Hannah
I HAVE NO idea what was said during the car ride to Garrett’s townhouse. I’m sure we talked. I’m sure I saw the scenery whizzing past the window. I’m sure I even breathed oxygen in and out of my lungs like a normal person. I just don’t remember any of those things.
The second we stumble into his bedroom, I loop my hands around his neck and kiss him. Forget baby steps. I want him too bad to go slow, and my hands fumble for his belt buckle before his tongue even enters my mouth.
His husky laughter tickles my lips, and then strong hands cover mine to stop me from undoing his belt. “As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm, I’m gonna have to slow you down, Wellsy.”
“But I don’t want to go slow,” I protest. “Tough cookies.”
“Tough cookies? What are you, my grandmother?” “Does she say tough cookies?”
“Well, no,” I confess. “Nana swears like a sailor, actually. Last Christmas she dropped a motherfucker bomb at the dinner table, and my dad nearly choked on his turkey.”
Garrett barks out a laugh. “I think I like Nana.” “She’s very sweet.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like it.” He tilts his head. “Now can we stop talking about your grandmother, Ms. Mood Killer?”
“You killed it first,” I point out.
“Naah, I just changed up the pace.” His gray eyes go molten hot. “Now get on the bed so I can make you come.”
Oh. My. God.
I scramble onto the mattress so fast it brings another laugh to Garrett’s lips, but I don’t care how eager I look. The nerves I felt last night aren’t
wreaking havoc on my stomach today, because my whole body is trembling with need. In the back of my mind, it does occur to me that maybe it won’t happen again, at least not from Garrett’s touch, but oh man, I’m dying to find out.
He settles beside me and thrusts his hand in my hair as he kisses me. I’ve never been with a guy who’s this rough with me. Devon treated me like I might shatter, but Garrett doesn’t. I’m not a fragile piece of china to him. I’m just…me. I love how excited he gets, the way he pulls my hair if my head isn’t exactly where he wants it to be, or how he bites my lip when I try to tease him by depriving him of my tongue.
I sit up only so he can whip my shirt off, and then he uses one hand to unsnap my bra with the kind of Garrett dexterity I’ve come to expect. The second he takes off his own shirt, I press my lips to his chest. I didn’t get to touch him yesterday, and I’m starving to know what he feels like, what he tastes like. His flesh is warm beneath my lips, and when my tongue darts tentatively over one flat nipple, a husky groan escapes his lips. Before I can blink, I’m on my back and we’re kissing again.
Garrett cups my breast, toying with my nipple between his fingers. My eyelids flutter closed and in this moment, I don’t care if he’s looking at me. I only care about how good he’s making me feel.
“Your skin feels like silk,” he murmurs.
“Did you steal that line from a Hallmark card?” I crack.
“Nope, just stating a fact.” His fingers skim the undersides of my breasts. “You’re soft and smooth and perfect.” He lifts his head to give me a wry look. “My calluses are probably scratching the shit out of you, huh?”
They are, but it’s the kind of erotic scraping that makes my heart pound. “If you stop touching me, I’ll punch you.”
“Naah, you’ll just break your hand if you do that. And I happen to like your hands.” With a wicked smile, he takes my right hand and places it directly over his crotch.
The hard bulge beneath my palm is so tempting I can’t help but stroke it. Garrett’s features stretch tight. A second later, he quickly removes my hand. “Oh hell. Bad idea. I’m not ready for this to end yet.”
I snort. “Aw, is someone quick on the trigger?” “Shut it, woman. I can go all night long.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you can—”
He cuts me off with a blistering hot kiss that ends with me gasping for air. Then a naughty gleam lights his eyes again, and he bends his head to kiss my nipple.
A shockwave of pleasure blasts from my breast to my core. When Garrett’s tongue darts out and swirls around the distended bud, I all but float away. My breasts have always been sensitive, and right now, they’re a bundle of tight, crackling nerve endings. When he sucks my nipple deep in his mouth, I see stars. He shifts to my other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, the same lazy kisses and teasing licks.
Then he begins kissing his way south.
Despite the excitement surging through my blood, I experience a wave of anxiety. I can’t help but remember all the times Devon did this exact same thing, kissing his way down my body. Or how much time he spent between my legs when intercourse didn’t seem to do it for me.
But thinking about my ex right now is not what I ought to be doing, so I banish all thoughts of Devon from my mind.
Garrett’s breath tickles my belly button as his tongue grazes my belly. I can feel his fingers trembling as he undoes the button of my jeans. I like knowing that he might be nervous, or in the very least, that he’s as excited as I am. He always comes off as so cool and self-assured, but right now, right here, he looks like he’s struggling to hold on to the last thread of his control.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, sliding my jeans and panties down my hips. Then his breath hitches, and I feel a tad self-conscious as his hungry gaze fixes between my legs.
I inhale slowly and say, “Yes.”
The first brush of his tongue against my folds is like an electric current shooting up my spine. I moan so loudly that his head lifts abruptly.
“Tuck’s home,” he warns, humor dancing in his eyes. “So I suggest we use our indoor voices.”
I have to bite my lip to stop from making noise, because what he’s doing to me…holy mother of pearl. So. Good. He circles my clit with his tongue, then licks it in soft, slow strokes that drive me absolutely wild with desire.
I suddenly remember how Allie confessed that she had to “train” Sean to do this because he used to go all motorboat on her clit from the word go.
But Garrett needs no training. He allows my pleasure to build, going slow and making me crazy, making me beg.
“Please,” I whimper when the tempo once again becomes excruciatingly leisurely. “More.”
He raises his head, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never glimpsed anything sexier than the sight of his glossy lips and burning gray eyes. “Do you think you can come like this?”
I surprise myself by nodding. I don’t think I’m lying, though. I’m wound up so tight I’m like a cartoon bomb about to detonate.
With a low growl of approval, he leans down and wraps his lips around my clit. He sucks hard, simultaneously pushing one finger inside me, and I go off like a rocket launcher.
The orgasm is a thousand times more intense than the orgasms I’ve given myself, maybe because my body knows I wasn’t the one who made it happen. Garrett did this. Garrett turned my limbs to jelly and sent this wave of sweet, pulsing satisfaction racing through me.
When the incredible sensations finally abate, they leave behind a warm rush of peace and a strangely bittersweet feeling. What happens next is something I’ve only seen happen in movies and it embarrasses the crap out of me.
I start to cry.
In a heartbeat, Garrett climbs up my body and searches my face in concern. “What’s wrong?” His expression goes stricken. “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head and blink through the onslaught of tears. “I’m… crying…because…” I breathe deeply. “Because I’m happy.”
His features relax, and now he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. His jaw twitches as he meets my eyes. “Say it,” he orders.
“Say what?” I use the corner of his blanket to wipe the moisture staining my cheeks.
“Say Garrett Graham, you are a sex god. You have achieved what no other man ever has. You—”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re such a jerk. I will never, ever say those words.”
“Sure you will.” He smirks at me. “Once I’m through with you, you’ll be shouting those words out from the rooftops.”
“You know what I think?”
“Women aren’t supposed to think, Wellsy. That’s why your brains are smaller. Science proves it.”
I slug him again, and a howl of laughter flies out of his mouth. “Jeez. I’m kidding. You know I don’t actually believe that. I worship at the shrine of womanhood.” He dons a solemn face. “Okay, tell me what you think.”
“I think it’s time I shut you up.”
He snickers. “Yeah? How do you plan on—” He hisses when I cup his package and give it a hearty squeeze. “You’re evil.”
“And you’re a cocky jerk, so I guess we both just have to deal.”
“Aw, thanks for noticing how cocky I am.” He smiles innocently, but there’s nothing innocent about the way he thrusts his erection into my hand.
Suddenly I don’t feel like teasing him anymore. I just want to see him come apart. I haven’t stopped thinking about the way he looked last night when he…
My sex clenches at the memory.
I tackle his belt buckle, and this time, he lets me undo it. In fact, he falls onto his back and lets me do whatever the heck I want.
I undress him as if I’m unwrapping a shiny gift, and once I have him naked, I take a moment to admire my prize. His body is long and sleek, boasting a golden skin tone instead of the pasty white you see on so many of the guys at Briar. I run my fingers over his rock-hard abs, smiling when his muscles quiver beneath my touch. Then I trace the tattoo on his left arm and ask, “Why flames?”
He shrugs. “I like fire. And I think flames look cool.”
The response amuses me, but it also impresses me. “Wow. I was expecting to hear about the bullshit meaning behind it. I swear, every time you ask someone about their tattoo, they tell you it means “courage” in Taiwanese or something, when we both know it probably means “potato” or “shoe” or “stupidly intoxicated.” Or they give you a whole spiel about how they hit rock bottom x many years ago but worked their way through it and this is why they have a phoenix rising from the ashes tattooed on their back.”
Garrett laughs before going serious. “I guess this isn’t the time to tell you about the tribal tattoo on my shin. It means eternal optimist.”
“Oh God. Really?”
“Nope. Totally lying. But it’d serve you right for getting all judgy about people’s ink.”
“Hey, sometimes it’s nice to hear that someone got a tattoo just because they like it. I was complimenting you, dumbass.” I lean forward and kiss the flames circling his biceps, which, I have to admit, do look pretty cool.
“Hell yeah, keep complimenting me then,” he drawls. “But make sure to use your tongue when you do it.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t stop what I’m doing. I drag my tongue over the black flames, then kiss my way to his chest. He tastes like soap and salt and man, and I love it. So much that I can’t stop licking every frickin’ inch of him.
I know he’s enjoying my very thorough exploration as much as I am because his breathing becomes ragged, and I can feel the tension rippling through his muscles. When my mouth concludes its journey by brushing against the tip of his penis, Garrett’s entire body goes rigid.
I look up and find glazed gray eyes peering back at me. “You don’t have to…do that…if you don’t want to,” he says gruffly.
“Huh. Then it’s a good thing I want to, isn’t it?” “Some girls don’t like to.”
“Some girls are idiots.”
My tongue touches his hard flesh, and his hips snap off the bed. I lick his smooth, engorged head, savoring the taste of him, learning his texture with my tongue. When I draw the tip into my mouth and suck gently, he makes a tortured noise deep in his throat.
“Jesus, Wellsy. That feels…”
“It feels what?” I tease, looking up at him.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he croaks. “Don’t ever stop. I mean it. I want you to keep blowing me for the rest of your life.”
Is his growly request good for my ego? Naah.
It’s great for my ego.
Since he’s too big to take all the way in my mouth, and I’m not a deep- throat expert, I wrap my fingers around the base of him, sucking and pumping in unison, my pace alternating between slow and teasing and fast and urgent. Garrett’s breathing grows more and more labored, his groans growing more and more desperate.
“Hannah,” he chokes out, and I feel his thighs tighten and know he’s about to climax.
I’ve never swallowed before, and I’m not brave enough to try it now, so my hand takes over as I stroke him to release. With a husky grunt, Garrett arches his spine, and wetness spurts onto my fingers and his stomach. His face is mesmerizing and I can’t tear my gaze off it. His lips are parted, cheeks taut. His eyes are a hazy swirl of gray, like a thick mass of clouds gathering before an impending storm.
Several seconds later, his body relaxes, practically sinking into the mattress as a sated sigh rumbles from his mouth. I love seeing him like this. Limp and spent and still having trouble breathing.
I grab some tissues from the box on the nightstand and wipe him up, but when I try to get up to throw out the tissues, he yanks me down and kisses me hard. “Jesus…that was incredible.”
“Does that mean we get to have sex now?”
“Ha. You wish.” He wags a finger at me. “Baby steps, Wellsy.
Remember?”
I pout like a six-year-old. “But we know I can have an orgasm. You just saw it.”
“Actually, I felt it on my tongue.”
My heart skips a beat at his crude description. I fall silent for a moment, and then I let out a defeated breath. “Will this change your mind?” I scowl at him, then begin the reluctant recitation. “Garrett Graham, you are a sex god. You have achieved what no other man ever has. You are…insert more glowing reviews here.” I lift one eyebrow. “Now can we have sex?”
“Absolutely not,” he says cheerfully.
Then, to my sheer and total dismay, he hops off the bed and picks up his discarded jeans.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Getting dressed. I have practice in thirty minutes.”
As if on cue, someone pounds loudly against Garrett’s door. “Yo, G, we’ve gotta take off!” Tucker calls.
I snatch the blanket in a panic, desperate to cover myself up, but Tucker’s footsteps are already retreating.
“If you want, you can hang out here until we get back,” Garrett offers as he pulls his shirt on. “I’ll only be gone a few hours.”
I hesitate.
“Come on, stay,” he begs. “I’m sure Tucker will be cooking up something good for dinner, so you can stick around and I’ll drive you home afterward.”
The idea of being alone in his house is…weird. But the idea of eating a home-cooked dinner instead of hitting up the dining hall sounds pretty damn tempting. “Okay,” I finally relent. “I guess I can do that. I’ll put on a movie or something while you’re gone. Or maybe take a nap.”
“I will allow either of those options.” He glares at me. “But you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to watch Breaking Bad without me.”
“Fine, I won’t.” “Promise…”
I roll my eyes. “I promise.” “G! Move your ass!”
In the blink of an eye, Garrett walks over and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ve gotta go. See you later.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in Garrett Graham’s bedroom, which is, well, I’ll just say it—it’s surreal as hell. I never even spoke to the guy before midterms, and now I’m sitting naked on his bed. Figure that one out.
I’m surprised he’s not worried about me snooping around and finding his porn stash, but when I stop to think about it, I realize it’s not that surprising at all. Garrett is the most honest, straightforward person I’ve ever met. If he has porn, he probably doesn’t bother hiding it. I bet it’s all neatly organized in a clearly labeled folder right on his computer desktop.
I hear voices and footsteps downstairs, and then the front door creaks open and slams shut. After a few seconds, I get up and put my clothes back on, because I’m not comfortable walking around naked in a room that’s not my own.
I opt against taking a nap, because I feel oddly energized after that orgasm. And that’s more surreal than everything else, the knowledge that I actually had an orgasm with a guy.
Devon and I tried to make that happen for eight long months. Garrett did it after two hookup sessions.
Does this mean I’m fixed?
That question is way too philosophical to be pondering in the middle of the afternoon, so I push it aside and go downstairs to get a drink. But once I
enter the kitchen, inspiration strikes. Garrett and his teammates are probably going to be exhausted when they get home. Why let Tucker slave over the stove when I’m already in the kitchen with nothing but time on my hands?
A quick exploration of the fridge, pantry and cupboards reveals that Garrett wasn’t kidding—cooking does happen here, because the kitchen is stocked with ingredients. The only recipe I know off the top of my head is my grandmother’s three-cheese lasagna, so I gather up all the necessary items and pile them on the granite counter. I’m about to get cooking when something else occurs to me.
Pursing my lips, I fish my phone out of my back pocket and pull up my mother’s number. It’s only four o’clock, so I’m hoping she hasn’t left for work yet.
Luckily, she picks up on the first ring. “Hey, sweetie! This is a lovely surprise.”
“Hey. Got a sec?”
“I’ve got five whole minutes actually,” she replies with a laugh. “Your father’s driving me to work tonight, so he has the honor of cleaning all the snow off the car.”
“You guys are already getting that much snow?” I say in horror. “Of course we are. It’s gl—”
“I swear to God, Mom, if you say global warming, I’m hanging up,” I warn her, because as much as I love my parents, their global warming lectures drive me up the wall. “And why is Dad driving you? What happened to your car?”
“It’s in the shop. The brake pads needed to be replaced.”
“Oh.” I absently open a box of lasagna sheets. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Nana’s lasagna recipe. It serves eight, right?”
“Ten,” she corrects.
Frowning, I think about all the food Garrett shoveled into his pie hole when he came to the diner last week, then multiply that by four hockey players and…
“Crap,” I mutter. “I still don’t think that’s enough. If I wanted to serve twenty, do I just double the ingredients, or is there a different way to calculate it?”
Mom pauses. “Why exactly are you cooking lasagna for twenty people?”
“I’m not. But I am feeding four hockey players who I imagine have the appetites of twenty people.”
“I see.” There’s another pause and I can practically hear her smiling over the line. “Is one of these four hockey players someone…special?”
“You can just ask me if he’s my boyfriend, Mom. You don’t have to be cheesy about it.”
“Fine. Is he your boyfriend?”
“Nope. I mean, we’re kinda seeing each other, I guess—” Kinda? He just made you come! “—but we’re friends more than anything.”
Friends who make each other come.
I silence the annoying voice in my voice and swiftly change the subject. “Do you have time to quickly talk me through the recipe?”
“Of course.”
Five minutes later, I hang up the phone and start preparing dinner for the guy who made me come today.
