Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I take a deep breath and rest my head on his thigh while we both recover.
“Bedtime?” Rainn eventually asks.
I nod against his thigh, but as he helps me up and we stumble toward his bedroom, I have to ask. “What happened to five times?”
“Power nap. If you’re lucky, I’ll wake you by returning the favor. You won’t even know if I’m shit at it, because you have nothing to compare it to.”
I laugh. “True.”
Rainn offers me a tissue before climbing into bed. His eyes track me while I clean myself off for a second time tonight.
I fall into bed next to him when I’m done. “Why did I wait so long to do this stuff?”
The question was rhetorical, but Rainn pulls me close and lowers his voice to ask, “Did … did you have a hard time coming out? Is that why you didn’t do anything with a guy before?” His arms are as good as a warm blanket wrapped around me, and I sink into them so easily.
“That’s not what I meant at all. It feels so good, and I’m stupid for waiting. I should’ve propositioned you years ago when I saw you play in college.”
Rainn scoffs. “Yes, because very straight, college Rainn so would’ve been a goner for teenager Whit.”
“What were you like when you were a student? Big man on campus, I bet.”
“Pretty much.” The cockiness that should be in that statement is missing.
“Banging a different girl each week? Partying hard?”
“Not quite that level, but I was popular. The reality hit really hard when I had my injury. Suddenly I was no longer Rainn Richardson, future NHL star. Kind of showed who my true friends were. Then when I did finally get back on my feet, I got sick of the sympathy stares from those who did bother to ask how I was, so I lashed out at the only ones left until they were all gone too.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
He squeezes me tighter. “Not your fault.”
“No, I mean for bringing it up. We should talk about fun stuff.”
“What kind of fun stuff?”
“Well, blowing you was pretty fun.”
“Agreed.”
“Dancing is fun.”
“Disagree.”
I roll my eyes. “How surprising. I wouldn’t have guessed someone as upbeat and enthusiastic as you can’t dance.”
“Hey, I never said I can’t dance. It’s just not fun.”
“Maybe you’re dancing wrong, then. You might have to give me a sample so I can make an informed decision on that one.”
Rainn kisses the top of my head. “Maybe later. Sleep now. Blowjob later. Dancing tomorrow.”
I let out a content sigh and close my eyes. “Sounds good.”
I’m out like a light a second later.
19
Rainn
At some point during the night, I wake up and follow through on my promise, giving Whit what I’m sure is the worst blowjob known to man.
Giving is a whole lot different than receiving. Not that it’s all bad. The faint salty taste isn’t as overpowering as I thought it would be. And even though it feels awkward at first, as soon as I look up into Whit’s eyes, all of my hesitance disappears because he gives me that look.
He looks at me as if I’m someone he respects and admires. So to avoid ruining the moment by telling him he’s wrong, I focus all my energy on trying to get him to come so hard he can’t remember his own name.
It’s so hot watching him fall apart, I practically hump the bedsheets and don’t even care when I come all over them while Whit shoots his load down my throat.
We both pass out quickly after.
The next time I wake up, the sun is trying to peek through the crack in my blinds, and I’m alone.
The apartment is quiet.
I strain to hear the shower or Whit moving around the kitchen, but it’s dead silent.
My immediate response is to wonder if my blowjob skills were so horrible that Whit decided to run out of here while I was asleep. He did come, though. I can still taste him on my tongue.
Hmm, maybe I should get up and brush my teeth. But … the bathroom is all the way across the apartment, and I’m under a warm blanket. Ugh, I should get up and find my phone to text Whit and check in on him.
I don’t need to. A moment later, the door to my apartment opens, and then Whit appears in my bedroom doorway. He’s wearing my beanie, my jacket, but he has his suit pants from last night on, and damn, he looks good. “Finally awake? I tried to tell you I was leaving, but you grunted and then passed out again.”
“What time is it?”
“Early. I was hungry. After three orgasms I needed sustenance, so I went and bought us breakfast.”
“Mm, food sounds good.” I stumble to get out of bed and stretch.
Whit watches and licks his lips as his gaze travels down to my sleep pants.