Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
JOSIE
C hristopher kept his word last night, opting for a head massage that had my eyes crossed, and doing everything shy of eating me out to make me break.
His lips caressed every inch of my body, leaving small hickies all over my body and I couldn't help but wonder if he was intentionally teasing me with the occasional flick of his fingers over my clit as he washed my body, knowing how badly I wanted him and chuckling when I shuddered.
But I stayed strong, resisting the intense desire thrumming through my body, so he would have to worship me, because for some reason I had a praise kink when it came to Christopher Jackson. I wanted him to be proud of me.
Last night, Christopher didn’t even bother giving me a jersey. Instead, he’d smirked and muttered something about how my body was far too gorgeous to ever be covered in anything but his cum. My cheeks had burned bright red, and I’d smacked him with a pillow before collapsing into giggles. Eventually, I drifted off, curled up in his arms, feeling completely content .
But now? Oh, now I am dying. The weight of his 250 pounds of solid muscle pins me to the mattress, his arm a heavy, immovable force draped across my waist. The morning sun blazes through the floor-to-ceiling windows, washing the room in golden light and making my eyes water. Yet Christopher is blissfully unaffected, snoring softly, the sound a low rumble against my ear. Adorable, but also maddeningly persistent.
Groaning softly, I wriggle out from under his arm, the motion barely stirring him. My bladder has other demands, and they aren’t ones I can ignore any longer. Naked, I tiptoe into the bathroom, shivering slightly as I hurry to the toilet, feeling the morning chill against my skin. Once I’m finished and my bladder no longer threatens to burst, I wash my hands and look around, trying to figure out where Christopher might keep his clothes because I cannot wear that skin tight, leather dress this early in the morning.
Padding back into his room, I approach his tall, dark dresser, one drawer slightly ajar. I can’t help the curiosity that flutters through me as I pull it open a little more. Inside, everything is neatly folded—this man’s discipline clearly extends beyond the rink—and I rifle through the stack until I find what I’m searching for.
The Mississippi Titans hockey jersey is baby blue, bold with the team’s logo in a dark green and white. When I lift it, the soft material brushes over my hands, and the scent hits me immediately: smokey and crisp, like a campfire on a winter’s day. It’s enormous, the fabric thick and well-worn from countless practices and games.
I pull it over my head, and it practically swallows me. The hem drapes down to my mid-thigh, and the neckline slips off one shoulder. I tug at the sleeves, which drape past my fingers, and roll them up before using ponytail holders from my hair to hold them in place. My toes are always freezing, so I rummage through his drawers for a pair of socks. As I slip on his massive socks, it all makes sense—no wonder his dick barely fits in my mouth. Does this guy wear a size 14 shoe? I bunch up the socks around my ankles for extra warmth.
Satisfied with my makeshift outfit, I tiptoe downstairs, each step creaking slightly underfoot. My stomach growls and I start to investigate where the hell the kitchen could be in a house this huge. Determined, I make a sharp right at the bottom of the stairs and start to hunt for where the kitchen is.
I move through the hallways, peeking into rooms—a home gym, a small office, a sitting room filled with bookshelves—but the kitchen remains elusive.
Just as I’m about to give up and wake up Christopher, a voice from behind makes me jump nearly out of my skin. “So… you’re Josie?”
I whirl around, my heart pounding, to find Abby, Christopher's niece standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. She’s petite, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with wavy ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, sharp brown eyes, and a confident stance that seems far too grown-up.
“Uh, hi,” I say, clutching the too-big jersey around me. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Abby raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did I? Sorry.” she says, though she doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. Her eyes narrow a little as she looks me up and down. “But you shouldn’t be snooping around our house. ”
I cough, shifting on my feet, because it totally looks like I am snooping. “I am looking for the kitchen. I wanted to make your Uncle breakfast!” I smile, in a way that feels strange to my mouth, and she returns her smile tightly.
“Right…I’ll show you the kitchen.” She nods towards the hallway, and I am silently guided to the kitchen. Her head held high and me embarrassed to have been snooping in her Uncle’s jersey sans underwear.
After two left turns down a short hallway, we reach the kitchen and the space is a dream: stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and an island big enough to host a small dinner party. Sunlight pours through the windows, and I feel more at home here, especially knowing what I’m about to make.
“Wow,” I gasp, looking around, before turning back to her. “Thanks.”
“So,” she shrugs, ignoring my gratitude and leaning against the counter. “Are you and my Uncle dating?”
The way she says dating makes it sound like something dangerous or disgusting, and I fumble for a response. “Well, I mean, yes. We’re… figuring things out.” I try to sound confident, but her glare makes me feel like I’ve been put under a microscope.
She tilts her head. “He really likes you, you know,” she says, her tone guarded.
I blink, surprised. It’s the first time anyone has said anything about Christopher liking me, and given that his niece knows about me. I would bet hard cold cash that this is more than like. “I know.” I say earnestly, “ I like him too.”
Abby studies me for a moment, then sighs, “Good, so, how are you going to impress my Uncle with breakfast?” Abby asks, leaning against the counter with a smirk.
“Pancakes,” I say, with a smile. “I make killer pancakes.”
Abby crosses her arms and watches me work, her eyes narrowing slightly, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her expression. “Uncle doesn’t like pancakes,” she says, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
I grin and begin searching through cabinets, pulling out flour, sugar, and baking powder, and lining them up on the counter. “Trust me. He will like these, it’s a secret family recipe.”
She huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t be mad if he spits it out.”
“Oh, I will totally be mad, but he is not going to spit them out,” I nod, looking at all of the ingredients. “Now pass me some milk and eggs, please and thank you.”
We fall into a comfortable rhythm. I talk her through the steps, letting her crack eggs into the bowl while I rummage through the fridge for milk and butter. I pass her the whisk, and she starts mixing the batter until it’s smooth. The more we chat, the more I notice her guard slipping, bit by bit. As I pour the first pancake onto the griddle, Abby gets a message on her phone. She opens it, scoffs and then sucks her teeth as she pushes the phone away.
“Okay, spill it, nothing that’s not totally crazy or juicy drama makes a girl act like that.” I say, glancing over my shoulder at her.
Abby looks taken aback for a second, but then she bites her lip, her eyes softening. “It’s stupid,” she mutters. “You don’t want to hear about my boy problems, besides I have to go back. Uncle Chris said so. ”
“Well,” I counter, checking the edges of the pancake. “That’s the great thing about your Uncle having me. I can convince him to do things, if there is a valid reason to break out my puppy dog eyes.”
She rolls her eyes but finally gives in, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “It’s about this guy, Ricardo. He was, well, my boyfriend… until like two weeks ago”
I pause in the middle of flipping a pancake, raising an eyebrow. “Two weeks? What happened?”
Abby sucks her teeth again, clearly agitated. “Well, apparently I wasn’t good enough for him anymore, so he’s moved on to some other girl. They’re all over each other, and I just—ugh!” She throws her hands up in the air in frustration. “To make it official, his new girlfriend, my freaking friend, threw a tray of spaghetti at my head in the middle of lunch. Like, who does that?”
My heart sinks for her. The image of Abby, caught in that moment of humiliation, hits hard. Being dumped is bad enough, but publicly? In front of everyone? That’s cruel. "What a dick and a bitch," I mutter, pouring more batter onto the griddle. “No one deserves that.”
Abby leans against the counter, trying to act casual, but I can see how much it’s bothering her. "I know, right? I don’t know if I should be mad at him, her or just at myself.”
I turn around, setting the spatula down, my expression softening as I meet her gaze. “Abby, don’t be mad at yourself,” I say, my voice steady. “You were being trusting. You gave him a chance, and that’s something not a lot of people do anymore. That’s not a weakness, that’s… well, that's just being human.”
She looks down at the counter, biting her lip, but I can tell she’s not entirely convinced. I sigh and walk over to her, gently touching her arm. “And as for your ‘friend’—a real friend wouldn’t do that. No one should humiliate you like that, not in front of everyone. That’s not friendship, that’s betrayal.”
Abby scoffs and crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her brows furrowing. “Yeah, well, I guess I just feel like an idiot for trusting both of them like they were hanging out alone to do a project maybe I should have--.”
I shake my head, making sure she’s looking at me. “No. Trusting people is never the mistake. The mistake is in trusting the wrong people. And you didn’t know. You weren’t supposed to. But that doesn’t make you dumb. It just makes you someone who believes in the good in people, and that’s rare, Abby. So don’t regret that.”
She blinks a couple of times, like my words are slowly sinking in. For a moment, there’s quiet between us, the sound of the griddle sizzling softly as I finish off the pancakes. I can tell she’s thinking, weighing what I said.
“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to look at them now, you know?” she mutters, her voice small. “Ricardo and Lena… I thought we were all friends. Now, it’s just like, everything I thought I knew about them is… fake.”
I nod, picking up a pancake with the spatula and gently sliding it onto the plate. “I get it. But sometimes, people show their true colors in the worst way possible. What you do with that, how you move forward—that’s what matters. And you’ll be okay, just go back to school with your head held high.”
Abby’s expression softens, her shoulders relaxing as the anger slowly fades. She exhales deeply, “I can see why my Uncle likes you. ”
I give her a small smile, brushing some stray hair behind my ear. “Well your Uncle never listens to my advice.”
“He should, because you rock,” Abby says, her tone softening a bit, “but, I wouldn’t be doing my niece duties if I didn’t look out for him, because he really deserves someone good. He’s so awesome, so like don’t be a dick. Don’t break his heart.”
“I won’t. I promise.” I reply, my voice gentle, and for some reason I really believe what I am saying right now, and I hope Abby believes me but also that Chris knows I won’t hurt him.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Well thanks for the dating advice, Uncle Chris was promoting sabotage and I don’t want to get expelled.”
I laugh, flicking a pancake at her playfully. “Hey, for the record, so your Uncle doesn’t kill me, I’m not going to give you any dating advice—unless it’s how to avoid guys who throw spaghetti at you, of course.”
Abby snorts, looking down at the stack of pancakes next to me, but I can see a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re kind of funny, don’t let my Uncle’s grumpiness rub off on you.”
I shrug nonchalantly, grabbing the syrup from the cabinet. “I’m multifaceted like that. Serious and funny. Sometimes even a little sarcastic.”
Her grin widens. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Just as I’m about to set the syrup down on the counter, the kitchen door opens, and Christopher walks in, looking wide awake now, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me. His expression softens immediately, his gaze warming, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Morning, ladies,” he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he walks over to the counter where I’m standing, his presence filling up the space. He leans down and brushes a quick kiss on my cheek before eyeing the stack of pancakes. “Smells good in here,” he murmurs. “You’ve been busy.”
I laugh, as he reaches over my head and grabs a stack of plates. “Yeah, see my mom calls these,” I lower my voice trying so Abby can’t hear. “Fuck me good pancakes. It’s a true honor for you to have them.”
He takes the plate with a smirk, leaning against the counter beside me. “Mmm so what do I get after tonight?”
My proposal for marriage. My cheeks flame red and Christopher throws a wink at me.
Abby snickers from the side, clearly enjoying the playful banter. “You two are capital G , gross.”
Christopher just raises an eyebrow at her. “I can show you gross.”
Abby freezes, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face. “You—” She glares at him. “Better not!.”
Christopher smirks, clearly entertained by her reaction. He leans in closer to me, his lips hovering near my ear as he lowers his voice. “I’ll just save it for you later, babe.”
Before I can respond, Abby lets out a dramatic huff, grabbing her plate. “I’m taking my pancakes to go,” she declares, turning on her heel and marching toward the door.
“Leaving in thirty minutes!” Christopher calls after her, his voice laced with amusement .
Abby doesn't look back, muttering under her breath as she exits. I can’t help but smile, and playfully push Christopher away making him chuckle.
“Now, about those pancakes,” Christopher says, returning his focus to me as Abby’s footsteps fade. He sets the plate down and takes a seat, his eyes never leaving mine.
I slide the pancakes on the plate along with syrup and butter and slide the plate closer to him, smiling at the slight mischief in his gaze. “Here you go. They are a family recipe.”
Christopher takes a bite, his gaze intense, his lips curling slightly. “Hmm. They’re good, but,” he leans closer, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I know something that tastes better.”