by Lili Valente
“What does he smell like?”
She cocks her head. “A little like the cafeteria, because school cafeteria smell never completely comes out of wool, but mostly like cologne and grass and the air right before it snows.”
“Nice.” Ugh. Not nice. Repulsive is more like it. My irrational loathing for Roger grows with every word out of her pretty mouth, but still I ask, “And how do you feel while you’re walking?”
“Good. Relaxed, but excited, too. He holds my hand and I know that we’re going to kiss soon, but I’m not afraid.”
“Keep going,” I encourage, forcing myself to keep my tone soft and supportive, even as I realize I really don’t want to hear about how fucking amazing it is to make out with Roger. I don’t want to hear Libby talk about kissing anyone, honestly.
But you would like to know what she tastes like, what it feels like when her lips part and she lets you into her mouth.
I clear my throat, fighting another rogue wave of awareness as Libby starts to speak in this husky voice that does nothing to stem the tide.
“We stop on a deserted street corner near the park. Everything is quiet. It’s late on a weeknight and we’re alone. I look up at him and tell him that I want to be more than friends.” Her eyelids flutter like they do in REM sleep, but remain closed, making me think her visualization is getting pretty intense. “He says he feels the same way and then he kisses me.”
“What’s it like?” I ask, my body responding to the sexy way she drags her teeth over her bottom lip in response.
“His lips are warm and his arms are tight around me, but not too tight.” Her breath starts to come faster as she adds, “And now I’m putting my arms around his neck and he keeps kissing me and then…”
“And then?” This is turning into an exercise in torture, but I can’t help myself. I want to hear what happens next. I want to know what it feels like when she lets a kiss become something more.
“And then, I…” Her tongue slips out, wetting her lips. “And then I start to get stiff, tighten up.”
“No, you don’t, Libby.”
“Yes, I do.” Her brow furrows. “I remember that we’re on a sidewalk in the middle of the city. We’re not really alone. Someone might see us. I try to tell Roger, but—”
“No one’s going to see. This is your world. You’re calling the shots.”
“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head. “And now I just bit Roger’s tongue! Oh my God, now he’s bleeding and looking at me like I’m crazy. Like I did it on purpose!”
“No, no, no. Hit rewind, Libs.” I scoot closer, until our knees almost touch. “Hit stop and rewind. Everything was going fine, you just need to relax.”
“I can’t,” she says, her breath rushing out. “I’m the worst kisser ever, and Roger is going to file assault charges. I’m going to end up in jail, and it’s your fault for building up my confidence and making me a menace to society.”
I fight a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Libs.”
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m not, I’m not. Just focus on your breath again,” I say, doing my best to get her back on the rails. “Concentrate on long, slow inhalations and—”
“I can’t.” Her voice breaks, and her next words emerge in a sob. “It’s over. I screwed it up. God, I can’t even imagine it right. What’s wrong with me?”
And in that moment, I realize that if I’m going to convince Libby to trust her instincts, then I have to trust mine. And every one of mine is screaming to fuck the meditation session and go for a more…hands-on approach.
Chapter Nine
Justin
Before my brain has the chance to second-guess my gut, I lean in, cutting off Libby’s next words with a kiss.
She sucks in a surprised breath. I take advantage of the moment, sweeping my tongue across her bottom lip, getting my first taste of her. And from that first explosion of honey, flowers, tea, and woman spreading across my tongue, I know Libby Collins is one of the sweetest things I’ll ever taste.
“Justin…” My name is a soft warning, but her fingers thread into my hair, her nails dragging lightly across the skin at the back of my neck, leaving no doubt that Libby has excellent instincts.
All she needs is a little practice.
“Kiss me, Libby,” I say, my hand sliding over the curve of her hip.
“But—”
This time, I stroke deep between her lips, moaning in approval as her tongue begins to dance with mine. At first, she’s shy—teasing, testing—but by the time I join her on the couch, she’s giving as good as she gets, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with her technique. Her lips are firm and hot and the sound she makes when my hand skims up her ribs to hover below her breast is sexy enough to make me instantly, painfully hard.
“What are you doing?” Her nails dig deeper into my skin.
“What does it feel like I’m doing?” I nip her bottom lip as I brush my thumb back and forth, caressing the soft curve of her breast.
Her chest rises and falls faster, making my cock throb. Getting a woman turned on is always an aphrodisiac like no other, but getting Libby turned on is hot as fucking hell. I want to drive her crazy, to see what happens when she lets go and lets herself feel without anxiety throwing on the brakes.
“We can’t,” she whispers, but when I brush my thumb over her nipple through her clothes, she doesn’t pull away.
She gasps, a sexy cry that I swallow as I kiss her again.
I kiss her harder, deeper, until her breath is coming fast and she’s arching into the hand I’ve kept lingering below her breast. I wait until she moans, a hungry, needy sound that’s meaning is perfectly fucking clear, before I wrap my arms around her, pulling her on top of me as I lie back on the couch.
“Spread your legs,” I murmur against her lips, cursing beneath my breath as she obeys, bringing her center into intimate contact with where I’m insanely hard for her. “Do you feel that, Libs?”
“Yes.” She rocks experimentally against me in a way that makes my vision blur, and it’s almost impossible to keep from fusing my mouth to hers again immediately.
But I force myself to wait, needing her to understand what she does to me, to own the power she has in this moment.
“That’s because I want you. So fucking much.” I grip her ass firmly in my right hand, encouraging her to keep moving, to keep riding me through our clothes while I tell her how hot she is. “Because you’re sexy as hell, and all I want to do is get you out of these clothes and get inside you. And all you’ve done is kiss me, Libby. That’s it. That’s all it took to get me wild for you.”
Her forehead presses against mine as she grinds her hips in these little circles that quickly drive me out of my mind. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Doing what?” I bring my hand back to her breast, capturing her nipple through the thin linen and squeezing the puckered flesh between my fingers. “Dry humping on your couch?”
“Gross. That makes it sound disgusting, Justin.” She drags her teeth over my bottom lip in what I gather is supposed to be a punishment, but only makes me hotter.
“And see there? You bit me and no one’s bleeding.” I guide the strap of her dress down her shoulder. “In fact, I’d like it if you bit me some more. Would you like a list of all the places I’d like for you to bite me?”
“No,” she says, breath coming faster.
“Fine, then I’ll tell you all the places I want to bite you.”
“No, we—” Her words end in a sharp inhalation as I slip my hand under her shirt and up her bra, finding her bare nipple. And fuck, her skin is soft and hot and that sweet little tip is so hard all I want to do is to get it in my mouth.
“Right here.” I dig my fingers into her ass as I tease her tip with whisper soft brushes of my thumb. “First I’ll lick your nipple, suck you in my mouth until you’re begging me for more, and then I’ll bite you. Right here.” I pinch her tight, and she responds by rocking against my
cock hard enough to make my head explode.
“Fuck, Libby, you make me so hot.” I haul her mouth back to mine, kissing her so hard our teeth grind against each other through our lips, while she writhes on top of me, growing wilder with every kiss, every touch, every roll of her nipple between my fingers.
It isn’t long before my cock is desperate for relief, weeping sad, lonely tears of pre-come and insisting he’s going to suffocate if I don’t get out of these fucking jeans. But this isn’t about me, or him; it’s about showing Libby she’s not the slightest bit weird or broken.
Somewhere in my lust-fogged head, I know she’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this. This is not good or wise, but who cares about good or wise when a beautiful woman is about to come? It doesn’t matter that we’re both still fully clothed and that I know I won’t be joining her. I still want Libby’s orgasm. I still crave the sound of her crying out because I got her off, because I gave her bliss and release and took control and made her sweet body do my bidding.
“Come for me, Libs,” I murmur into the shell of her ear as I gather her hair in my free hand, wanting to see her face when she goes. “Ride me until you fucking explode, babes.”
She shakes her head, but her cheeks are pink and her lips are already forming that “Oh, God” O-shape I know so well. I’ve seen it on the faces of more than my share of women, but I can’t remember the last time the sight of a woman on the brink made me this crazy, this desperate.
I need her orgasm, need it more than my next fucking breath.
I fist my fingers in her thick, silky hair, holding her still as I move my other hand to her ass, gripping the firm flesh of her bottom as I draw her pussy tighter to my cock. “That wasn’t a question, Libby.” I rock against her with smooth, controlled rolls of my hips, making sure the ridge of my erection is giving her clit everything I’ve got. “You’re going to come for me. You’re going to come so hard you’re going to have to change your panties when we’re done they’re going to be so fucking wet.”
“I can’t,” she gasps, hands pressed tight to my chest. “Oh God, Justin, I can’t. I can’t do this.”
Before I can insist that she can and she will—I won’t settle for anything less than her complete and profound release—she slips out of my arms. A moment later, she’s on her feet, running out of the living room.
“Libby, wait!”
I’m answered by a slamming door and a muffled plea. “Go away!”
I jump to my feet, wincing as I pause to adjust myself in my suddenly way-too-tight jeans, and hurry to her bedroom. I knock lightly on the closed door. “Come on, Libby, let me in. Let’s talk.”
But there is no response. I call her name again and again. I do a shitty job of apologizing, and then apologize again for being shitty at saying “I’m sorry” for almost making her come, but she doesn’t say a word.
I’m about to pop the lock on the door with an Allen wrench I found in her junk drawer—just to make sure she’s okay in there—when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
It’s a text from Libby telling me that she’s gone and that by the time she comes back I should be, too, giving me proof positive that I’ve royally fucked up.
Chapter Ten
Justin
At practice I suck harder than I’ve sucked since my rookie season, when for a little while I wasn’t sure I had what it took to skate with the big boys.
I miss half the pucks during passing drills, give up a shorthanded goal while quarterbacking a power play, and fall on my fucking face after botching a slap shot during the final scrimmage. By the time coach calls practice at a quarter ’til eight my body is nearly as bruised as my pride, and I head for the tunnel with a dark cloud hanging over my head. In the locker room, a pair of smartass blueliners ask if I missed my nap today, and Schwartz shouts that he hasn’t seen stick work like mine since he left the minors.
I’m about to tell him to take his stick and shove it up his ass when Nowicki has the nerve to defend me, telling Schwartz, “Shut the fuck up. Everyone has a bad day every once in a while.”
“I don’t need your pity, rookie,” I snap, shoving my shoulder pads into my locker with more force than necessary. “Keep your Boy Scout shit to yourself.”
“Fine. Fuck you, too.” Nowicki shrugs out of his jersey, muttering something foul beneath his breath, and out of nowhere I hear Libby’s voice in my head, telling me not to be an asshole.
It isn’t Nowicki’s fault that my focus was for shit today, and I did promise Libs that I would apologize to Tanner for being a dick at my party. Besides, as my shit show of a practice so helpfully reminded me, it isn’t easy being a rookie. Nowicki might have a touch of ADHD, but he works hard and he’s having a solid first season. He’s going to be an asset to the Badgers long term, and could probably use a little encouragement as much as the next newbie.
“Hey, Nowicki…” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And sorry I chewed your ass last night. Libby’s been my friend since we were kids. I saw you two talking close and I overreacted.”
Nowicki frowns, studying me out of the corner of his eye like he’s waiting for the punch line of a bad joke.
“I’m serious,” I continue. “You did good work out there tonight. And at the last game. Keep it up and you’re going to see more ice time. No doubt.”
“Thanks,” he says, cautiously. “And I wasn’t trying anything with your friend. We were just talking.”
“You were drooling on her chest, man. Don’t push it.”
His lips quirk. “Well, you can’t blame a man for looking.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” I say, temper flaring. Nowicki wasn’t just looking, he was thinking about touching, and after this afternoon, the thought of anyone else’s hands on Libby makes me want to put a fist through a wall. Or maybe Nowicki’s fucking baby face. “You don’t look at her again, asshole. I’m serious.”
“Hey, she could do worse.” Tanner backs toward the showers with his hands lifted in surrender. “I’m a nice guy, Cruise. And you know what they say about nice guys.”
“They finish last?” I snap as I wrap my towel tight around my hips.
“They get the good stuff in the end. There are rewards for being there to pick up the pieces after a girl’s been screwed over by the dicks of the world,” he says, a smug grin curving his lips. “A grateful pussy is a beautiful thing.”
“Go. Shower. Right now. Before I remember how much I really don’t like you.”
Nowicki laughs and ambles toward the steam rising from the other side of the room. I’m still debating whether or not to stick my sweaty jockstrap in his helmet as punishment for talking about Libby’s pussy, even in a sneaky roundabout way, when Brendan appears beside me, already showered and in street clothes.
“You need to talk?” he asks, his forehead furrowed and his blue eyes looking genuinely concerned.
“No.” I slam my locker closed. “Just having an off day.”
“You sure? Seemed like something was under your skin. Or in your head. You still seeing that shrink?”
“She’s a meditation expert, not a shrink,” I grumble. “And no, I haven’t been in a while. But that’s not what’s wrong. I just…” I stretch my head to one side, fighting the knot forming in my neck. “Just had a weird afternoon. Some crazy shit went down with a friend, and I didn’t have a chance to talk things through and figure out what happens next, you know? She just bailed and told me to get lost and now…” I sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
Brendan nods slowly. “So you and Laura finally slept together?”
“What?” I frown so hard it sends a flash of pain through my skull. “Hell, no. Jesus! Why would you even say something like that?”
He shrugs. “There’s a lot of sexual tension between you two.”
“Ew. Gross. No, there isn’t. There is no sexual tension between Laura and me. Just thinking about it is enough to keep my dick soft until Christmas.” I shudder, genuinely repulsed. After this afternoon, there is
only one Collins sister on my radar, and that’s one too many. Kissing Libs, touching her, talking dirty to her while she rocked on my cock was a mistake.
One I have no idea how to bounce back from. I’m pretty sure showing up on her doorstep wearing nothing but one of the socks she knitted me in high school on my dick and a sign around my neck that says “my cock is in time out until he remembers how to act with friends,” probably isn’t a good idea. In fact, showing up wearing nothing but a sock sends the opposite fucking message, proving no part of me is thinking straight right now.
“Whatever you say,” Brendan says, clearly not convinced. “But if you want to talk, I’m around. Sometimes getting whatever’s messing with your head out into the open is enough to keep it off the ice, you know?”
“I know. Shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing softly again before I confess, “It’s Libby. I went over to her place to give her some advice today and things got way out of hand.”
I give Brendan a brief rundown of the situation, knowing he’s a vault and would never tell anyone that Libby asked me to give her a crash course on sex and dating, or share that I proved to be the kind of perverted professor who can’t keep his hands off of his student.
“No clothes came off,” I add in a hushed voice, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “But we were headed there fast when all of sudden she bailed. She bolted for her bedroom and a few minutes later I got a text saying she’d crawled out the fire escape because she needed to be alone and that she would prefer not to see me or talk to me for at least a year. Maybe more.”
Brendan scratches beneath his jaw as he lets out a long, slow breath. “Wow. That’s…not good.”
“No, it’s not. And she won’t respond to any of my texts or answer my calls and I feel like shit. I was supposed to help her, and all I did was make her more upset.” I lean back against my locker, letting the cold metal dig into my bare shoulder blades. “I’ve got to find a way to convince her to talk this through and put it behind us. If not, I might as well arrange to break my leg or something because my game is going to be worthless until I get some fucking closure.”