Page 47 of Pucker Up
I took my hand from his chest and we shook on it. Closing my eyes, I let the hand hold linger. This time, all I could see were the pillows in front of me. It was a first-person point of view, like I was wearing virtual-reality glasses. I was up close and personal with Ace’s pillows, surging forward and backwards as though moving with ocean waves crashing on a beach. Looking down, I could see Ace’s hands holding onto my upper thighs. The sheets were the same color as in the scene I’d seen moments earlier—a burnt yellow.
When we stopped shaking hands, I opened my eyes and looked into Ace’s. His lids were heavy and seemed filled with desire. His words said he wanted to take it slowly and have a PG sleepover, but his body, including the way his button fly was bulging, betrayed his words.
I let go of his hands, balled mine into fists, and rested them on my hips. “Your sheets are turmeric,” I said with authority.
His smile faltered. “You’re wrong. Looks like you’re sleeping on the couch.”
I stumbled backwards a step. It had been the most vivid vision of my life, and it was wrong. Maybe I just had an overactive imagination. Maybe Ace wasn’t imagining fucking me hard in his yellow sheets. “Really?” My voice trembled. “I guess I’m on the couch then.”
“Go see for yourself.” He stepped aside and gestured like a butler to the door at the end of the living room. In a haze, I travelled through the stark space and opened the door to Ace’s bedroom. Like the rest of his loft, the room was white, all white, from the rug to the curtains, to the…duvet cover. It was the most industrial-looking room I’d ever seen.
“See?” He stepped around me and twirled with his arm extended. “No turmaranorank, or whatever you called it, sheets in here.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across my face. “It’s turmeric.” As disappointed as I was that I had gotten it wrong, I was also relieved that I couldn’t actually read his mind or see the future. I was nothing like my Looney Tunes mom.
“Yeah.” Ace grinned. “They’re not green.” He triumphantly flung back the duvet cover, revealing the exact shade of burnt yellow from my imagination session.
“Ace.” My voice trembled. I stepped next to his bed and ran my fingertips down the cotton sheets. “This is turmeric.”
“I thought turmeric was like baby-shit green.” His crooked smile, the one that made my heart hitch, filled his face. “This is orange.” He rested his hand on top of mine. “I got them when I was traded to the Tigers. It’s kind of a weird thing that I do; I get sheets that match the team’s colors, and the Tigers are orange and black.”
Hockey players are superstitious creatures. My dad came home with the craziest stories from the rink. I’d never heard of a player coordinating his bed linens with his hockey jerseys though. “When you played for the Chicago Royals, your sheets were—”
“Barney fucking purple.” He spread my fingers apart with his and then folded his huge hand around mine. “I wish you could’ve seen them.” His breath was hot on my ear.
My back tingled with the heat from Ace’s body being so close. He wasn’t touching me, but he might as well have been. I turned and he held my hand tightly until our intertwined fingers were resting between us. I’d never felt safer than I did in Ace’s embrace. I slid my arm around his waist as he wrapped his free arm around my back and held me tightly to him. His heart thumped under my ear that rested on his chest. “You’re the mostbeautiful woman I’ve ever met, Goldie.” His low voice vibrated in my cheek.
I tilted my head up to look at Ace. “Let’s do this.”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” His hand slid down my back and rested on my lower back, his fingertips bunching the back pockets of my jeans.
“I don’t want to wait until after the study is done, but do you think we could keep this a secret until it’s done?”
“Are you asking a man who is head over heels for you to see you in secret? To sneak around? To lie when my buddies ask about my sex life?”
I bit my lip and nodded. “I suppose I am.”
He leaned down and his lips brushed my ear. “My buddies don’t ask.” He squeezed my butt hard and nipped at my lobe. “Now let’s get that fine ass into those turmeranzic sheets of mine.”
I squealed as he lifted me off my feet and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His lips were on mine, hungrier than earlier. He had been holding back. Now, his breaths were coming hard and heavy, his mouth hungry for mine. I rocked my hips to press my longing against his tented jeans. His hands squeezed my ass as he held me up like I weighed less than a hockey stick.
We tumbled onto his orange bedsheets. My hands fell onto his pillows, and his legs straddled mine as he threaded his fingers through mine above my head. I writhed beneath his body as we dry-humped like teenagers. His kisses vacillated between tender and hungry, but then he paused. “Are we too drunk to do this?”
Moaning into his mouth, I tugged my hands free and fumbled with the button on his jeans. “I’m not.” I was, but I didn’t care. His concern made me want him even more.
Ace nodded and pressed into a plank position. His body hovered above me, giving me the space to undo his pants. Iwas able to slide them over his ass and then tucked my feet into the waistband to pull them down to his ankles. He kicked them off and then undid my pants and ripped them down my body, tossing them onto the floor on top of his. He returned to his mounted position. This time, his cock was only behind a thin layer of fabric. “Silk boxers, Ace? I was expecting Homer Simpson.”
His breath hitched as I ran my hand down the front of his soft shorts. They didn’t do a very good job concealing the rock-hard cock behind them.
“Gotta give him room in there. The Homer Simpson briefs are for showing, not growing.” He slid the silky hardness against the dampness between my legs. “I knew yours would be cute like this.” He slipped his hand between my thighs, one of his fingers finding the groove between my legs.
The floral granny panties were definitely not sexy. “I hadn’t planned on doing this.” My voice was breathy.
“They’re fucking sexy, Goldie. Just like these.” He tapped the arm of my glasses.
“You’ve got a librarian fetish?” Self-deprecating humor was my go-to when I was embarrassed, and the coastal granny panties were definitely not sexy.
“Tell me about the Dewey Decimal System,” he growled into my ear. I gasped as he slid the panties aside and his finger stroked me lightly, teasing the most sensitive part of my body.
