Page 75 of Goalie Lessons

The power of her pleasure—the way her back arches, her thighs closing in around me as I maintain pace and pressure—makes me desperate to pleasure her, to follow her to the end of this.

Finally, when she goes limp against the bed, still breathing hard, I rise up and wipe the back of my mouth roughly with my hand, meeting her eyes.

“So?” I ask, swallowing and clearing my throat, trying to rid myself of that rough, unpolished tone.

“So.” She says it like a statement, almost incredulous. “So.” She laughs, shaking her head and throwing her arm over her eyes. “So, that was…”

I’m grinning, and I can’t wipethatoff my face. “Want me to swish some mouthwash?”

I realize this reveals that I want to kiss her more, but of course I do. I can’t imagine a man—or woman—existing who wouldn’t want to kiss Astrid Foster.

“Yeah,” she says, sitting up, a strange look in her eyes. “Eventually.”

“Eventually?” I ask, brow drawing down in confusion, but Astrid is on her knees now, maneuvering us around, her hand on my chest, pushing me backward until my head hits the pillow.

I laugh, uncertain what’s going on. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” she says, yanking on my pants, then looking up at me through her hair. “This is acomprehensivelesson, O’Connor.”

Astrid

IfGraysonhadeatenme out that first night after the wedding, things would have gone much differently.

I’m a firm believer that when it comes to oral sex, eagerness goes a long way. And Grayson O’Connor is nothing if not eager. That first touch, when he pressed his tongue to me and dragged it up the length of me, no hesitation whatsoever?

It fucking killed me.

The jolt that moved through my body was electric, reaching. And the worst part was that I was hyperaware of the fact that it came directly from him. Like the first hit for a soon-to-be-addict, I knew that I would crave it again and again.

And now? I’m going to touch him too. It’s all-consuming, rocking through me with purpose, re-energizing my spent, loose limbs with intention.

“Astrid,” Grayson says, his hair falling in his face as he reaches for me. “You don’t—”

But the words sputter out on his lips when I wrap my hand around the base of his cock. Normally, I am not a girl who enjoys giving blow jobs—or even hand jobs—but there’s something about Grayson O’Connor that makes me want to get on my knees. Show him that I can be just as eager as he is, that I can make him feel good, too.

And I can’t deny that I like the way I just made him go speechless. I like that his body responds to me just in the way my body responds to him.

Distantly, in the back of my mind, I’m aware of the fact that this is outside of our agreement. My logical self is tucked away, pacing and pissed off, desperately trying to move to the front and tell me that this is a bad idea. That giving him a blow job won’t necessarily help him get better at sex. That it might affect our already strange dynamic, affect that tenuous, holding connection between us.

But I don’t care. Something in me can’t possibly settle with the knowledge that he’s touched me, and yet I haven’t touched him. Not like this.

That night in the guest room, we were lights off, fumbling hands and mouths, and everything happened so quickly I didn’t even get a good look at him. There was no laboring over each other. Not like here, not with the lessons we’ve been doing together.

He’s seen me, and I want to see him.

Now, I stare at my hand around the base of him, actually—embarrassingly—gulpingat the sight of it. I’m not going to lie and act like I haven’t thought about it. Of everything that went wrong that night, his size was not one of them.

I thought about it the first time I saw Grayson again, and again when we were making out, when he was pressed against me. I’d had half a mind to just say fuck it and escalate the lesson to the full fucking thing.

And now that I have him in my hand again, I’m remembering just how gifted he is.

“Astrid,” he chokes, clearly trying again to deter me, to make sure this is something I want. I do want it—but more than that, I want to make sure I avoid listening to reason right now. If I stop and think about all the reasons why touching Grayson like this might be bad, I might be sensible and change my mind.

So I take action, leaning forward and lowering my mouth to him. I press my lips gently against the head of his cock. It’s soft, and salty from pre-cum, and I know that normally, this is the part I’d be trying to get through, reciprocating because I should.

But now, with Grayson—I feel giddy, eager, like this is an opportunity I’ve been waiting and waiting for.

He jerks, letting out a low, guttural noise when I touch my mouth to him, and when I feel his hand reach for the back of my head, a shiver runs down the length of my back. He’s gentle, threading his fingers through my hair, tipping his head back against the pillow.

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