I still don’t move, but it isn’t easy to hold back.
I let her set the pace and enjoy the way her emotions play out on her face.
Lips curved, eyes hooded, body trembling. She’s exquisite.
“Wow. I . . .” She trails off with a moan. “I’m right there. I . . . oh . . . yes.” She rides me harder, using me to chase her release.
I lose the fight with myself and drive up my hips from underneath. That seems to be all she needs from me to get there because she sucks in a sharp breath and then stills.
“Conrad!” Whitney’s fingers dig into my shoulders as she holds herself upright while her orgasm renders her motionless.
I don’t stop, determined to drag every ounce of pleasure out of her. I’m so concentrated on her that it isn’t until the roar of my own voice alerts me that I’m gone too. A haze clouds my vision as a jolt of electricity shoots up my spine.
That sets off either another orgasm or aftershocks of the same one, and Whitney bites down on my collarbone as she clenches around my dick.
“Holy shit.” She starts laughing even as her body continues to tremble, and she lazily rides me. “I’m not sure I believe that you haven’t done this before.”
She lingers there, my cock still buried in her for a few more seconds, before she lifts off me carefully and flops onto the bed beside me, arms and legs outstretched like a starfish.
Her chest heaves, making her tits bounce with every breath.
Whitney turns to look at me. Those dark brown eyes sparkle.
She sits up as quickly as she fell back and kisses me.
When she pulls back, she asks, “All good?”
The words once again feel difficult to translate from brain to mouth, but I force myself to speak. “Good is not the right word.”
She lets out one of her signature small laughs, but I’m not even close to kidding. Saying it was the best sex of my life isn’t the compliment I wish it was, but fuck, how is anything going to compare?
“Be right back,” she says, disappearing into what I think is an attached bathroom.
Whitney returns as I’m buttoning my jeans. She’s dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail, smiling right at me. I don’t know what the protocol here is. I didn’t ask her out thinking this is how the night would end, but now I don’t know where to go from here.
One thing is bothering me though.
“Why don’t you date hockey players?” I ask as I pick up my shirt from the floor.
“Oh. That.” She glances away, then back at me. “It started when I was a kid. The boys on my team didn’t take me seriously if they thought of me as a potential girlfriend, you know?”
I don’t, but I can imagine.
“And now?”
“I’m not sure. It’s hard to remember right now.” Her stare drops to my chest, and she grins. Whitney leans against the doorjamb and then lifts a hand to hide a small yawn. “Sorry. Long week.”
“It’s okay. I should get going anyway. We have a string of away games this week.” I pull my shirt over my head. “But I’d love to see you again if the no hockey player ban is over.”
“Maybe.”
It isn’t a yes, but I’ll take it. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay.” She nods, smile lifting higher, then pushes off the doorway. I follow her out of the bedroom. My steps slow when I spot a framed jersey hanging in the hallway. But when I get a clearer look at it, my feet won’t move.
“You really are a Houston fan,” I say suddenly, remembering that Grady had mentioned it during the camp. I waved it off then.
“Yep. All my life.” She glances at the jersey and then keeps walking.
I still don’t move. I can’t. Something unsettling drops like a pit in my stomach.
“And you’re a fan of Victor Aven?” Of all the guys to like she has Victor fucking Aven’s jersey hanging in her house? It seems so unlikely. Why him? Anyone but him.
“I take it you aren’t,” she says—less of a question than a statement.
“I don’t want to ruin the illusion you have of the guy, but he’s a total asshole.”
I don’t enjoy being the one to tell her, but if she follows hockey news at all she’d have to know that he’s widely regarded as the most unlikable player.
Everyone hates him. But especially me. I’ve known jerks like Victor my whole life.
Arrogant and snide, cutting other players down to make themselves look better.
Bullies. Unfortunately, they don’t go away after high school.
If she’s at all surprised by this news, she doesn’t show it. Whitney looks to the jersey and holds for a moment before her stare comes back to me. “I know what people think about him.”
“But you’re still a fan?”
She confirms with a nod. “Since we were kids.”
My brows pull together as I struggle to decipher her meaning. Victor’s only a couple years older than me. How is it possible that she’s been following him that long?
She lets out a breath. “He’s my brother.”