Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Vince was so deep, so needy, and the power that sent rushing through me sharpened into an electric fire. I reached between us, circling my clit, and my second orgasm shot through me so quick it didn’t seem possible. It was more intense, my clit already sensitive, my walls swollen. I cried out every last wave of it, and then Vince came, too, and he held me down on his lap, his cock twitching inside me, cum leaking out and down the insides of my thighs.
I’d never felt anything like that before, not in all my life.
As soon as we stopped moving, tears pricked my eyes.
I panicked, not wanting Vince to see, so I climbed off his lap and muttered something about cleaning up before I padded down the hall to his shower. My face warped when I made it to the bathroom, and I pressed a hand over where my heart squeezed under my rib cage, like that could soothe it.
It was too much.
That first time was fucking.
But that second time…
It felt a whole lot like making love.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head and swiping the tears from my cheeks before they could stain. This was what had gotten me in trouble with James — all the times he made it feel so real, made me feel so safe and wanted. It made it impossible not to trust him, to believe him when he said we had a future together.
And in that moment, I realized that was what had fucked me up the most.
It was one thing to hear a man spurt his lies and know they’re lies, to smile at them in amusement that they thought they could pull one over on you. But the power is still in your hands then, and you can detach. You can enjoy the moment knowing it will end. You can let go before you’ve even started to hold on.
It was when they were convincing like this, when they made you second-guess if you were wrong about men. Could this one be different? Could he care?
Could he be the one?
Sucking in a shuttering breath, I dug my heels into my eyes and internally groaned in frustration.
I was being a fool.
Wiping my nose with the back of my wrist, I hastily turned the shower faucet on and climbed in, scrubbing my skin like I could eradicate my feelings from the outside in.
It wasn’t long before Vince joined me, and he wrapped me up in his arms, pulling my back to his chest as I fought not to feel anything, not to let my body and mind and heart float away in a balloon of hope.
Tell Me What You Feel
Vince
The plane ride home from Canada was a circus.
We’d managed to squeak out a win in overtime against Ottawa, who were the number one team in our division. And it didn’t matter that, really, we didn’t play our best, or that we got lucky on a shot that tipped off their own player’s skate and got us the W.
We partied like we’d just won the Cup.
It was a Saturday, and it had been an afternoon game, so it was just past nine when we touched down in Tampa. The night was young, it was the weekend, we had a late practice the next day, and we’d just won the game every sportscaster in the nation was sure we’d lose.
The energy was untouchable.
Jaxson shotgunned another beer as the front half of the plane debarked, smashing the can on his head when he was done. He shook his head with his tongue hanging out like a dog, and then started barking at Maven, which made her throw her head back in a laugh in such a carefree way it made my chest tight.
“You guys are insane!” she yelled in-between peals of laughter just as Carter started twerking on the seat in front of her.
“Come on, Maven. Match our energy,” he goaded her.
She snorted and waved him off. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“The night is young, we are young, and Tampa is waiting to celebrate us,” Jaxson said, grabbing Maven by the hands and pulling her up reluctantly from her chair. “You’re part of this team now. Time to show it.”
“And exactly how do you propose I do that?”
Will smirked as he grabbed her shoulders from behind and gave them a little squeeze. “Show us your celly dance.”
“My what?”
The guys who were still on the plane cheered, clapping and whistling before Carter started a chant.
Cel-ly dance, cel-ly dance.
Our pilot played right into our hands, cranking the music on the stereo system. It was a club mix of “Ferrari,” and our cheers grew louder as Maven’s mouth popped open in an amused smile.
“You brutes are dreaming,” she said on a laugh. Her eyes found mine then, and I made a fake pouty face, clucking my tongue.