Our mouths move together in perfect unison, like they know the steps to a dance Avery and I are unaware of. His lips move seamlessly against mine. I open my mouth even before he does because it’s not enough—just lips—and then his tongue readily slides out to meet mine. A tsunami of desire for Avery rolls through me.
My arms squeeze tighter around his neck and my hands dig into his hair. I press my whole body flat against his because I want to—Ineedto—touch as much of him as I possibly can. He’s still got me a couple of inches off the ground and he’s walking toward the door. And then the door is flat against my back and Avery’s mouth is on my jaw by my ear and he’s kissing and sucking, and I tug on his hair as fire licks me from the inside.
With the door and his body weight holding me off the ground, he moves his hands from my waist down to my ass and palms it greedily. I let my arms slip from his shoulders and my fingers trace his spine as I lower my hands tohisass. Because what a fucking ass it is. I’ve wondered exactly how perfect it must feel since the first time I ever met him. It was before one of Sebastian’s games, in the tunnel outside the dressing rooms in the Seattle arena. Avery was stretching in nothing but black nylon workout shorts. Right leg bent, left leg straight behind him and perfect, round, full ass stretching the seams on his nylon shorts to their limits. And now that it’s in my hands I can confirm that I’ve never felt such a solid, perfectly round mass of muscle in my entire existence.
His fingers skim the hem of my skirt and curl their way underneath as his tongue slides over mine again. I arch my back slightly against the door, pushing my hips toward him, and he pushes back, and then I feel another perfect, hard mass of muscle. This one is rubbing against my thigh.
“Avery,” I whisper as his mouth moves to my neck and his tongue traces a path up to my ear. “Open the door.”
His right hand leaves my leg and digs his keys out of his pocket. He kisses me again as he slides the key into the lock behind my left elbow, and when he turns the handle we both stumble into the hallway. I’m so off balance that I have to reach out and grab the stair railing behind me to keep from falling. Avery slams the door shut and reaches out to steady me. He pulls me to his chest and I put my hand on his flexed biceps.
Our eyes meet in the darkened hallway, the only light coming from a table lamp he had left on in the living room to my left. He keeps one hand wrapped around my waist and lifts the other one to my hair, where he expertly pulls the clip out and drops it to the floor. My hair tumbles to my shoulders as the metal clip clatters on the hardwood by my feet.
“I have waited way too long to do that,” he says, his eyes locked on mine and a sincere smile on his lips, which are stained ruby from my lipstick.
I reach up and cup the side of his face, his stubble tickling my palm, and I run a thumb over his perfect bottom lip. “Show me what else you’ve been waiting to do.”
He kisses me again, which is exactly what I want, because kissing him is incredible. It makes me feel wild. Out of control. Electric. Just like the first time it progresses into a hardcore make-out session almost instantly, and just like last time my body is flooded with wild, uncontrollable desire.
He’s filled with the same sensations. I can tell by the way he pushes me, backward toward the stairs. My knees are buckling and so he reaches out with one of those giant arms of his and holds me tightly and eases me down onto the stairs. He lets me unbutton his crisp, tailored shirt, bunch it up in my hands and slip it off his shoulders. Then my hands grab the bottom of my shirt in the back and tug it up, off my body. Because I want him to know I wasn’t playing. This is no joke; I want to make good on the little bet. I want him naked and inside me, and I want it now.
I’m so happy I’m wearing my best matching underwear—a white lace demi-cup bra, the kind that has my tits all pushed up on display for him. He cups them as soon as he sees them, then dips his head and gently kisses the right one where it’s spilling out of its confines as he runs his thumbs over the delicate white fabric. I can feel my nipples harden because of the delicious sensations he’s creating, and it’s amazing. It’s been so long since a man has touched me, and, oh, God, I’ve missed someone else’s hands on my body.
I run my own hands down his back, around his sides and then up to his chest. I can feel his left hand behind my back, and with a quick flick of his wrist and twist of his fingers, my bra is undone. I smirk at that and can’t decide if I’m surprised or impressed. It’s honestly both.
“How did a monk become such a pro at removing girls’ undergarments?” I ask.
His answer is to kiss that smirk right off my face. His hands tug my bra down my arms and off my body, and then his mouth leaves mine and covers my left nipple. He bites down gently. My back arches and a rush of air leaves my open mouth in a throaty gasp.
I love when men lick and touch my tits. It’s my favorite thing in the sexual universe, and maybe it’s because it’s been so long, but I don’t ever remember it feeling as good as it does now with Avery. He uses just the right about of wetness and lips and teeth, and by the time he moves to my right breast I’m panting and tugging so roughly on his hair, which is twisted in my fingers, that I’m surprised he isn’t yelping.
But he’s doing the exact opposite. He’s responding with rougher licks and harder nips, making it even better. I swear I must be leaving a puddle of desire on the stairs under my ass. He starts kissing his way back up my chest to my neck and finally my mouth, and I lower my hands, snaking them from his hair around to his rock-hard stomach. My only goal is to get to his belt and get it undone.
Two of my fingers graze his belly button and then slide through the narrow trail of hair that leads down. I press my hand firmly against the front of his jeans and he groans into my mouth. As I slide down the zipper on his pants, I can’t help but gently bite my lower lip in anticipation. My hand slips into his now open pants and…he isn’t wearing underwear.Holy sweet God in heaven.For some reason that’s the hottest thing ever.
Also, he’s huge. There was a rumor going around that he was packing. It started from what was supposed to be an innocuous picture in the sports section of the Seattle newspaper of the team getting ready pregame the year they won the Cup. Avery was in the Under Armour players wear under their pads. It’s kind of like a skintight spandex T-shirt and spandex tights that end above his knees. The camera caught Avery standing to the side, and there was quite the bulge in the front. The Internet exploded, especially on puck bunny sites. But it didn’t end there. Full-on sports news sites were speculating over the size of Avery Carter Westwood’s personal hockey stick. No one could verify the rumors at the time but now I can. He wasn’t wearing an oversized cup. His personal hockey stick needs its own arena.
“Stephanie.” He pants my name and hooks his hands under the back of my knees and firmly pushes them up toward my bare chest and then apart, so he can slide his now exposed cock along my panty-covered core. My delicate lacy skirt is pushed up around my waist. I graze my lips across the vein thumping in his neck, down to his collarbone, and push his jeans down his hips, giving his not-so-little friend more room to play.
His lips brush my ear and he whispers, “God, I’ve wanted this…fantasized of this…forever.”
He grinds into me again, with nothing but my underwear holding us back from what we both want. He hand is moving toward the offending article of clothing, my heartbeat getting harder and louder with every inch his hand gains. I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to say something, but all I can manage is his name.
“Avery.” I arch my back in anticipation as his hand slides up my inner thigh.
“You want my hand there?” he asks, his voice low and gruff. The tips of his fingers graze the white lace thong I’ve got on. He’s asking in the cocky tone that implies he already knows the answer. He’d bet a year’s pay on it. And it’s so damn hot. “You want me to touch your pussy, Stephanie?”
“Oui,” I manage to whisper. Avery is Canadian. He was born in the same town I was and raised among the Acadian French. He’s not fluent, but he knows enough. And honestly, he didn’t need verbal confirmation. The wet lace against his fingers should be answer enough.
Avery hooks his fingers into the skimpy fabric and slides under it. I push up into his hand and bite down on his earlobe as he slides a finger into me. I moan as my eyes flutter closed, and I don’t even care how fucking desperate I must look. I can’t be bothered to try to restrain even an ounce of the desire I feel for him tonight.
“Are you sure you’ve had sex before?” he asks quietly as he pushes his finger deep, uses his thumb to gently slide over my clit. “You’re so tight.”
“I’ve had sex,” I assure him in a pant and roll my hips, causing more friction between my button and his rough thumb pad. “Just not with everyone and not in a while.”
I turn my face, and our eyes connect. I don’t need to tell him it’s been almost three years. I’ve been around him almost as much as I’ve been around my own brother, since they played together, and when Seb was single I was his perpetual plus-one for events and parties. He probably knows, just like I know that other than Lizzie, he’s had sex like maybe once in the last three years, and that was with Jessie Garrison’s sister. Well, before she was with Jordan’s brother Devin.
A lock of his dark brown hair is curling over his forehead. I reach up and brush it away and then hold his face in my hands and pull it down to my lips.
