“Mmm,” I mumble as a hand moves across my breast, fingers toying with my nipple. “Right there,” I whisper.
My entire body is lit up, pulsing, throbbing, as the fingers circle my nipple over and over again until . . . a pinch.
“Ohhh,” I moan and shift my pelvis, bumping right into a very stiff erection behind me. Yes, that’s exactly what I want.
That’s what I need.
Relief.
Desperately, I move against the erection behind me, the crack of my ass gliding up and down his ridge, searching for more.
“Yes, fu-uck.”
I pause.
That wasn’t me. That was a male voice.
A familiar male voice.
And the desperation in that one “fuck” encompasses exactly how I feel.
His hand cups my breast and squeezes, sending me into a tailspin of need. Who cares if the voice is familiar? Whatever he’s doing is working for me on so many levels. I arch my back into his touch and lean into the strong masculine chest behind me.
“More,” I whisper just as my hand grips the top of his and guides it slowly down my stomach.
There is one thing on my mind . . .
I want him between my legs.
I need him between my legs.
“Touch me,” I whisper. “Make me come.”
“Fucking hell,” he says, and I pause his hand one more time.
Why do I know that voice?
I release his hand and reach behind me, connecting with a strong chest, a body built for protection. His hips thrust into my backside, reminding me how hard he is, and that’s when my eyes blink open, and the sun coming in from the window momentarily blinds me.
It takes me a few seconds, but when I finally gain my bearings and feel a hand at my stomach, toying with the hem of my shorts, I turn around to find Eli sleeping.
“Oh God,” I say loudly, causing him to fling his eyes open.
He assesses what’s going on, and when he realizes his hand is almost down my pants, he springs backward, flying right out of bed and onto the floor.
When he stands, he dives his hand through his hair, and together, as if there is a giant neon sign pointing south, we both look at his crotch and take in his massive erection.
And I mean . . . massive.
“Fuck.” He drops his hands in front of him. “Shit, I’m sorry, Penny. I didn’t, fuck, I was dreaming. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say while I adjust my top to make sure everything is covered. “I, uh, I was dreaming too.”
Only, right now, I kind of wish I didn’t wake up.
His teeth roll over his bottom lip as his eyes glance down at my hardened nipples, and at this moment, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my life. Eli Hornsby, hair all a mess, chest muscles rippling as his hands attempt to cover his erection, while his eyes blaze. At me.
Silence falls between us as we both attempt to catch our breaths, our eyes staying connected.
Look at him. What I wouldn’t give for him to lower his hands, walk over here, and finish what he started.
I’d savor the moment, begging and pleading with him to please take away this unbelievable heaviness that rests between my legs.
“Uh, I should probably go . . . take a shower.” He nods toward the bathroom.
Ughhhh, noooooo.
Come over here.
Rip my shirt off.
Run your tongue all over my body.
Let me feel you inside me . . . one more time.
“Yeah, a shower sounds like a good idea. I’ll just, uh, lie here.”
Good one, Penny. He doesn’t need the play-by-play.
“Okay.” Hands kept in front of him, he moves around the bed and into the bathroom, where I hear the shower turn on immediately.
I throw my head back on the pillow as my body attempts to calm down from what I just went through. I thought it was a very realistic dream, yet it felt so real because it was real. It was his hand caressing me, pinching my nipple. It was his hard-on behind me and his breath on my neck. It was all real, and God, do I wish I was in that shower with him.
More than that, I wish he was still in this bed, finishing what we started.
I drape my hand over my eyes and take deep breaths. You’re fine.
But I’m really not.
I’m fired up.
I’m needy.
My desire for this man is so strong that I can taste it.
It’s why I couldn’t stop myself from hugging him before he left for his away trip. It’s why I couldn’t stop reading the card he sent with the flowers. It’s why when I watched the game, I begged and pleaded with the cameras to focus on him, to show me any glimpse I could get. And late at night, it’s why I watch TikToks on the team’s account that focuses mainly on him.
It’s why I couldn’t wait for him to come home. Win or lose, I just wanted him. And when he did come home, I wanted so much more than a hug, but I knew it was all I could ask for, so I took it, relishing in the way my cheek felt pressed against his bare chest.
And then my vulnerability took over, and before I could stop myself, I asked him to cuddle me. I thought he’d say no. I thought he’d deny me, but he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped himself around me, and I curled into his large body. I’ve never felt so comfortable in my life, and I fell asleep before I could even take my next breath.
When I woke up this morning to his hands all over me, he almost gave me exactly what I needed. It’s branded in my brain, the way his hand cascaded down my stomach and almost beneath my shorts. The feel of his dexterous fingers toying with my nipple, and the way he pressed his pelvis into me, showing me how turned on he was. God . . . why couldn’t we finish?
My teeth roll over my lip as I slowly lower my hand between my legs to feel how aroused I am. So, I start moving my fingers over my clit. My legs spread even wider, and I bring my other hand to my breast, trying to recreate how he played with my nipples.
In the distance, I hear the shower spray against the tile, and I envision him naked, droplets of water cascading down his rock-hard chest, all the way to his length where his hand is pumping vigorously, seeking that release I’m seeking as well.
A groan escapes me as I wiggle against my hand, searching . . .
Sweat forms on my upper lip as my body tenses, the motion of my fingers bringing me to a much-needed apex. And that’s when I hear it, his guttural groan from behind the closed bathroom door and then a hand slap to the wall.
He’s coming.
In the shower. Right now.
He’s coming to the thought of us, to what we did, in this bed.
That’s all it takes. The image of him hunched over, spilling himself onto the shower floor.
My muscles tense, and a delicious, much-needed orgasm rips through me. My back arches, and my fingers fly over my clit over and over, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from my bones until I’m completely sated and out of breath.
I remove my hand and melt into the mattress.
Although I took care of my present need, I know it wasn’t what my body wanted or desired.
I want him.
His cock.
His mouth.
His body writhing and pulsing over mine.
And then it hits me . . . very clearly, something that’s been building for a while.
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my distance.
And right now? I have no idea why I should.
“KNOCKITY, KNOCK, KNOCK,” Blakely says from the doorway of my office. She’s holding a takeout bag from our favorite salad place and a drink carrier with lemonades—a drink I’ve never truly cared about until this pregnancy. Now, all I want is lemonade.
All the time.
“Hey,” I say while looking up from my computer. “Let me finish this email real quick.”
“Sure thing. Want me to shut the door?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice laced with desperation.
“That yes has some meaning behind it, and given the fact that the boys got home last night, I’m guessing there has to be something in that beautiful brain of yours that you need to tell me.”
“You are correct.”
While I finish typing, Blakely shuts the door and sets up lunch for us at my desk before taking the seat across from me. We both ordered the southwestern chicken salad with extra guacamole. It’s a go-to for us that we nearly get it once a week.
I press send, and then I turn toward her. “He felt up my boobs this morning.”
“What?” Blakely shouts and then catches herself and leans forward. In a whisper, she repeats, “What?”
“Technically, we were both sleeping, but he still felt them up and had a huge hard-on, and I might have rubbed my ass against it and guided his hand down to my shorts.”
Blakely fans herself. “Seriously? Were you sleeping still?”
“Yes, and we both woke up before anything serious could have happened, but oh my God, Blakely, I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my entire life. He, of course, sprang out of bed and muttered some apologies before retreating to the shower.”
“Oh, he totally masturbated.”
“Yeah, I heard him when he came, and it was so fucking sexy. I, uh . . . I might have done the same.”
“Jay-sus. To be a fly on the wall in your apartment this morning.” She pours her dressing over her salad and then mixes it around with her fork. “What happened when he came out of the shower?”
“I took a shower, we both had a bagel, and then I came to work.”
“Did you talk about it?”
“Nothing other than more apologies.” I groan while I squeeze a lime over my salad. “It was as if he was totally humiliated that he even touched me. He could not have gotten out of bed faster.”
“Oh please, I bet you if he’d had his own way, he’d have finished what he started.”
I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t see me like that. I can tell. He’s very standoffish around me. Sure, he gives me hugs—”
“And sends you flowers and calls you every night and texts Winnie and me to check on you.”
“Because he’s concerned about the baby.”
“No, because he’s concerned about you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Because that’s not how we are. From the beginning, we said this was all going to be a friends thing. Sure, there’s attraction there, and of course, I couldn’t be hornier at the moment, thank you, hormones, but he doesn’t see it that way.” Doesn’t see me like that anymore.
Blakely just shrugs as she forks some salad into her mouth.
“What is that?” I ask. “What’s that shrug for?”
“I think there’s more to it.”
“I don’t think—”
There’s a knock on the door, and I call out, “Come in.”
The door parts open and Eli sticks his handsome face into my office. Freshly showered from his morning skate, his hair still looks wet, and he’s wearing a black long-sleeved Agitators shirt and black jogger capris. The man can more than pull off the look.
“Hey, am I interrupting?”
“Nope,” Blakely cheerily replies. “We were just talking about your rousing morning.”
Oh my God!
Eli’s eyes flash to mine, and I’m sure my expression resembles a deer in headlights as I look at my friend.
“Heard you got a good feel in.”
“Blakely,” I hiss at her. “Shut the hell up.”
She just laughs as I watch Eli’s face redden.
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the man blush . . . ever, but there he is, standing in the doorway of my office, red cheeks and all. It is a sight to behold.
He clears his throat and says, “Yeah, kind of got lost in my sleep.”
“Find what you were looking for in Penny’s shirt?”
“I’m going to murder you,” I whisper to her before looking up at Eli. “Ignore her. She forgot what social decorum is.”
“My boys would probably do the same,” he says while scratching the side of his cheek. “And it’s true, I did find something in her shirt, a hard nipple.”
And that’s the Eli I know, right there, the one who can turn embarrassment into a joke.
“Ooo, a hard nipple.” Blakely pops the collar of her shirt out and looks down it. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while. Good for you on finding one.”
“Thank you.” Eli chuckles and then turns back to me. “Uh, dinner with your parents is tonight, right?”
“Only if you’re up to it. Seriously, you don’t—”
“I want to.” He smiles. “Just wanted to see if they had any allergies. I was going to make some lasagna. It’s the only thing I really know how to make.”
“Oh, you don’t have to make anything. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Would it be okay if I made something?” The vulnerability in his voice is so heavy, it nearly weighs me down right then and there. “I like your parents, Penny. And besides, I want to show them that I’m more than just a talented hockey player with a credit card.”
Wow, okay . . . not sure my heart can handle such a statement.
I swallow deeply and say, “Of course you can make something if that’s what you really want. And my parents don’t have any allergies other than my dad can’t have cashews, but I doubt you’ll put any cashews in the lasagna.”
“Not so much.” He stuffs his hands in his jogger pockets. “Okay, I’m going to run to the grocery store then. Do you need anything?”
“Um, I think I’m good. I can pick up a dessert on the way home when I’m finished here.”
“Don’t worry about that. I got it covered.” He smirks at me. “Picking up some ice cream.” And then he winks, and I swear to God, I can feel my heartbeat between my legs. “Text or call if you need anything.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Catch you later, Penny.” And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Blakely, mouth ajar with humor in her eyes, turns toward me and says, “Oh, he wants you.”
“Oh my God, can you stop with that? He doesn’t.”
“He does, and I say go for it.”
“You have completely lost it. There is no way. He’s just a nice guy.”
“Okay, keep telling yourself that.” She takes a mouthful of her salad and leans back in her chair. “Mark my words, you two will be married in a year.”
“Ha.” I guffaw. “Wow, okay, sure, Blakely.” Eli Hornsby has made it very, very clear that marriage is not on his radar. She’ll be eating her words.
HAVE I told you how much I hate my friend?
Because I hate her.
Tremendously.
Since lunch, all I can think about is Eli and the slightest chance he possibly likes me. Which I know is not the case, but now that she’s put that in my head, it’s all I can think about. He sent me a text a few times at work about random things, nothing serious, and I kept thinking, is he texting me because we’re friends or because he wants more?
The logical answer is because we’re friends.
The horny, hormonal answer is he wants me.
He wants me so bad that he wishes he could smell me through the phone. That’s why he texts so often.
Yup, my mind went to teleporting smell through a cellular service.
And then it graduated from there.
Teleporting scents was just a blip on the radar.
My mind went so far to think that as I’m walking through the door of my apartment to the tangy, tomatoey smell of lasagna, he’s waiting on the counter, stretched out completely naked with an oven mitt on his ding-dong, waiting for me to rip it off and start sucking.
Yes, sucking.
That is where we’re at, folks. Sucking a man on a countertop.
And what’s even worse, when I actually walk through the door and look toward the kitchen, I’m devastated to see that there isn’t a man spread across my kitchen counter with an erection pointing at the ceiling with my name on it. Instead, he’s leaning on the counter, looking at his phone . . . dressed.
Sure . . . he looks great and all in his light blue sweater and dark jeans with his hair styled to the side that says, I’m meeting the parents tonight. There is nothing about him screaming, “suck my cock, bitch,” and it’s incredibly disappointing.
He glances up from his phone, and when he sees me, he smiles. “Hey, how was the rest of work?” He sets his phone down and grips the counter, but the damn sweater he’s wearing reveals nothing. Not even a slight flex.
“It was fine,” I say while hanging my purse on my purse hook in the entryway. “Nothing super great.”
He frowns as he studies me. “Are you okay? You seem like you’re in a bad mood.”
I am, because you’re not asking me to take my top off the minute I walk through the door.
“Tired,” I say while offering him the best smile I can muster.
Tired . . . not so much.
Sexually charged . . . one thousand percent.
Something has happened to me. Sure, I’ve been craving intimacy lately. But ever since this morning, since Eli tweaked my nipple, it’s almost as though he turned on a light switch in my body, and I can’t seem to turn it off.
And my best friend, the one who’s supposed to help me, did nothing but throw fuel on the fire.
Instead, she put unrealistic thoughts in my head and then sent me articles about how my “genital sensitivity” has increased drastically and how I should take advantage of it.
She didn’t have to tell me that. I already noticed, thank you very much.
“Should we reschedule for a different night?” Eli asks as he walks up to me.
“No, I’ll be good. I think I’m going to go take a quick bath, my shoulders are tense, and then I’ll get dressed.”
“Okay. If you need me to rub your shoulders, just let me know.”
His hands all over my body is the last freaking thing I need. I can only imagine my reaction to that.
Panting.
Sweating.
Moaning.
No, thank you.
Do not come near me unless you plan to do so naked.
“I’m good,” I say as I slip by him. “Uh, smells good in here, by the way. Real magical.”
His brow creases. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Quite right, quite right,” I reply in a British accent, which only causes his brows to rise higher.
I don’t blame him.
I’m just as confused as he is.
And there is absolutely no use in explaining any of this to him because I wouldn’t know where to begin, so instead, I turn toward the hallway and leave the confused man behind me.
Just take a bath and walk it off, Penny. You have to get it together for dinner tonight.
