Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I don’t know, but I trust you,” I said quietly. “This might be my only chance to ever…”
“Be with a man,” Hank finished.
“Yeah, so…what do you think?”
When he opened his mouth again, I knew this was a done deal.
“You’re on.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay, okay…that’s good. Uh…what if I don’t like it?”
“You will.” Hank’s eyes sparked. “But if you don’t, it’s over and we’ll try something else. No question. Ultimately, I want the commercial, but public endorsement via friendship might work too. Either way, I guess we both get what we want.”
I was practically vibrating with lust. I hadn’t come here for this, but damn, I wanted it. I wanted him very much, thank you.
This was the proposition I would never have uttered aloud if it hadn’t been for tequila. I’d told him what I wanted that night. I wanted him—the sexy cowboy fantasy. I wanted to ride him, fuck him, turn him inside out, and give myself a taste of this forbidden thing I’d craved for years. But this was…reckless in the extreme.
“Do you really want this? Or is it too much?” I whispered.
“Yeah, it’s definitely too much.” He chuckled low and filthy. “But Christ, Denny. I’m rock hard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Hank stepped so close, his breath feathering my cheek. “If we weren’t in a public parking lot, I’d back you against that truck and stick my tongue down your throat. I’d unbuckle your jeans, slide my hand under your boxer briefs, and grab your cock. I’d stroke you, squeeze your balls, slip my finger in your ass, and you’d beg for more. You want me to suck you? No problem. I love giving head. I love rimming, I love fucking…giving and receiving. Do you want to fuck me too or—”
“Got it.” I was fighting for air here—panting like a dog in heat.
“So…what’ll it be? My place or yours?”
I shouldn’t do this. The timing was all wrong. I had bigger things on my mind than taking my bisexuality for a test run. The playoffs were weeks away, and I was a rookie with a lot to prove. Personal life distractions were a no-no.
Let them think I was straight, wholesome and boring, and still with my high school girlfriend. Let them think hockey was the only thing that consumed me.
I met Hank’s eyes under the sloping brim of his hat, prepared to lie my ass off and pretend I was joking. I wasn’t interested in a covert bisexual experiment. Not with him, not with anyone. I didn’t have to say much. Two words would suffice. No, thanks.
I only got one out.
“Mine.”
6
HANK
Denny lived in a luxury glass-and-steel condo on the riverfront. It was one of those uber-modern buildings that boasted views of the Rocky Mountains and sweet amenities that appealed to corporate types…or professional athletes.
I followed his truck across town and snagged a spot in the visitors’ lot. The complex was ghostly quiet, but I knew there were cameras everywhere, recording my movement as I made my way to his two-bedroom unit on the tenth floor per his instructions.
He wordlessly opened his door, shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the bench in the foyer. I did the same and followed him into the great room, where he removed his shoes and clicked a button on the panel affixed to the wall. Contemporary shades silently slid from a hidden canopy on the ceiling to the floor, covering the bank of windows. The whirl of the motor was the only sound in the sparsely furnished space.
A leather sectional sofa anchored by a geometric-print rug faced the enormous flat-screen on the faux-stone accent wall. And a generous island delineated the kitchen from the living area with light wood cabinetry that matched the hardwood floors.
But it was anonymous chic with zero personal pizzazz. No photos, no books, no cozy touches…like throws or decorative pillows.
Don’t get me wrong, it was very nice. But this wasn’t a home. It was where he slept and stored his belongings. I’d bet big bucks Denny’s thoughts on Denver were similar to mine on Elmwood. It was his purgatory. A place to be endured for a short time only.
Interesting thoughts since he was originally from Colorado. Something to remember, I mused, setting my hat on the island.
“Want a drink?” Denny swiped his hand through his hair nervously. “I have…water.”
“No, thanks. You’re a loose cannon around a glass of water, and I’m still damp,” I joked, hoping a little levity would get him to relax.
It didn’t work. Tension radiated from him in waves. Any second now, he’d change his mind or ask me to leave. And I’d agree this wasn’t the sexy angle either of us needed.
But I was wrong.
Denny grabbed a handful of my shirt and slammed his mouth over mine.
I was too surprised to react for a beat, but I caught up quickly, cupping his neck as I slipped my tongue inside. He moaned, tilting his chin to meet me thrust for thrust. He untucked my shirt and slid his open palms along my spine.