I shriek and giggle, then sigh as his lips find my neck. “Did you have fun with the girls tonight?” he asks.
“Uh-huh. Did you have fun with the boys?”
“I woulda rather been here with you. Or at my place with you.”
“You’re here with me now.”
His hips are pressed against my ass. I can feel him, but he doesn’t seem hard. At least I don’t think he is. I can’t tell through all the unfortunate layers of clothing, and he’s not doing his typical grind. I try to flip over under him so I can see his face, but he presses his hips into me, keeping me face down. Now I can feel him. He’s definitely not as excited as usual.
He sits back on his knees, straddling me, and slides his palms under my shirt. His rough, hot hands glide heavily up my back. He gives my shirt a tug, and I raise my arms over my head so he can take it off.
The next thing I feel are his lips at the top of my spine, followed by the press of his cheek between my shoulder blades. It’s intimate and sweet and confusing. I don’t know what’s going on tonight. We started out with such a bang—or at least I did—and now I feel uncertain about everything. He kisses a path down my vertebrae and back up, one hand curled around my shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down along my nape.
I should be enjoying this soft, unhurried contact, but it’s unusual, and being around three women in highly defined relationships makes it glaringly obvious that’s not what I have. Or it’s not what we’ve said I have. At this point I’m lost because my previous relationship had very little of this involved. It shouldn’t matter. I should just enjoy it, but I’m not used to this kind of undefined status. The longer we keep it up, the harder it is to keep my emotions separate.
I push back the worries about what’s coming after this holiday and focus instead on being with him while I can.
“Randy?” I crane to look at him, but all I get is a view of his tattooed hand in my peripheral vision.
“Mmmm?”
“Let me up.”
He freezes. “What?”
“I wanna turn over.”
He hesitates. And sighs. Then he rises enough that I can flip over under him. I’m super quick, sliding out like a snake before he can trap me again. He looks worried, and for the first time ever, vulnerable. Maybe if I get naked first, he’ll want to follow.
I shimmy my pants over my hips, then follow with my panties. Now I’m naked, and he’s still fully dressed. His eyes are on me, hot, needy. This is the Randy I’m used to—the one who’s more animal than man in bed. I can work with this.
I get up on my knees, mirroring his position. Except I’m more than six inches shorter than he is, so I’m staring at his chest. His shirt-covered chest. I remedy that problem, drawing it up over his head. He takes over when I get to his shoulders, pulling it off and tossing it over the side of the bed. I’d like to move right in on the belt, but I’m thinking that’ll make him jumpy. Also, it’s hypocritical of me to think I can forgo the foreplay, since Randy makes sure we get it every single time.
I run my hands up his chest, circle his little man nipples with my fingernails and follow with my lips. I’m rewarded with one of his deep groans. Nice. He must like this a lot. While I distract him with my mouth, I manage to get his belt undone. I carefully flick the button on his jeans and drag the zipper down.
I look up, fingertips brushing the head of his cock through his boxers. “Can I take these off?”
Again, there’s hesitation. Eventually he nods, and I push his jeans over his hips, leaving his boxer briefs on. He tries to pull me down on top of him, but I straddle him and put a hand on the center of his chest. Circling my hips, I lean in slowly and brush my lips over his. “Randy.”
He skims my sides. “Hmm?”
I’m not much of a dirty talker. I’ve never felt confident enough to pull it off. I’m going to try now, though. “I want your cock in my mouth.”
Randy stills, and his eyes flare with panic. “You don’t need to do that.” It comes out all gravelly.
“I know, but I want to.” I bite my lip. I’m definitely feeling less than confident with the way he seems so uncertain. I’m not sure how I’ll feel if he rejects me.
“It’s really not nec—”
“Please?” If someone ever told me I’d beg to give a blow job, let alone to a professional hockey player, I would’ve laughed at them. Before it was curiosity that had me wanting to perform this act, now it’s a genuine desire to return all the favors.
Randy glances over at the bathroom where light filters through, cutting a line across the bed. When he doesn’t say yes or no, I start kissing a path down his throat, going lower, stopping at his nipples before I continue to the mysterious beast in his boxers.
I reach the waistband and peek up at him. His expression is tight, a combination of anticipation and what appears to be terror. I can’t understand what would be terrifying about getting head, unless sharp teeth are involved. I kiss the pale scar a few inches from his left hip and push his boxers down.
He’s maybe semi-hard. Every other muscle in his body is locked tight. His hands are balled into fists at his sides.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, exhaling a long breath.
“You think me sucking you off is a bad idea?” I’m glad it’s dark, because I’m blushing at my own words.