4. Bridget #2
“No, I don’t tell the women I want to stay friends with that I’m into them while they’re straddling me, especially after their fingers have grazed my stick.
I’m trying to establish a boundary that includes sex.
” He proceeds to somehow remove my blouse while still maintaining a minimal space between us and holding my gaze.
“Okay, first of all, I was doing my job—it’s not my fault your stick is so substantial.
” I squeeze my upper thighs around that monumental gear as I make my point.
“Secondly, are you assuming I want to date you?” My hands explore the vast landscape of Craig’s chest over his T-shirt and slowly begin to rock my hips, just the tiniest bit.
“I do not date hockey players. I date stoner-artist types who can’t find the city of Vancouver or my G-spot. I thought I made that clear.”
“You did.” He strokes the exposed skin of my waist with his thumbs, steadily traces concentric circles and just this…
just this is doing it for me. That rough skin on my soft skin when he’s being so gentle.
“I’m just trying to be clear about what I want and what I’m not looking for,” he continues. “And I want to get you naked. Soon.”
“Okay. Hang on. I thought I was offended, but I think I like this.”
“Good.”
I slip my hands under his shirt, finding his abs, and dear lord, have mercy. This is not something I have actually felt before. “You’re saying you just want to hook up tonight and that’s it?”
Our faces are still less than an inch apart when he skims his palms across both my nipples.
I’m not wearing a bra, and the fabric of my camisole is a thin barrier between my erect nipple and the palm of his hand.
I want those hands on me so badly, and if he’s going to tease me I don’t think I can handle it.
“I want to hook up tonight,” he says, as calmly and politely as if he’s ordering off a take-out menu.
Meanwhile, I’m quivering, like Just order the special!
We’ll be ready in five minutes! “If you enjoy yourself, then maybe we can hook up again while I’m in town. But I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”
“Great. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, but I would like to touch your butt, in extremely unprofessional ways.”
“I think we’re on the same page.” He starts kneading one of my breasts through my cami, thank God, while twisting the other nipple.
My dad always used to talk about how amazing it was to watch Craig Bowman’s stillness in front of the net.
Always ready for explosive action. I’m trying to match his stillness, but I am so ready for the action.
Gasping and sighing, I fight to catch my breath before saying, “Got it.” I explore farther up his abs to his pecs, and holy shit, they need their own postal codes. “No strings. No feelings. No expectations. Just sex.”
“Just great sex.” His hands slide up my chest, my neck to cup the back of my head. “That’s the page.”
“Got it. I’m on that page. As long as it’s great sex. If it’s average, I—”
I don’t get to finish that sentence because Craig finally closes the distance between our mouths.
Not crashing into me so much as claiming me.
His hands are all up in my hair, but his arms are caging me in and I don’t hate it.
I relax into it. The rolling tide of his full lips, the sensual exploration of his tongue, the ever hardening length of him between my legs.
He is a surprisingly passionate kisser, and I have no doubt he would be able to find Vancouver with his eyes closed and he wouldn’t need a GPS app to locate my clitoris.
He tugs my hair, pulling my head back as he kisses down my neck.
I cling to his shoulder with one hand, arching backward as he pulls down one strap of my camisole and cups my breast, circling the nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth with a groan that melts all my internal organs.
This is an elite-level making-out session.
I was expecting a sudden attack and then a feeding frenzy like what’s been happening on the big screen, but this is, I think, just the appetizer.
He is pacing himself for the main course, and it’s doing something to my body that I’ve never experienced before.
I want him. I want him so much, I think I might be in trouble.
“Fuck, Bridget, you’re so beautiful. I’m gonna carry you to the bedroom, okay?”
“Yes. Yes, do that.”
Craig kisses my mouth again and carefully slides the camisole strap back up to my shoulder before standing.
His hands cup my ass, and I wrap my legs around his waist, circle my arms around his neck, flick at his earlobe with my tongue and nip at it, coaxing out another groan.
He carries me down a hall, turning into a dark room.
He reaches for a light switch with one hand.
I think his erection might be holding me up while he turns the overhead lights on dim.
Then he carries me to the bed and places me on the mattress.
He shows no signs of that being strenuous at all, and I just want him to carry me everywhere all the time.
But I also want him to fuck me.
I, however, can feel my heart racing, and there is tension and warmth pooling between my inner thighs in a way that’s unfamiliar to me.
He reaches down to remove his socks, left first, then right, and places them side by side on the rug next to where he’s standing.
I lie back, hoist myself up onto my elbows, and watch as Craig reaches back to pull his shirt off over his head.
My jaw drops. What a magnificent torso. Just. Really.
Wow. The perfect smattering of dark chest hair across his pecs.
I feel like I should high-five him, but his hands are busy pulling the waistband of his sweatpants away from his body so he can get it over the bulge in his boxer briefs.
He’s watching me the whole time. He steps out of the sweatpants, reaches into his underwear, and adjusts his erection so it’s pointing up and held in by the waistband of the gray boxer briefs, but oh golly, the head of his cock cannot be contained.
Hello, Craig Bowman’s crown. You’re a big boy and I’m a little nervous, but we’ll make this work.
I realize I’m licking my lips and my mouth is watering.
He notices this too and smirks. He combs his fingers through his wavy brown hair, giving me a breathtaking view of his triceps, and then dips down to unbutton and unzip my jeans.
I raise my hips so he can pull them down and peel them off of me.
Instead of letting them fall to the floor, he folds them and places them next to his stack of folded clothing.
He strokes his chin as his gaze travels from my panties, down my legs. “Fucking gorgeous.” He strokes his balls and shaft and then leans in again to pull my camisole up and over my head. “What do you want from me tonight, Bridget?”
I swallow hard. Oh gosh, now I’m the one who has to order off the menu. “Um. Sex?”
“Yes. Your tits are stunning. Give me specifics.”
“Thank you.” Well, now I’m feeling bolder by the minute. “I want to feel your hands all over my bare skin. And then I want you to fuck me.”
“Yes.” His facial expression barely reveals that he’s doing mental sex math, but I can tell there are calculations floating around behind that wrinkled forehead of his as he scans my mostly naked body.
Slowly, he curls his hands under the backs of my knees and pulls me to the edge of the mattress and then he kneels on the floor, between my legs.
Reaching for the back of my neck again, he pulls me so I’m sitting up.
I glance down at the engorged head of his cock.
It’s like at the beginning of Jaws when you only see the fin.
Dun. Dun dun. Dun dun dun. With reverence, he places his fingertips in the center of my forehead and then skims them down the side of my face, slow enough for me to feel it. His big, callused fingers.
He leans in to nip at my lower lip as he sweeps his fingertips down my jaw, my neck, my shoulders, down the sides of my arms. When he reaches my hands, he lifts them to his mouth and kisses the backs of each of them.
Then he places my hands on his shoulders and circles his finger tips around my breasts.
When he cups my tits I realize how huge they are right now.
My entire body is swollen. Flushed and becoming more of a woman for him because he’s the most man I have ever been with.
He palms my breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, and I lose the ability to hold my head up.
His rough skin against my soft flesh feels lustful even when he’s taking his time.
“You like the way it feels, Bridget?”
“Yes.”
“I fucking love the way you feel in my hands.” He drags the palms of his hands down the sides of my waist and flicks his tongue at my nipple, holds my wrists, and lets gravity take me down to the mattress again.
There’s a low rumble in his throat when I feel his hands on my hips.
I can’t open my eyes or lift my head to look down, but his thumb brushes against my clit over my panties. “Jesus, you’re wet for me.”
I make some kind of whimpering sound and cover my face with my forearms. He’s slowly pulling my panties down.
I was not expecting a human man to stare into my lady region tonight, but this is happening and at least I shaved my legs this morning.
I wriggle around, squeezing my inner thighs together, because the pressure, oh God, the throbbing pressure, the slippery warm goodness.
He skates his hands down my thighs and my shins to my ankles. His breathing rate is finally starting to catch up with mine. He presses a kiss against my right calf and hooks both of my legs over his shoulders.
Woooo! Here we go!
“You’re really wet, baby, but I need to make sure you’re ready for me.”
“’Kay,” I squeak.