Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I chuckle. “Can I lie and say they’re expecting it? I don’t care if you think they’re fucked up if I get to do this.”
I lean in and press my lips to his, but he’s too busy laughing to be invested in the kiss. I fix that by pushing my tongue into his mouth. His laughter turns into a moan as his tongue meets mine.
The kiss goes from zero to sixty within seconds, and he steps forward, trying to get closer, but with no distance between us already, all he does is grind his hardening cock against mine.
“Oh, God,” he murmurs. “You really don’t play fair.”
“Playing fair isn’t fun.”
We kiss again, losing ourselves in a void between real and fake, but if I’m honest with myself, nothing has ever been fake with Lennon—not even that dinner at the Honey Bee. I might not have realized it at the time, but that dinner was a turning point. It gave me hope about moving on. From Ash, from the closet walls that are getting smaller and smaller every day to the point I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to endure the claustrophobia.
I wish we had time to take this further, but I know any minute Ma will be calling us down, and my extended family will begin attacking … I mean, arriving.
“We should probably stop,” I say, breathless.
“Shouldn’t start what you can’t finish, Mr. Hockey Star.” He pushes against me, forcing me backward toward the bed. “I thought we were practicing.”
I fall onto the mattress on my back, and he climbs on top of me, his legs going on either side of my hips.
“Practice makes perfect.” I cup his head to bring his lips back to mine again.
I can’t remember kissing ever being as good as it is with Lennon. He sparks something deep inside me: a need, a primal urge. I remain optimistic and believe we can be whole without tearing each other down.
I internally scoff at that, considering what he does for a living and how we started. I thought he was tearing me down when he was trying to lift me up.
Lennon’s hand trails down my chest, lifting my shirt. His fingertips press against my abs, and he groans into my mouth.
“You have a thing with my abs, don’t you?”
He sits up, the impressive and disproportionate bulge front and center, tenting his jeans. My mouth waters.
“I have a thing about your muscles,” he says. “And your tats.” He lifts my shirt farther, and I partially sit up for him to take it over my head.
His lips land on my shoulder and move toward my pierced nipple. He tongues the barbell and bites down gently, making my hips buck off the bed. I bite my lip to stop from screaming out.
“I think you like that. I’ll file that away for later. You know, in case your family asks. Nipple play: check.”
“Well, that is the point of this game.”
Game. That’s exactly what this is.
Sure, keep telling yourself that.
Nope, I have to shut down any notions of this turning into something more. Lennon continues to move south, down to my stomach, but he pauses at my belly button. I lift my head, and my eyes meet his. He opens his mouth to say something, but before any words come out, there’s a knock at the door, followed by Ma walking in.
She gasps, Lennon scrambles off me, and I struggle to find where he threw my shirt.
“Boundaries, Ma. I’m not a teenager anymore.”
“Sorry. I, uh, didn’t think … well, you know, I didn’t think you’d be doing … that. Not now, I mean. There isn’t enough time. People are arriving, and—”
“We’ll be down in a minute.”
Ma, red-faced and embarrassed, leaves, shutting the door behind her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that woman flustered.
“Well, that’s one way to convince them this is real,” Lennon says. I get the feeling he’s trying not to laugh and rubbing his jaw is a distraction tactic.
My laugh bursts free though. “I can’t believe that just happened. Never happened once with …” Shit, don’t mention Ash right now.
“Didn’t you live with him?”
“Uh, yeah, but we were close by, so I guess there was never a time we had to share a roof with my parents.”
Lennon reaches into his jeans and adjusts himself. We shouldn’t have started messing around, because now we’re both going to be suffering for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Even longer if he’s going back to the city tonight. I didn’t ask him to stay, but I kinda hope he does.
“We should get down there,” I say.
He points to his messenger bag. “Should I leave my laptop up here?”
“You brought your laptop? What, you thought you might get juicy gossip at a Strömberg family function and might need to write a story?”