You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey #2) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,39

hip, and when she drags her fingernails lightly down my back I jolt like I stuck my finger in a light socket. I nip at her plump bottom lip and she shivers.

We make out like this, feeling each other up mostly through our clothes, although I can’t resist touching her tits—holy hell, they’re a perfect handful and her nipples are so sensitive and suckable.

We’re both grinding against each other, our mouths devouring each other, hands moving all over each other. Eventually Sara gasps, “Should we go into my bedroom?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

My shirt’s now unbuttoned, hanging open as I push up and off the couch. I grasp her hands and tug her up too. Her mouth is pouty and wet, her skin flushed, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. I set my hands on her hips from behind and direct her to the bedroom.

I follow her over to the bed, where she turns on a lamp. The room lights up in a rosy glow, with dusty pink walls, the same color as the cushions on her couch. It’s not a girly room, though…the dark wood floor continues in here, softened with textured gray rugs, and her bed is a simple platform bed with crisp white covers and lots of pillows.

She turns to me. “Do you have a condom?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

She moves closer, grasping the sides of my shirt. She peers up at me, her eyes luminous and blinking rapidly. “I have to tell you something.”

I set my hands on her waist and give her a gentle squeeze. “Okay.”

“I’ve never done this before.” She swallows.

My head goes empty. Done…what? What does this mean? Oh Jesus…

Holding my gaze, she says, “I’m a virgin.”

I don’t move, don’t look away from her, while I process this and how to proceed.

I had sex with a virgin once. We were both virgins, fifteen years old and full of horny teenage hormones. She cried after, even though she said it was good, and I felt like shit, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t come.

First-time sex is pretty important but it’s not necessarily great sex. I’m about to go off like a Diet Coke with a Mentos dropped into it. That is definitely not going to be good for her.

“Maybe a blow job would be a good idea,” I say hoarsely.

She blinks.

“No.” I shake my head, changing my mind. “You don’t have to do that.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding? I’d love to do that.” Her hand drops down to my groin, and sweet baby Jesus, she cups me through the denim. A groan rumbles in my chest and I can’t keep my eyes open, pressing against her hand.

She rubs me, then starts to work open my jeans. She peers up at me through her eyelashes. “I’m not a blow job virgin, if you’re wondering about that.”

“I…I…” I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking. Her hands are inside my jeans, then inside my boxers, tugging at my pubic hair as she reaches lower. Sensation sizzles through my body. And then…her fingers close around me. The top of my head pulses. “Christ.”

She uses her other hand to try to lower my jeans, and I release her waist to help shove them and my underwear down. They drop to the floor. I do a quick maneuver to get my socks off without falling over, then Sara pushes me backward. I take a step and with another gentle shove on my chest, I’m flat on my back on the bed.

She gets rid of her blouse and bra, tossing them to the floor. Pausing, she purses her lips, then shrugs and takes off her jeans too, doing the sexiest shimmy I’ve ever seen to get those tight jeans down her hips. She leaves her panties on. I vaguely notice that they match the bralette, the same sheer black lace, as she crawls on top of me, straddling my thighs. I scoot myself farther onto the bed so she has room, watching her face as she half-smiles, eyes glittering. I’m still wearing my unbuttoned shirt and she drags her gaze over my chest and abs and then lower, where my aching cock juts beseechingly.

She may enjoy watching me, but fuck, I’m loving the hell out of watching her, topless in her tiny panties, sliding her tongue over her bottom lip. She wraps her hand around me again.

Lust punches through my gut and a groan rolls through my chest. “Christ. You look like you’re dying to suck me.”

“I am.”

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