The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Wesley

This is playing with fire on so many levels. Sure, she’s my teammate’s sister, but more importantly? In a few short weeks, she’s become my friend. A good one, at that. Most of all, she’s my goddamn roommate.

Giving in to this lust is such a risk. It’s a massive complication. We’ll be sharing this kitchen, this living room, this home through the end of the year. Every second I see her in my house could be uncomfortable.

And yet, I don’t stop.

I go.

I gather up the hem of her peach sundress in one hand, my other hand holding the lipstick tube. “This gives me an idea,” I muse as I push up the fabric, revealing more of her lovely thighs.

“A very bad one?” she asks, turning my words right back on me.

I lean in closer. “A very good one.”

Her bright blue eyes flash with excitement. With filthy hope. “Well, don’t leave a girl hanging.”

That’s my Josie—full of sass and fire. My bold, funny, daring one-night stand. The woman I couldn’t get enough of. The woman I was desperate to see again.

Right now, I try to think of her that way rather than as the woman who’s inextricably wrapped up in my life.

Letting go of the cotton material, I sweep a hand behind her, pushing ingredients, the cutting board, and the bowls, farther away on the counter, making room. Then, I return to her, sliding my palm down her bare thigh, savoring the way she trembles as I touch her. When I reach her ankle, my gaze shifts to her toes. She fixed the aqua polish on the little pinky, and this detail makes my heart squeeze. It’s so very Josie.

In fact, it’s so very her, I’d better not think too hard on it or it’ll do dangerous things to my heart. Instead, I hike up her foot, setting the arch of it on the edge of the counter so her legs widen.

A sharp breath crosses her lips. I groan. Those lips. Dear god, those pretty pink lips. I ache to kiss her—with a sharp pang that’s so insistent, it’s borderline impossible to deny.

But if I kiss her again, I’ll get lost in her. It’s best to play. Have fun. Bend the rules. Not break them. That’s my plan—and it’s a plan that I’ve been formulating ever since I set eyes on that rose-gold lipstick tube.

I travel my hand back up her leg, goose bumps rising on her soft skin as I coast my palm over her. When I skim that hand along her thigh, she shudders, arching her back, lifting up her tits.

My mind goes hazy. My skin burns hot. Her reactions thrill me to the marrow. I’m so tempted to kiss her. But I focus on my impromptu plan. I push up the skirt to her waist, revealing her panties. They’re white cotton with pink polka dots, and—“You’re soaked, baby.”

She meets my eyes with a naughty smile of her own. “News flash: you kind of turn me on.”

I smile, feeling ten feet tall. “Kind of?”

She purses her lips then shudders out a breath. “Find out if it’s more than kind of.”

With a smirk, I waggle the lipstick tube, then lower it between her thighs.

Her eyes widen to moons. “Are you…?”

“Going to use this on you? You bet I fucking am.”

She draws a deep breath. “Then bend the rules.”

Yeah, she does know me so well. Knows exactly what I’m doing. I’m using a loophole. Technically, I’m not touching her. The tube is. I slide it over the fabric covering her clit. She parts her lips in the most gorgeous O. Then she breathes out a small but feral, “Oh god.”

She’s so aroused. So ready.

And I am so determined to get her off. The top of the tube is angled, so I rub it around her clit, then down the damp panel of her panties. Her eyes flutter closed and she grips the counter. Her fingers claw at the edge as she holds on while I stroke her. Circle her. Caress her.

She has no reservations, and it’s beautiful to watch. Josie is so free in bed, and I’m in awe. She leans her head back, and I don’t even think she realizes she’s still wearing her glasses. Or maybe she does and doesn’t care. She lifts her chest. Her tits are heaving, her body arching, her foot curling over the edge of the counter.

She is shameless, and it’s so unbelievably hot.

My bones are on fire, and I’m going to let them burn. Mesmerized, I slide the metallic tube slowly, tantalizingly over the white wet fabric, then I zero in on her clit.

She’s moaning and panting, giving in to the way we’re playing. “Feels so good,” she mutters.

“You need it badly, don’t you?” I say, fighting to keep control, focusing on her pleasure only.

Getting her off is all I’ll allow myself.

Correction: Getting her off like this. This is…like cheating on a diet. Skipping the bench press at the gym. Eating one cookie. It won’t ruin me. This extreme focus on her will simply release the tension between us. A valve loosened—that’s all.

With that squarely in mind, I tease her clit through the soaked fabric. Her noises grow deliciously louder. Soft murmurs. Hungry whimpers. A breathy cry. Her thighs are spread. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is falling out of her bun. It’s the perfect picture of this forbidden moment. But then she lets go of the counter, and I tense all over. I want her to touch me so badly, but if she touches me I’m so fucked. My control—frayed to a thread already—will snap.

She doesn’t reach for me though. With eyes closed, she squeezes her breast. My brain goes haywire, nerves firing, mind popping. As she fondles herself, she parts her lips and whispers, “Wes.”

For a split second I gaze down at her gorgeous mouth, then give all the way in, “Fuck it.”

I let go of her thigh, cover her throat with my palm, and yank her toward me.

My mouth crashes down on hers. I kiss her wildly as I stroke her with the lipstick tube. I devour her sweet cinnamon mouth as I rub the lipstick faster. I suck on her tongue. I bite her lip. I consume her.

She snakes a hand down, grabbing mine, breaking the kiss, and muttering, “Fingers. Or cock. Please.”

I am not strong enough to withstand this demand.

I am not disciplined enough to resist.

I am just unable to stop.

I toss the lipstick somewhere on the counter, but before I can even get my fingers inside her soaked panties she’s grabbing my hand, guiding it over her, showing me how she likes it, and fuck, if that’s not the hottest thing ever.

This woman is using my hand to get herself off, covering her fingers with mine.

She knows what she needs and she takes it from me, working herself over with just my middle finger, covered by hers.

“I fuck myself to you every night,” she whispers, and I nearly explode.

She gasps, then freezes in place. The world goes still and savagely hot. It sparks, crackling like wildfire as she calls out my name, coming on the counter mere seconds later.

It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and it eats me alive.

As she’s panting, she lifts her mouth to me, an offering. Like I could resist her anymore. I grab her face and kiss her hard, ruthlessly. Tug her against me. Own that gorgeous mouth.

She wraps her legs around my waist, tugging me closer. Then breaking the kiss to say, “You’d better let me objectify your cock now.”

It takes me a beat to reconnect her words to the night we met—when she wanted to suck me off and I stopped her so I could eat her sweet, perfect pussy instead.

I have no regrets from back then. But I know I’d regret stopping this. One glance at the oven clock tells me there’s not nearly enough time for the things I want to do to her in bed. My flight leaves in a few hours. But there’s time for more rule-breaking. There is absolutely fucking time.

After I remove my apron, I scoop my hands around her ass and lift her off the counter. “Get down on your knees. Take my dick out. And suck me off like you do when I picture your mouth every goddamn night.”

“Finally,” she teases as she drops down to her knees and tugs at my sweats.

I’m so turned on, so aroused I feel like a hedonist taking the pleasure of her mouth as she pushes down my briefs. When my cock springs free, she slides her teeth across her bottom lip, like she approves of my dick.

“Will that work for you?” I ask playfully.

She smiles. “Your dick will do.”

“I want to fuck the innuendo right out of your mouth,” I growl.

“Then do it.” With mischief in her eyes, she says, “After all, you wanted to have fun besides hockey. Here’s your chance.”

A laugh bursts from me. A fucking laugh as a prelude to a blow job. Who even is this woman in my kitchen on her knees, about to lick the head of my dick? But the second her pink tongue teases the tip, questions fall out of my head, along with thoughts and reason.

I’m nothing but a livewire as my roommate twirls her tongue along the tip, treating me like a piece of candy, humming as she goes.

“You look fucking incredible,” I murmur.

That catches her attention. Josie stops. “Hold on,” she says, and like she just remembered she’s wearing them, she darts up a hand, removes her glasses, and sets them on the counter. She returns to my aching dick in seconds. While she draws me back into the warmth of her mouth, she reaches up and undoes her hair from the messy bun. It falls in wild, just-been-fucked waves over her shoulders.

I’m toast. “You’re my sexy librarian,” I say, then I push in, “taking off your glasses.” I thread a hand through those lush chestnut locks as she parts her lips wider. “Letting down your hair.”

She murmurs something against my dick. I’m not sure what, but it sounds like for you.

That’s all I need to hear. I curl both hands around her head. She grips my thigh with her right hand while she curls the left around the base of my cock. She’s pumping me and sucking me, and I’m sizzling everywhere. Crackling in my cells. My bones vibrate with hot, urgent need like they do every damn night when I’m alone in my bed. “I picture this,” I mutter, beginning my confession.

She looks up at me with wide eyes, asking for more of the story.

“At night. I get off to you.”Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

With a throaty yessss, she urges me to thrust deeper.

“Bet you want to see that,” I say, remembering how she stared wantonly at me fisting my cock the night we met.

She nods.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished you’d come up the stairs,” I say, needy, hungry.

She groans. Keeps going. Me too. I’m pumping and confessing. “I listen for your footsteps as I fuck my hand. I picture you turning the corner into my room.” A spark jolts through me. My thighs quake. “I see you in the doorway.”

Heat builds as I thrust between those gorgeous lips. “I tell you to ride me,” I say, then all the bliss crashes into me at once—a punishing, ruthless wave.

“Coming,” I warn, and there’s no stopping this orgasm. It’s got me in its grip and she holds on, her fingers circling my dick, her mouth clamping down as I spill. She swallows my release.

I grunt and groan, enjoying every single second of fucking my roommate’s mouth.

She sucks me dry with a satisfied sound. Seconds later, she pops off, wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand. Her grin is both devilish and angelic as she licks her lips, then nods to the counter and the cinnamon pastries. “We really should put those in the oven.”

Somehow, it’s not awkward as we finish baking the cinnamon treats, stopping a couple times to take pictures like we did outside the theater. It’s almost like we slide right back into the friendship zone—the one we’ve been living in for the last month or so. The roomie rule, so to speak. “A record of the list,” she says as she snaps each pic. “And I like records of things.”

“Such a librarian,” I tease.

“You can take the girl out of the library. You can’t take the library out of the girl.”

While the goodies are baking, she reads the promo material in the kitchen as I finish packing my bag. When I return to the kitchen, I lift my nose and inhale the sweet, doughy scent. It almost smells as good as her.

“You’re like a dog,” she says with fondness. “And I mean that with great affection.”

“I like dogs,” I say. “So I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I keep meaning to ask about the dog tattoo on your wrist.”

I look down at it, running a finger along the inked silhouette. “I always wanted to adopt one. My dad said it would never fit my lifestyle as a hockey player.”

She frowns. “That sucks. But I kind of get it.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say. “Guess I showed him. I got a permanent one.”

She laughs. “You sure did.” She offers me a baked good, then recaps the important parts of the promo with the Las Vegas team, the Sabers. The first game we’re playing on this road trip is against them, and we’re taking part in the team’s recycling initiative. As I take a bite of the cinnamon sugar puff pastry, she reviews the details Everly sent over on the recycling bins the Sea Dogs and the Sabers are delivering together tomorrow morning around town.

“This is good,” I say, with a foodgasm-esque moan after a bite.

“The pastry?” she asks, lifting her phone to take another picture.

“Yeah, but also you reviewing the details.” My brain appreciates hers so much.

She lowers her phone and sets it down with a pleased smile. “Good. Also, it’s cool that you’re doing this—the team and you. We have some green-centric initiatives coming up at the library. Makes me think of another item on the list.”

“Volunteer. Number six,” I say, skipping over number five, since she’s brought up the subject of number six.

“We’ll have to figure out what that would be. You sure you’re up for it? It’s probably not just a one-time thing.”

That’s one of the many things I like about challenge number six. “Yeah, I am,” I say, but we shouldn’t linger on all those things right now with the clock ticking closer to my flight. I nod toward her room, where she keeps the folded sheet of paper. “We need to cross off eat dessert for breakfast though.”

“We do. We’re forty percent of the way through,” she calls out as she hustles to her room.

“You can math,” I say dryly.

But not only is she right, that benchmark also feels right, given how long she’s been here in San Francisco and the time she still has left in the city. Given what’s still to come on the list too. There’s plenty of time to finish it though. No rush.

Seconds later, she returns with the paper and a pen. She hands them both to me. “It was easy for me. You cross it off. I’m proud of you.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “For eating?”

“Yes! Do it.”

Unfolding the list carefully, I spread the paper out on a freshly cleaned section of the counter. This piece of paper feels like an artifact, a precious heirloom that should be treated with care.

I lift the pen but don’t cross the item off right away. I consider the list again, the reason she has it, the love behind it. The gift her aunt gave her—a way not just to remember her, but to move on, to keep on living.

“Maybe she wanted to give you a road map for life without her—a good life,” I add for emphasis, looking at Josie and reaching for a strand of fallen hair, tucking it behind her ear. “For the way to move on. By giving you the way through.”

She takes a big breath, nodding, perhaps considering that, then meets my eyes. Hers are shining faintly, but a hint of a smile forms on her lips. “Maybe she was,” Josie says thoughtfully. “And maybe she wanted me to have fun too.”

“Did you? Have fun?” But I don’t want it to sound like I’m fishing for sex compliments. I try to backpedal with, “Baking I mean.”

She rolls her eyes as she roams a hand up my arm, curling it around the sunburst that starts on my biceps and climbs over my shoulder. “Baking was so much fun,” she says dryly.

“So much fucking fun,” I say, getting her completely.

“Now, cross it off, Wes.”

I turn my focus back to the list.

1. Have a one-night stand with a sexy stranger.

2. Overcome a fear (take a class you can’t prepare for, baby! Psst—improv class time!)

3. Make a friend who’s nothing like you. You learn the most from them.

4. Eat dessert for breakfast.

I cross off the fourth one. And the thing is—I feel a little like a scofflaw. A lot like a rule-breaker. And it’s seriously fun. After I put down the pen, I hold up the flaky treat, dusted in sugar and spice, take another bite, then chew. When I’m done, I sigh the most satisfied sigh. “And I don’t feel guilty.”

“That’s good too.”

But I feel a little guilty about touching her. Especially because I don’t want to stop even though I know I should. Setting down the pastry, I reach for her. “Josie,” I say, my tone serious as I cup her shoulders.

With a rueful smile, she nods. “I know. We shouldn’t do that again.”

“We really shouldn’t,” I say, hating myself for saying it but knowing I have to.

But an hour later after we’ve cleaned up, I’m at the door, saying goodbye, and all the shouldn’ts can’t stop me from hauling her close and kissing her hard—a kiss I want her to feel for the rest of the day.

No. I amend that. I want her to feel it the entire time I’m gone. And that is a problem I don’t know how to fix.

She hands me a huge Tupperware container full of dessert for breakfast. “For the team.”

I take it. “Thank you.”

“And good luck in New York,” she says, since our road trip ends there, against my former team. “Your first time playing them since you were traded?”

Damn. How does she keep doing this? Knowing the little bits of intel and what they might mean. My heart slams harder against my chest. All these little details make it impossible not to feel…all the things. “Yeah, it is.”

“You’d better kick their ass then,” she says.

“I plan to,” I say, then take one more kiss and go, knowing I’m not going to stop thinking about her at all while we’re apart.

Maybe that’s the real problem.