Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1)

by Christina Hovland

He was such a bad liar.

  “You mean you’d get ink that doesn’t have special meaning?”

  He flinched. “Would you believe me if I told you I have a sudden interest in cartography?”

  “No,” she replied, shifting on top of him. “But maybe if I loosen you up, you might talk.”

  “Maybe.” He pulled at the collar of her V-neck blouse, glancing down her cleavage. “Depends on what you want to do.”

  “Well…” She walked her fingertips along his arm. “I read an article.”

  “Fuck.” He knifed up, sitting her across his lap and pinning her against his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re taking away coffee and sex.”

  She laughed and shoved at his arms. “No. Actually, it’s the opposite. Take off your shirt and your pants.”

  “See? Now, that’s the kind of article I could get on board with.” He yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

  Velma climbed off him and stood, pointing to his crotch. “Pants off before I get back.”

  “Aye, Captain.” The gleam in his eye said he enjoyed her commands.

  She hustled to the bedroom to grab the edible massage stuff she’d bought especially for tonight. Succulent Strawberry. Brek said he loved strawberries…guess she would find out if he meant it. He also said he preferred her without a top, so she tossed her cardigan to the chair and unbuttoned her blouse to pull it off. Ugh. Be brave, Velma. Try new things. Letting out a careful breath, she unclasped her bra and tossed it with her blouse. No lingerie tonight. She’d just go without a shirt, like he preferred. Her stomach dipped a bit with a combination of lust and uncertainty.

  Point one. The sex therapist who wrote the article suggested women should be brazen. Bold. Try new things that make you uncomfortable.

  Well, walking all over the house without a top on definitely qualified as making her uncomfortable. For good measure, she peeled off her panties but left her skirt on. That was from point number four. Let him help with some of the undressing.

  She squeezed color into her cheeks, checked the mirror, and arranged her hair so it had a messy, sexy vibe. Then, with all of the confidence she could muster, she gripped the bottle and marched back to the living room.

  Brek waited, sprawled naked on the couch. Holy crud, he had an amazing body. Thank goodness he had closed the curtains. The semidarkened room gave her a boost of confidence. Also, the neighbors in the building across the street wouldn’t be getting a show.

  Velma paused. She’d forgotten the candles. Darn it.

  Well, too late for that.

  Brek snapped to attention when she did her best attempt at a saunter. Sheesh, she was such a dope. No way could she pull this off.

  His eyes went wide, probably at the sight of her traipsing about with no bra. She channeled all the brazen she could find and straddled his thighs, flicking her hair over her shoulder, totally exposing her breasts.

  “What articles are you reading? Because I will buy you a lifetime subscription to that magazine.” He lifted his hands to her nipples, stroking them with the rough pads of his thumbs. She glanced to his erection.

  Point five. Put your mouth there. Yes, there.

  He’d gone down on her more than once, but she’d never had the courage to do it for him. She had kissed his…uh…penis a few times, but self-conscious fear always snuck in before she took it further.

  Her pulse kicked against her throat. She swallowed down her panic as her shins pressed into the leather of the couch. “I’m going to give you a blow job. But you have to swear you won’t laugh if I mess up.”

  Brek’s expression went blank. Like, totally blank. Nothing. Nada.

  Shoot.

  He didn’t want her to do this. Of course he didn’t. He had loads of experience with women who actually knew what to do. They didn’t get tips from articles and muck it up. The room got too hot, and her breath caught in her lungs. Embarrassment sizzled up her spine.

  “Never mind. I’m such an idiot.” She rose to run away. Probably to Alaska. She’d heard there was a fantastic ice museum in Kodiak.

  “You want to suck me off?” Confusion seeped into the words. “I thought you didn’t like that.”

  “No. I just…I don’t…I didn’t want to mess it up. I’m a disaster. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders sagged.

  “You are most definitely not a disaster.” He took her hand and wrapped it around the base of his shaft. “The article told you what to do? Or you want my pointers?”

  His erection twitched under her fingers. Her throat went dry. She should get a drink. Water was definitely needed right now.

  “V. The article? Told you what to do?”

  “Yes.” She mentally reviewed the main points: watch the teeth, focus on the rim, hand action at the base, and don’t deep throat unless your gag reflex can handle it. She didn’t trust hers enough to give that a go quite yet. She’d keep to the hand stimulation for now.

  “By all means, then. I look forward to being your test subject.” He leaned back against a pillow propped on the armrest, his fingers laced behind his head.

  Velma glanced down as the erection in her grip throbbed. She clicked open the plastic top of the bottle of clear strawberry-flavored liquid and dribbled a bit in her hand. She rubbed it over the base of his shaft, massaging down to his bits o’ glory as the article suggested. He groaned, and she looked up to his face. He bit his bottom lip and his eyelids drooped. Okay, so maybe she was off to a good start.

  Carefully, she dropped her mouth to him and traced her tongue along the edges, focusing on the soft crevice at the front. Succulent Strawberry was really very yummy. He thrust his hips up, his thickness sliding in her hand. She caught the rhythm and slipped her hand along the slick skin, working him with her tongue and fist like the article suggested.

  He groaned again.

  She smiled inside like a bare-chested goddess. Giving head was actually…fun. She worked her mouth over the tip, and Brek made noises she’d never heard before. Good noises. Sexy ones. Her nipples peaked and her breasts went heavy, need pooling intimately at her core. Brek gripped the armrest above his head, pressing his thigh up between her legs.

  Oh, glorious heavens. She was such a wanton. What. Ever. If this was bad, she didn’t have any desire to be a good girl ever again. Not when the way he rubbed her with his thigh spurred her to push him harder with her mouth.

  She lost her focus when he tangled his hands in the back of her hair. “Don’t know what your plans are, but I’m close.” His voice was ragged.

  Okay. Good. He’d given her warning. She had three choices: Swallow. Ew. No, thank you. Spit. Also kind of gross. Or…get creative.

  Still moving her tongue over him, she glanced about and looked at her chest. That would be creative. She reached for the strawberry stuff and squirted a stream between her breasts. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts together so they cradled his erection.

  His eyes popped open. “I think I’m living my favorite wet dream right now.”

  “I’m doing okay?” Her hand slid upward, rubbing over the places where she’d used her mouth.

  He dropped his head back and grunted a reply that sounded like a cuss word followed by “yeah.”

  The article was definitely a keeper. He met her rhythm and let out a moan as he finished.

  “Fair warning, I had an unhealthy fascination with your tits before, but now my obsession with them is gonna be off the charts.” Brek’s hands went under her armpits, dragging her up his body. She leaned up on her forearms and he grabbed his T-shirt and wiped off her chest. He didn’t seem to mind, but she totally owed him a new shirt.

  His arms crushed her, holding her against him. One hand stilled at the base of her neck, squishing her against the ink on his pecs. Broken breaths filled the air, and she felt his heart beat erratically.

  “The compass is so I can find my way back to you,” he announced.

  Her pulse skipped. What? Holy crap. She had to be misunderstanding him.


  “Brek?” She tried to raise her head. He held her tighter.

  “Also, I think my dick’s in love with you.” His voice strained with emotion.

  “Your”—she made a noise in the back of her throat; she’d just had it in her mouth, but she wasn’t ready to say the word—“is in love with me?”

  He paused. Her pulse hammered loud behind her ears. Neither of them spoke.

  He rubbed her neck with his fingertips, finally allowing her to lift her head and meet his gaze.

  “It happened shortly after I fell in love with you.” He’d gone pale again, and the vein in his throat pounded visibly.

  Her world slammed to a stop, spinning her right off into the black unknown. He loved her? A simple thank-you was all she’d expected for her efforts. Not this…

  “Brek—”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I know we agreed we wouldn’t do this. We were supposed to be temporary.”

  She swallowed the pressure in her throat, her lungs grasping for oxygen but only finding that the weight of the world had settled in her chest.

  “I guess that’s what happens, though. That’s what Pops told me. That you just know.”

  He’d talked to her grandfather about this? That must’ve been the religious experience they’d discussed earlier. He searched her face, looking for something. What? She had no idea.

  “Brek…” She glanced away, silent because, at that moment, she didn’t know anything. Words didn’t feel right. Not “I love you,” not “thank you,” not “let’s order takeout for dinner.”

  She hadn’t signed up to fall in love with someone so far removed from her carefully crafted plans. Someone temporary. Someone like him.

  Then again, she wouldn’t do what she’d just done to any of the guys who fit on her list. He sucked in a breath and held her tighter. All the words in the world aside, his embrace pulled her out of the black void and back into their reality.

  He flipped her on her back, rested her head on the couch pillow, and raised himself over the top of her, braced on his arms. “I like living here. You like me living here?”

  She glanced up to the ridiculous pigeon painting he had added above the mantel. The thing had grown on her.

  “Uh…yeah.” She couldn’t move, her body rigid. Where was he going with all of this?

  “You think you can handle being with a guy who rides a motorcycle?”

  “Your bike and I have become good friends.” She smiled in an attempt to release the tension inside.

  “Maybe you and I should look at that disability insurance bullshit… And I’ve gotta get a haircut.”

  “Brek, you don’t need to cut your hair.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t mind.”

  She raised her calf and rubbed it over the hair on the back of his leg. The pressure in her chest diffused a little once they were in the safe zone of conversation that had nothing to do with the three-word bomb he’d just dropped.

  “And I’ve still got my band and shi—stuff. The boys agreed to play a club in Denver next week, but I’ll get them settled and then I’ll be at your dinner. Being a band manager means I’ve gotta leave sometimes. But my job’s steady.” His expression was stone. “Steady income. Steady work. And I’ll have your compass to show me the way home.”

  He was coming back. He’d leave, like they’d planned, but he would return. Warmth spread through her. She ran her hands over the blank space on his shoulder where he said he would put the new tattoo.

  “Now I’m gonna go down on you. You good with that?” he asked.

  Time began moving again, towing her along for the ride. Her pulse still beat, Brek was still there, the three words hadn’t changed anything.

  Just everything.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 8 Days

  Velma reached for the platter as Jase’s brother Zak passed yet another cake—this one chocolate with mousse filling and berries. She took a slice for herself, knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat any. Nerves were getting the better of her tonight.

  Velma glanced around the overflowing dining room table at the Dvornakovs’s house. The family was extremely loud and daunting. Meeting Jase’s family was…she drew a deep breath and let it out…yeah. The interview/dinner was really more of a Russian family free-for-all with everyone talking over each other while the fancy-schmancy imported vodka flowed.

  Brek still hadn’t shown up.

  “You’re doing great,” Jase whispered in her ear.

  “Do you think Brek’s okay?” Velma glanced to the slice of strawberry crumb cake on her dessert plate.

  “Sometimes his job gets so crazy he can’t keep a schedule. It’s always been this way. What time was his meeting?” Jase raised his voice over his siblings who were arguing about something in Russian. Velma really hoped they weren’t fighting about hiring her.

  “He was supposed to be done three hours ago.” The Dimefront guys agreed to play tonight in Denver at one of the clubs. Brek said it’d remind them why they do the gigs, keep themselves clean. It was a huge breakthrough for Brek.

  Before the set, they were getting together for drinks and then he swore on his…manhood…that he’d meet Velma at the Dvornakovs’ as soon as he got them settled. She’d been a nervous wreck preparing for the evening.

  Velma lined up her dessert fork with the plate. “I’m starting to worry.”

  “Tellin’ ya, relax. He’s fine. Have some vodka.” He topped off the glass she had barely touched. “Takes all the worries away.”

  She pushed the drink toward him. “Can’t. I’m driving.”

  “Velma, relax. We don’t bite,” Anna hollered over the mayhem. Of the four Dvornakov children, Anna was the eldest—in charge of the Colorado Springs shops and extremely enthusiastic to have Velma managing their finances.

  Of course, relax, relax, relax. Velma drew in a deep breath and let it out.

  “She lies. Anna bites. I have the scars to prove it,” Zak, the youngest brother, chimed in. He leaned his arms across the width of the table, tapping at a small scar.

  Jase grabbed the forearm and studied the puckered mark. “Pretty sure he got that at a brothel in Belgium.”

  Velma shifted in her seat. Brek would know what to say to something like that. Her? Well, nothing came to mind. She glanced at the clock on the wall and back to the empty chair next to her—an exclamation point to the evening, since they were already at the dessert course.

  She dismissed her disappointment and shoved up the long sleeves of her striped dress, pointing to a small crescent-shaped scar on her elbow. “My twin sister bit me when I was ten. Three stitches.”

  “Sisters are the worst,” Zak agreed, tossing a smirk to Anna.

  “Badass. I hope you bit her back.” Jase raised his hand to give Velma a high five.

  She lightly tapped her palm to his.

  Her fingers itched to check her phone again, but that would be rude. She had looked at it ten minutes ago when she’d slipped off to the bathroom—for the third time in an hour. Brek hadn’t reached out, and he wasn’t answering her calls and texts.

  “Can I just point out how much I love that Jase got a financial planner who shows her scars at dinner?” Anna raised her glass in a toast. “To Velma. I think it’s fair to say we’re all on board for working with you.”

  “Velma, ven is the vedding?” Babushka rasped in her thick accent. She sat across the table as she spooned strawberry sauce onto her plate.

  “Sorry?” Velma asked, scooting in so she could hear the old woman better.

  “You and our Jason, you vill be married soon, yes?” Babushka raised a bushy eyebrow.

  Velma frowned. She must have misheard.

  “And then the grandchildren vill come.” Babushka clapped her hands and stood, raising her glass. She tapped a spoon against the side. The rowdy table went silent.

  “A toast, to my future granddaughter. May she and Jason be happy forever and have many babies.”
She smiled a toothy grin and beamed at Velma.

  Jase choked on a bit of cake and grabbed Velma’s vodka, downing it in three gulps and banging on his chest. Velma glanced around the table at the shocked faces.

  “You’re a couple?” Jase’s father asked, confusion marking his expression.

  “Velma’s not my girlfriend,” Jase said on a wheeze.

  “We’re not together.” Velma shook her head against the sudden urge to climb under the tablecloth and hide. “I’m seeing Brek.”

  “She’s Brek’s girl, Babushka.” Anna laid a hand on the elderly woman’s shoulder.

  “No,” Babushka replied, pointing a crooked finger at Velma and giving her a good once-over. “You are not girl for Brek.” She gestured to Jase. “She is girl for you.”

  Jase scrubbed a hand over his face. “Babushka—”

  “She’s not exactly Brek’s type.” Anna wiped her lips with her napkin.

  Velma’s heart sank. Of course she knew this. She didn’t need it rubbed in.

  “Too much sophisticated for him.” Babushka shoved a forkful of cake in her mouth.

  “I’ve seen some of Brek’s hookups. They’re nothing like you,” Anna assured.

  “They’re hella fun to look at, though,” Zak replied. “There was this one time he came to the shop with—”

  “Shut up, idiot.” Jase reached across the table to smack Zak across the head.

  Velma caught her breath. She so didn’t want to think about Brek’s type or the girls he used to sleep with.

  “You’re not one of his hookups. It’s a good thing. Have more dessert.” Anna scooted the strawberry cake toward Velma.

  “This girl, she does not deny. Jason, you will buy her kol’tso and make children for me to spoil.” Babushka nodded.

  “I’m not buying her a ring.” Jase dropped his forehead to his hand. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Mama, leave the kids alone. This is a business dinner,” Jase’s father boomed.

  Babushka snorted in reply and went back to stabbing at her cake.

  Velma poked at a berry on her plate with a fork, her chest heavy. Brek said he loved her, so the words from a confused old woman and Jase’s sister shouldn’t have had any impact.