The Risk: Briar U

by Kennedy, Elle

  “Why not?”

  Brenna pauses. Several seconds tick by before she shrugs. “You know, I can’t think of a good enough reason.”

  “Exactly.” Grinning, I squeeze those juicy ass cheeks again, then give them a light smack before going to take my next turn.

  I don’t throw a strike this time. One stubborn pin insists on staying upright, but I knock it over on the second throw. Once again I’m crushing Brenna, and once again she doesn’t care. She makes definite progress, though, her second score nearly doubling her score from the first game. After the final numbers flicker on the screen, we sit on the bench and unwind for a bit.

  I rest my hand on her thigh, absently stroking. She doesn’t push me away, but she does give me a contemplative look. “You’re a very handsy guy.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, it’s just unexpected. I didn’t think you’d be this affectionate.”

  “Well, I am.” I shrug. “With chicks I like.”

  “And how often do those come along? I thought we established you don’t do girlfriends, only hookups.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t like the girls I hook up with.” I trace teasing circles on her knee. “Seems to me you don’t do boyfriends, either. Or if you do, it’s not public knowledge.”

  “You been asking around about me, Jakey?”

  “Yes,” I say bluntly. “And from what I hear, you haven’t dated anyone since you transferred to Briar.”

  “I haven’t,” she confirms.

  “Where did you go before Briar?”

  “Community college in New Hampshire.”

  “Did you date anyone there?”

  “Not really. My college track record is mostly a string of meaningless hookups, at least until McCarthy.”

  Jealousy pricks my chest. I don’t like that she doesn’t view McCarthy as meaningless. “So McCarthy wasn’t a hookup?” I ask carefully.

  “A hookup is usually a one-time deal. Josh was more of a…” She mulls it over.

  “Fuck buddy?” I fill in.

  “Minus the fucking.”

  Wait, what?

  I set my beer on the table. Brenna officially has my undivided attention. “You didn’t have sex?” Surprise wrinkles my forehead. I just assumed they’d slept together.

  “Nope.”

  “But you fooled around.”

  “Yup.”

  “But no sex.”

  She looks amused. “What part of this don’t you understand?”

  “I don’t know…I guess it’s kind of weird to me.” I pause. “No, not kind of. It’s very weird to me.”

  “Why is that weird?” She sounds a tad defensive.

  I gesture toward her. “I mean, look at you. You’re smoking hot. Are you saying he didn’t try to…?”

  “I never said he didn’t try. But…” She trails off again.

  “But what? Are you a virgin?”

  “No. I’m just picky about who I let inside me.”

  Damned if that doesn’t make my dick hard. She’s not allowed to say things like “inside me,” because now I’m picturing being inside her, and I’m horny as hell.

  “We did other stuff,” she says. “There’s always other stuff.”

  “Is there?” My throat is full of gravel.

  “What, no one’s ever told you that you can come without having sex?”

  “Nah. I didn’t know that.” I blink with the utmost innocence. “Can you show me?”

  Brenna punches my shoulder. Light and teasing. “You wish.”

  “I do wish. I don’t want to alarm you, but please direct your attention to my crotch.”

  Despite her amusement, she does what I ask. Instantly, her gaze sizzles. “Oh my. Thinking about McCarthy gets you hard?”

  “Like stone.” I pull her onto my lap, eliciting a squeak of surprise.

  But she recovers quickly, and soon she’s rubbing that sweet ass all over me as she tries to get comfortable. “Tell your boner to stop stabbing my butt,” she grumbles.

  “Hey, you’re the reason I even have a boner.” I tug her head down so I can whisper in her ear. “You’re evil, talking about all the ways you can make a guy come without putting him inside you.”

  Damn, she smells so good. I breathe in the scent of her shampoo, sweet with a mere trace of spice. Which is funny, because Brenna is the exact opposite—spicy, with a hint of sweetness. I like the spice, though. I like it a lot.

  “What about you?” I ask her.

  “What about me?”

  “What did you get out of the McCarthy arrangement?”

  She arches a brow. “You really want to know what your teammate did to me?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe in the broad sense,” I finally decide.

  “Nah. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.”

  And my imagination is running wild, except I’m not picturing Josh McCarthy in bed with her. I’m picturing myself.

  “That thing is going to poke right through your pants,” she teases, and I feel a distinct sense of loss when she slides off my lap. “Anyway, what now? Want to play one more game before we take off?” She checks her phone “It’s ten. How long is this place open until?”

  “I think eleven.”

  “Should we close it down?”

  “Might as well.”

  Bowling with a stiffy isn’t the easiest task, but I manage. I beat her for a third time, and we return our shoes and pay for our lane.

  Outside, Brenna bypasses her Jeep and walks to the Mercedes instead. “Unlock it,” she orders.

  My pulse quickens. I unlock the car.

  Rather than open either of the front doors, she settles in the backseat. “Get in here,” she says impishly.

  I’m not one to keep a lady waiting. I dive into the car, and my mouth is on hers before she can say another word. She tastes like beer and mint, and her body is soft and warm against mine. She crawls into my lap, her tongue hungrily exploring my mouth. I run my hands down the bumps of her spine before digging my fingers into her waist. I want to be in her. Desperately. But apparently that isn’t something she allows so readily.

  “You’re not gonna let me fuck you tonight, are you?”

  “No.” It’s a playful whisper. “You have to earn that.”

  I groan against her lips. “How do I earn it?”

  She merely smiles and kisses me again, sliding her hands underneath my shirt to stroke my bare chest. Christ, I love having her hands on me. And I need my hands on her. I pull her long-sleeve shirt off and tug her camisole up to her collarbone. The bra beneath it is paper-thin. She doesn’t need the padding, though. Her breasts are full, perky, fucking perfect. I tweak her nipples through the lacy material and enjoy the sweet moan I’m rewarded with.

  “I’ve been dying to do this,” I growl, yanking the bra down to expose her tits. Goddamn gorgeous. I pull one beaded nipple into my mouth, suck hard, and almost get a contact high. Her skin tastes so good, and her nipple feels like heaven beneath my tongue. I’m painfully aroused as I lick the distended bud.

  She moans again. At first I think it’s from pleasure, until I register the note of misery.

  “What’s wrong?” I say immediately.

  “I can’t believe I’m letting a Harvard player touch my boobs.”

  I relax. Laughing softly, I flick my tongue against her other nipple. “Hey, it’s not like this is your first time with a Harvard player.”

  “You’re the captain of the team,” she says gloomily. “This is such a bad idea. We’re playing you next week, dammit. My friends would be furious if they saw me right now.”

  “Let’s not talk about hockey. And who gives a shit what your friends think.” I suck her nipple between my lips.

  “I do. I care what my friends think.”

  “Then you should stop.”

  My mouth conquers hers in a blistering kiss that robs me of sanity. I flip her over, and now I’m on top of her, grinding my lower body against her. The ba
ckseat doesn’t offer room to maneuver, but I don’t need much. With my lips pressed tight to hers, I undo the button of her jeans and pull them down along with her panties, low enough that I can access the warm paradise between her legs.

  She whimpers when I drag the pad of my thumb over her swollen clit. “That feels good.”

  “Yeah?” I say thickly.

  “Oh yeah.”

  I keep rubbing, teasing, exploring. I skim my fingertips down to her opening and find her impossibly wet. Jesus. I want to be inside her more than I want my next breath. I practically weep at the knowledge that I can’t be in there tonight. I dip my fingers in all that sweet moisture and then use it to rub slow circles over her clit.

  Her hips start rocking. I prop up on one elbow, watching her expression go hazier and hazier as I play with her pussy. “I like having you like this,” I whisper. “On your back. Legs spread.” I kiss her again, and she sucks hard on my tongue, summoning a low groan from me.

  “This is such a bad idea,” she whispers back.

  “Then tell me to stop.”

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  Brenna pushes her pussy into my hand. “Don’t stop.”

  I chuckle against her shoulder before dipping my head so I can suck and lick her nipples again.

  She lets out a breathy moan. “Don’t ever stop.”

  I smile. I distinctly remember her telling me not so long ago that she would never, ever hook up with me. And now here we are, fooling around in the backseat of a car, her pussy mine to discover. My finger slides inside her and—

  “Oh my fucking God,” I choke out. My head pops up from her tits. “You’re so tight.” I wonder if it’s because she hardly ever fucks, or maybe I’m making assumptions about that. Just because she didn’t sleep with McCarthy doesn’t mean she hasn’t recently slept with someone else. She said she was picky, not celibate.

  I find myself praying to a higher power that I make the cut. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow, next week, a year from now. I’ll take whatever I can get. That’s how badly I want her.

  I add a second finger and she clamps even tighter around me. There’s hardly any room for two fingers. Two, for chrissake. While my thumb tends to her clit, I push my fingers in and out in a lazy rhythm. Brenna’s eyelids go heavy, her breathing labored. I aimlessly rub the rock in my pants against her thigh as I finger her.

  “I want you to kiss me.” She yanks my head down, her fingers running through my hair as her tongue finds mine.

  The kiss is urgent, sloppy. She’s practically riding my fingers, making the sexiest noises I’ve ever heard. I come up for air. “Are you going to come for me?”

  Her mumbled response is unintelligible.

  I chuckle. My hand keeps working her. My fingers are soaked. I push them deeper inside her, then withdraw and curl them right near her opening, stroking hard.

  “Oh my God,” she squeezes out.

  Her orgasm ripples around my fingers, and I feel it travel up her slender body in a wave of shivers. She releases a sigh, from her lips to mine. I swallow the breathy sound with a kiss, and ease the pressure on her clit, slow the thrust of my fingers, letting her come down from the high.

  Her eyelids finally flutter open and she smiles at me.

  “Good?” I murmur.

  “So good,” she murmurs back. She sighs again and curls toward me, burrowing her cheek in my neck.

  “Holy shit, you like to snuggle after sex,” I accuse.

  “I do not.” The denial is muffled against my chest.

  “You totally do.”

  She nips at my throat. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Why? Afraid it’s going to ruin your reputation?”

  “Yes. I’m a bad girl, Jakey. I don’t do things like snuggle.”

  “Why not? Snuggling is awesome.” I thread my fingers through her silky hair. Downstairs, I’m still throbbing and it’s not something that either of us can really ignore.

  Brenna lifts her head, a devilish glint in her eyes. “You and this boner, dude.”

  She slips a hand between our bodies and places it directly over my package. I can’t help but thrust into her hand.

  “What should we do about this…” She waits expectantly.

  “Anything,” I grunt. “You can do anything you want to me.”

  “Anything, huh?”

  “Anything.” My voice sounds strangled to my ears. “But please, do something.”

  One finger teasingly glides up and down my zipper before toying with the little metal tab. I damn near stop breathing. My heartbeat is out of control. I feel like I just played a five-minute shift. In penalty-kill mode.

  As my pulse drums in my ears, my body pleads for release. I want Brenna Jensen sucking on my cock, jacking it, kissing it. I don’t care what she does. I just need her hand or her mouth or her tongue on me.

  I will up some patience, but my muscles remain rigid, tense with anticipation as I wait for her to make a move.

  Right when she’s about to undo my pants, a phone rings.

  Brenna swears under her breath. “I should check that.”

  “No,” I mumble.

  She sits up. “How often do people call instead of text these days?”

  I have to relent. “Not very.”

  “Exactly. Phone calls usually mean it’s important.” She grabs her purse from the floor mat and rummages through it. The moment she has her phone in hand, her demeanor changes. All traces of desire are gone.

  “Everything okay?” I ask gruffly.

  She stares at the screen for another second before clicking the phone off. “It’s nothing.” And yet now she’s shimmying into her panties and jeans, and I know without a doubt that Little Jakey won’t be getting any attention tonight.

  “It’s later than I thought,” she says awkwardly. “I should head home.”

  “Okay.”

  She hesitates. “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.” Did she expect me to admonish her? Accuse her of leaving me with blue balls? Because that implies that she owes me something, which she doesn’t. I’m not entitled to a damn thing from this girl, or any girl. I want Brenna to blow me because she wants to blow me. But clearly she’s no longer in the mood. The mysterious caller ruined that for us.

  “I really did have a good time,” she confesses as I walk her to the driver’s side of the Jeep.

  “So did I.” I meet her eyes. “Should we do it again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.” I grasp her chin, keeping our gazes locked. I repeat the question. “Should we do it again?”

  After a long beat, Brenna nods.

  19

  Brenna

  By Wednesday, I haven’t heard so much as a peep from anyone at HockeyNet. Granted, Ed Mulder didn’t say when the internship slots would be filled. I suppose it could take weeks, but I’m impatient for news.

  Even though I know I didn’t impress him, a part of me is still clinging to hope that I have a shot. And fine, maybe hope is for fools. But I guess that makes me a fool.

  Dad’s still at the arena when I get home after a long day on campus. The Briar boys had weight training this morning, and ice time this afternoon, so I don’t expect my father until six or seven.

  I make dinner. Nothing fancy, just spaghetti and a Caesar salad. I eat my share in front of the TV, watching highlights on HockeyNet. Which is super irritating, because whoever put this clips package together didn’t include some of the best parts of last night’s Bruins game. I could do a way better job compiling a good reel. I hope I get the chance.

  There I go, being foolish again.

  My phone buzzes on the coffee table, revealing a text.

  JAKE: Can I call you?

  Oh boy. The little spark of excitement that tickles my belly is alarming. We spoke on the phone last night, too, mostly about said Bruins game, since we were watching it at the same time.

  I won’t deny that our bowling date w
as a lot more fun than I expected. The orgasm was equally unexpected. I didn’t plan on fooling around with Jake. I thought I had more willpower than that, but the guy is irresistible. Even now, days later, I’m still thinking about it. His fingers inside me, his hot mouth glued to mine… Connelly is very good at what he does. I’d wanted nothing more than to make him feel good, too, until that phone call from Eric.

  Each time I think I’ve made myself clear, that I’ve set firm boundaries with him, Eric reveals another level of persistence. And I don’t feel right being a bitch to him, ordering him to leave me alone, because our history holds me hostage.

  History is bullshit.

  Jake’s words, the thoughts he’d expressed at O’Malley’s, float through my head. History is bullshit. And trust me, I would love to put the past behind me. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done.

  At least this time Eric wasn’t making demands of me—he followed the call up with a text, apologizing for asking for money. But that doesn’t matter. It killed the mood as effectively as rain snuffing out a candle.

  On the other hand, I’d been seconds away from having Jake’s dick in my mouth, so maybe Eric did me a favor. Saved me from blowing THE ENEMY.

  But if I’m being honest, it’s been a while since I thought of Jake in that context.

  Once I finish my dinner, I reach for my phone. “Your crush on me is getting out of control, Jakey,” I say after he picks up.

  His deep laughter tickles my ear. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hottie.”

  “You just called me Hottie—that is literally you flattering me.”

  “True.” Another chuckle. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Had an early dinner, and now I’m watching HockeyNet highlights.”

  “Still no word from Mulder?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about Agent Scully?”

  I snicker. “You’re hilarious. Did you have class today?”

  I’m still amazed by the knowledge that he’s majoring in psychology—I found that out last night during our very long phone call. Before that, I’d assumed he was a communications or broadcasting major, like most other athletes.

  “No, Wednesday is my day off. I usually use it to catch up on reading, clean the house, that kind of stuff. Any big plans tonight?”