Page 89 of You Had Me at Hockey

I shake my head, dragging my wet thumb over her full lips again. “You have to wait until we get home.”

She pouts. I lean down and this time I nip her lip. Then lick it. Her breathing hitches audibly.

We flirt and make out most of the way home. Not embarrassing—just kisses and touches. About twenty minutes later, we walk into her apartment. She flicks on lights and I take her jacket and hang it in the closet with mine.

“I’m not drunk,” she announces.

My lips quirk. “Good to know.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep up with you tonight.”

“You were staying sober so you could kick my ass at foosball.”

She laughs. “Right.” She wanders into her living room and sinks onto the couch.

“I had fun tonight. Your friends are cool.” I sit beside her.

“Good. I like them. They don’t always listen to bad poetry or look at Tibetan art.”

“I love Tibetan art.”

She frowns. “You do?”

“No.”

Her face clears and she laughs.

“I mean, I might love it. If I knew what it was.”

She turns into me and kisses me. “You’re pretty cool, too.”

I set a hand on her hip. “So are you.” I kiss her again, licking inside to taste her sweetness. I fucking love kissing her…deep, openmouthed kisses with tongue. My blood all rushes south and my cock stiffens. I groan against her lips.

“What are you going to show me tonight?” she whispers.

“No idea. We’ll wing it.”

She pulls back and her eyes dance with mirth. “You? Wing it? You mean, you don’t plan your sex moves ahead of time?”

“Don’t mock me, woman.” I slide a hand around the back of her neck and bring her mouth back to mine for a hard kiss. “EvenIdon’t do that.”

“I’d like to try sixty-nine.”

My cock twitches. “I’m up for that. Literally.” I rub my hand over my erection.

“Oooh.” She caresses me there too. “Yes, you are.” She uncurls herself from me and stands, holding out a hand. “Let’s go.”

I let her pull me across the room and into her bedroom. I unbutton my shirt and shrug it off, then undo my jeans. She sits on the side of her bed, watching me, her tongue slicking over her bottom lip.

“What about my poem?” she asks huskily.

“Oh yeah.” I shove my jeans down and step out of them along with underwear and socks. I saunter toward her, naked, giving my cock a much-needed stroke. “Roses are red, violets are blue.” I pause. “Get on your knees, you know what to do.”

Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip on a smile that then breaks free and lights up her face. “Yes. Yes, I do.” And she slides off the bed onto the rug, on her knees in front of me.

Chapter 22

Sara

---