Page 79 of The Wingman

I wake the next morning spooning Darcy, her body tucked against my chest, warm and soft, pretty hair all over me and her sweet scent in my nose. Intense feelings of comfort and possessiveness course through me.

She fits right against me, like we were made for each other.

In her sleep, she sighs and shifts her hips, pressing her ass back into me. Blood hurtles to my cock and my balls ache.

She lets out a low moan and does it again. My jaw clenches at how good the pressure feels against my cock, how good it feels for her to want me like this. The urge to yank her pajama bottoms down and rock against her pussy sweeps through me, but instead, I tighten my hold around her, clutching her harder against me, letting my lips fall to the exposed skin between her shoulder and neck.

I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m half asleep and not thinking clearly. Her skin is so fucking soft under my mouth, and I could spend hours like this, just teasing each other.

Her breathing changes and she stiffens before her head jerks up and our gazes meet. Her eyes go wide.

“Sorry.” She moves away, and I pull my arm back, rolling onto my back.

Thankfully, between my tight boxers and the thick duvet, she can’t see my straining erection and how much I enjoyed what we just did.

On the other side of the bed, she gives me a soft, slightly embarrassed smile, looking so fucking gorgeous in the morning light.

“Did you sleep okay? I wasn’t, like, kicking you or mumbling about the Fibonacci sequence?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I slept like a rock.”

The realization sinks into my gut. Not a fluke, then, that I sleep better than ever with Darcy in my bed.

We watch each other for a few moments.

“Me, too,” she whispers.

Our eyes meet again and my heart thumps harder. I want to stay in this bed with her forever, just lying here talking. My mind wanders back to last night at the bar. “I like that you’re playing with your hockey models again.”

She rolls her eyes.

“They make you happy, though, don’t they? Maybe that’s enough.” I reach for a lock of her light-purple hair and drape it across her upper lip like a mustache.

Beneath it, she smiles.

“It’s nice to see you excited about things again.”

She makes a pleased, thoughtful humming noise.

My eyes drop to her mouth, and the urge to pull her back against me and kiss her rushes through me. Our gazes meet, and something sparks in her eyes. For a moment, I think she might feel the same way.

“I should get up and get ready for work,” she whispers.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’ll call the maintenance guy about your window again. It’ll be fixed by the time you get home tonight.”

She gives me a grateful smile and leaves, closing my bedroom door behind her, and I lie there, listening to the sounds of her getting ready for work while I wrap my hand around my cock and give it slow, torturous strokes, teasing myself until I hear the front door close when she leaves.

With a few faster, rougher strokes, I come hard, white light blinding my vision and pleasure running like a hot current through my veins as I shoot all over my stomach with a groan. Ican never come quietly. My breath saws in and out of my lungs as my head fills with thoughts of soft, sweet, fuckable Darcy. My Darcy.

Like always, the orgasm isn’t enough. Afterward, I want her more than ever. The urge to take control rises. It’s the same feeling I had on the ice the other night when I scored the goal.

Later, on my way to the kitchen, I pause in the doorway of her bedroom, eyes on the box sitting on her desk, unopened past the original shipping box.

The sex toy.

My thoughts flick to the instructional video that popped up on her laptop last night. It’s not my problem, and I’m not going to get involved. No matter how badly I want to intervene, help, and make her feel safe.

Make her come.

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