Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Tyler pouts. “Hurts a lot.”
Happily, I kiss there too, brushing my lips slowly across his skin. Savoring every hum, every murmur. I relish it—this power I’m only now realizing I have over this burly defenseman, who looms over opponents on the ice and smashes men into the boards, but then melts into my kisses. It’s a power I want to use for good. So I drop another slow, hazy kiss to his jawline.
He sighs, and I want to capture that sound. The sound of him relaxing into me after a long day. Another soft murmur comes from him as I continue to kiss him. He settles down next to me on the bed, looping his arm around my waist. He’s so warm right now.
I touch the corner of his mouth with my forefinger. “And this?”
“So much pain,” he whispers.
I press my mouth to his and kiss him, a little more deeply. He parts his lips, swallowing more of the kiss, drinking it up like it’s brandy. I kiss him back luxuriously, taking my time as his hands wrap around my waist and he holds me close. It’s a tight grip like he doesn’t want to let me go.
It lasts an intoxicating minute or maybe many more until our kiss is interrupted by another meow—loud and demanding.
Drama is stalking the foot of the bed like a tiny black and white lion, looking entirely put out.
“Kitty girl wants to join us,” Tyler says, then sits up and reaches for her, cradling her in a palm. He places her on a pillow, but being a cat, she doesn’t sit still. She parades around beside the headboard, testing each section while Tyler returns to me, kissing me tenderly. Then more urgently. And I can’t resist.
My lips travel down his chest to his abs, then to the zipper of his pants. I tug at it, arching a brow. “Does this hurt?”
“Unbelievably so,” he says.
I free his cock, take him in my mouth, and drive him wild as Drama curls up at last under his arm.
After he comes hard and loud, and I wipe a hand across my mouth, I say with a pleased shrug of my shoulder, “Told you I like practice.”
He reaches for me, tugs me to his other side, and traces my mouth with his finger. “Practice anytime.”
It sounds like he means it—the anytime. It sounds like an open invitation for us to come together.
Which is what tonight is dangerously starting to feel like—like a night without an end. And that scares me a little. I don’t want to get hurt. I’ve been there, done that, and rearranged my life last summer because of it. I went full garlic to make it on my own, and I don’t want to backtrack, especially as I’m finding my footing.
But when Tyler pats the pillow and urges me to sink closer to him, I stop thinking about what might hurt, and I give in, like the cat. I could learn a thing or two from her about embracing the moment.
“So, tell me about your lessons,” Tyler says, returning at last to the question he asked earlier.
Funny. I’d expected him to forget his question. To be distracted by sex and orgasms. To notice the ticking of the clock and rush out of my place, hell-bent on returning to his own room two floors and a lock away. But with Drama resting her little furry face in the crook of his arm and purring loudly enough to shake the bed, Tyler seems to be staying put too. “You said you had a new student today?” he adds.
He really does pay attention. But then again, he always has. This is the man who bought me yoga gear and sheets and towels and a NutRageous bar.
“Yes,” I say. “A girl with curly hair, a bright smile, and ADHD. It was the first thing she said when she showed up to the lesson. She stuck out her hand and said, I’m Tiffany and I have ADHD. And honestly, it was cute how much she wanted me to know.”
Tyler nods. “That’s pretty good of her, owning it.”
“I thought that too. Well, her mom had actually told me in advance over email, which was helpful because I googled it and did some research. I read some articles on how exercise can help a lot with mood and focus in people who have ADHD.”
His eyes spark. “Really? How so?”
I tell him more about the research I did and what I learned about how physical activity often improves concentration in people with ADHD.
“That’s impressive, that you put all that work into it,” he says.
“Former perfectionist here,” I say, owning it. “I really need to do something with all that energy, so it works well in that regard—research, that is.”
“I’m glad you have that knowledge about yourself,” he says. “Is coaching fulfilling you?”