The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Wesley

The second I open the door, I want to haul her against me and kiss her ruthlessly, but Josie’s a processor. She’ll want to see things.

I turn on the light. She drinks in the room as I set down her hoodie on a chair.

It’s not like my bedroom is some inner sanctum of man secrets. I don’t have a hunting knife hanging over the bed, or a collection of Star Wars bobblehead dolls I’m afraid to let anyone see.

In fact, there’s not much to it.

It’s just a big room I really like to sleep in, but I try to look at it through her eyes. She’ll try to read me in the decor, because that’s what she does.

I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, tensing briefly. Didn’t think of this before, but I hope she doesn’t figure I’m a player since this room gives off that vibe. It’s so sleek and monochrome that it screams playboy cool when that’s not who I am. The wooden flooring is polished. The walls are white and minimalistic, with hardly anything hanging on them—just a couple black-and-white beauty shots of San Francisco. I asked the decorator to make it feel like I was part of this city, this team, these fans. But I didn’t choose the pics. Or hang them.

On the far wall, a massive king-size bed takes center stage, its silver metal frame glinting under the light. The bed is covered in pristine white linen. Plush gray pillows are scattered by the headboard.

There’s one picture framed on the nightstand.

I wince, hoping she doesn’t think this means I don’t like roots. I’m just not into decorating. But I hadn’t thought how it might look to someone else. “You’re the first woman to see it,” I say, scratching my jaw.

Josie turns to me, a smile shifting her pretty lips. “Lucky me.” She sounds enchanted.

Well then. I guess that’s all it takes to show her I’m not a player—the truth trumps the decor. I smile back at her. “Guess it’s a little like a hotel room. Pretty sure you like those.”

“I do. They make me feel a little…like I’m getting out of my comfort zone.”

A wave of heat rolls down my spine. That’s what she wants. To mix things up. Break up the routine. She came to the right guy.

But before I can strip her naked and do unholy things to her, she zeroes in on the framed picture, beelining toward it on the nightstand. She stops, stares at it, then turns to me, like she’s busting me. “You have a picture of a dog.”

It’s a shot of a black-and-white Collie mix catching a frisbee. “Yeah, that’s Frosty. My sister’s dog. She adopted him a year ago. He’s a senior—that’s why she calls him Frosty.”

She blinks. “Your sister’s dog? You have a framed photo of your sister’s dog?”

“He’s cute,” I say easily, but maybe defensively.

Shaking her head, Josie advances toward me. “Shut up. Nothing makes me want to lose my clothes faster than that.”

Holy shit. This is my lucky night. “Good because you’re about to,” I say, then jerk her against me so she feels the length tenting my pants. I kiss her hard, unhooking her bra this time, then shoving her jeans down. She steps out of them. “Last night,” I begin, kissing the hinge of her jaw, “over text. You said no one had asked you what you’re into.”

“Right,” she says, breathless as I coast my mouth along her chin.

“Tell me what else you like. Tell me what you watch.” I stop, meet her gaze, give a tug to a handful of her chestnut hair. “Besides pigeon porn.”

She laughs, but then asks carefully, “Really?”

“Fuck yes.” It’s decisive. I want her to know I mean it completely.

She nibbles on the corner of her lips, then breathes out, like she needs courage. I curl my hands around her hips. “You’re not going to scare me off,” I say, since I sense she needs some reassurance that it’s okay to crack open her box of turn-ons. I will treat them with care, and, probably, horny gusto.

“I’ve never told anyone.”

That only makes me want to know more. “Tell me,” I say, a demand, but I hope she can hear the vulnerability in my voice. I want to be the man she shares her dirty wishes with. I’m not interested in foisting my likes onto her. “It turns me on to give you everything you want,” I add, so she’s clear—I’m game to give her all her filthy fantasies.

There’s a pause, then she says, “If you insist.”

I grind my dick against her so she gets the message. “I do. I fucking do.”

With a here goes nothing shrug, she says, “There’s this site I like. It caters to women. And I find myself watching videos that have these types of scenes.”

Then she tells me the scenes, the things, the wishes.

I am blown away. The night I met her our chemistry sparked. But I had no way of knowing she was so perfectly dirty.

“You want all that?” I ask.

She nods eagerly. “I do.”

“Good. Undress me,” I say, and that’s not technically on her list, but it’s a necessary start.

She reaches for the top button on my shirt, then makes quick work of undoing it, pushing it off me. Then, her eager fingers work open my belt, the button, then the zipper. In no time, my pants are off, and I’m down to boxer briefs. I grab a fistful of her hair and jerk her close, planting a rough, bruising kiss to her mouth. Hooking my thumb into her panties, I shove them down.

She steps out of them and stands before me, naked and glorious, wearing only her black-and-white glasses. “Disrespect me, Wes,” she says.

“Get on your back, spread your legs wide, and show me how wet you are,” I tell her, using her road map.

A breath stutters across her lips as she complies, lying down, spreading those thighs, then gliding a hand between her thighs. I grab my shirt from the floor, carrying it as I walk toward her, watching her the whole time. “This is what you did in your room the last few nights, like a dirty girl?”

She strokes faster. “Yes.”

“You sure you didn’t come up here? Get on my bed? Play with yourself right fucking here?”

She gasps. “I’m sure.”

I tilt my head like I just don’t believe her. “You didn’t go into my closet, flick through my clothes, put on one of my shirts, then sit on the edge of my bed, and stroke that sweet cunt as you sniffed me on my shirt?” I toss her the shirt.

She grabs it. “I didn’t. I followed your rules.” She slides her arms into the sleeves.

And my dick is a skyscraper.

Holy fuck. That is the sexiest image ever in the world. Josie, in my white dress shirt that smells like me. Spreading her thighs, twirling a strand of hair, her glasses on. She turns her face to the collar and inhales.

I burn. The equator has nothing on me right now.

I shed my boxer briefs and her lips widen into an O. She strokes her pussy faster as she stares savagely at my dick. I grab my aching cock, give it a tug. The tip of her tongue flicks across her bottom lip as she watches me touch myself.

“My girl is hungry for my cock, isn’t she?”

“I am,” she says.

I give it a rough jerk, so she can imagine easily how I fuck my fist to her. She arches as I tug. “Slide two fingers between your thighs,” I tell her as I let go and climb up on the bed.

She obeys.

“Part those lips for me,” I say as I move between her knees.

With her fingers in a V, she spreads her pussy lips, showing me how aroused she is.

My dick jumps, eager to meet her again. I give it another pump. “You’re fucking soaked,” I say in admiration.

“You’re fucking hard,” she counters.

I love her sass. Just fucking love it. I let go of my dick and drop my face between her thighs. I suck on her clit mercilessly. The gust of breath tells me she’s surprised. I suck harder, kissing her sweetness, lapping it up. She squirms against my face. One more deep, hot kiss. Then I stop, pull back, and coast my hand between her thighs, spreading all that wetness around some more.

Then, I lift my hand, the fingers wet from her. “You want this, Josie?”

“You know I do,” she says. My girl really likes her dirty videos.

I give her what she wants—I slap her pussy.

For a second, I hold my breath. Hoping she likes it. Wanting her to like it. Wanting her reality to match her research. The moment suspends, full of filthy desire as her blue eyes register shock. Then it’s like a pulse moves through her, a vibration. She murmurs something incoherently, then whispers clearly, “Again.”

Guess she likes it.

I lean in, kiss her sweet lips, then pull back, lifting my hand a second time before giving her a light slap once more. This time I use three of my fingers, right against her diamond of a clit.

It’s a quick smack, then I soothe it with a caress, spreading all that wetness around. I stare for a long breath at her pussy. She’s glistening. “Fuck, you look good like this, Josie baby.”

“I’d look better on my hands and knees,” she taunts as she takes off her glasses, setting them next to Frosty’s pic.

I groan, then flip her over, pushing up the shirt to the middle of her lovely back, lifting her ass, spreading those pale, pretty cheeks.

For a heady moment, I let myself enjoy the view of her like this—long, lean and, turned on. Lifting the shirt more, I move down her back, licking a path from her neck to the top of her ass, taking a beat to enjoy the flavor of her skin, that cinnamon scent that drove me wild the night I met her.

That drives me even wilder now.

I press a kiss to the top of her ass, and she shivers under me. Murmuring against her skin, I lay another soft kiss to her skin, then I’m not soft at all when I rope my arm around her, sliding my hand down, pushing one finger into her pussy, then two.

She bucks. “Oh my god,” she says, her breath halting. Her body knows what it wants though. She starts to fuck back on my fingers. I crook them, kissing the top of the small of her back as I fuck her ruthlessly with my fingers. Like she wants.

Two, then three. A hot, possessive kiss. A deep, greedy finger fuck. Then, I smack her ass with my free hand till she says, “Wes, fuck me please, now.”

I ease out my fingers. “You want my cock?”

“I do.”

“Say it,” I demand.

“Fill me with your cock.”

“Beg for it,” I encourage her.

“Please, fill me with your big dick,” she begs.

“That’s my dirty girl,” I say, then I let go so I can sit back on my heels. After reaching for a condom, I cover my dick, then get on my knees behind her, angling her up. “Look at you. So fucking wet you’re dripping,” I say, then I smack the head of my cock against her clit. She moans, a keening sound, carnal and inviting.

I do it again till she’s writhing, pushing her body back, asking for more and more.

I give it to her, slapping the tip against her clit till I’m raw nerve endings and she’s nothing but a chorus of please, please, please.

I angle up her cheeks, giving me more room to slide my cock into the warm, welcoming home of her pussy. The second, the very second I’m sliding in, my mind snaps. Wires fry. Circuits blow. This is so damn good. The heat, the friction, the tightness.

The way she wants me.

The way I want her.

The way she’s asked for it. She’s perfect for me. Here, in my white dress shirt, on her hands and knees, she cranes her neck back to watch me as I fuck her deep.

“Like the view?” I ask dryly as I sink into her.

“I do,” she moans.

“How about this?” I ease out, leaving her empty, making her beg for more.

I slam back in, and we set a pace like that—a little relentless, a lot hungry as she swivels her hips, taking me deeper.

The room fills with grunts and groans, then a demand from Josie. “Smack my ass again.”

My dick gets even harder. Feels like granite now as I lift a palm and smack.

She cries out.

I soothe the red mark with my hand—a gentle caress that doesn’t last too long. I lift it again.

“Harder,” she begs.

I smack her, and she yells an oh god but clenches around my cock at the same time. She’s so tight and wet and eager, and now she’s fucking back onto me with ruthless abandon as she chases her pleasure. I thrust deep inside, then ease out, making her wait till I slap that cheek with my hand, leaving a beautiful red mark.

She’s panting, moaning, and seemingly lost to the moment. It’s perfect. So perfect, how my wild girl gives herself to me. As I fuck her, my hand travels up the smooth flesh of her back then into her hair. I curl a fist around her chestnut strands as I cover her with my body. “You like it like this, baby?”

“I do,” she says, then my other hand slips between her thighs and finds her eager clit, and I pinch it.

Her scream is the stuff of my filthy dreams. It’s erotic and carnal and all mine.

I pinch again, then caress her clit. Josie’s back is arching, her tits are swinging, and her face is twisted. “I want to come,” she whispers in a needy plea.

“I know you do, baby,” I say, then I repeat the motions—fuck, pinch, soothe. I rinse, lather, repeat till she’s bowing her back and chanting yes, yes, yes.

Only thing left for me to do is not break her rhythm. I fuck her hard as she curls her fingers into the sheets, clawing at them. Her whole body tenses beautifully, gripping my cock as she comes with a groan that lasts forever and not nearly long enough.

Her arms slide out from under her. She lets her face fall to the mattress, but her ass is still high up in the air. So hot it’s almost all I need. It occurs to me that I could finish like this. It’d be so damn easy to fuck her for thirty more seconds till I tense and spill. But I want more.

I want to look at her. I want to see her. I want to experience her. All at once, it hits me—I don’t just want hard, rough, dirty sex with her.

I pull out. “Josie. I gotta see your face,” I say, desperation coloring my tone.

“Yeah?”

“I do,” I say urgently, then I loop an arm around her waist and shift her to her back. She lifts her arms above her head, stretching out languidly, an invitation to take her tenderly. The shirt is open. She pulls up her knees, giving me room. Beautiful and aroused.

My heart catches in my chest, stops, then speeds up again. “You’re stunning in my shirt,” I tell her as I slide in.

“Does it make you feel possessive?”

“Yes. You look so fucking hot in my clothes,” I say, filling her all the way, then pulling back. “Want to see you in my jersey.”

“That so, Number Sixteen?”

The image is too much. I shudder, lust shooting down my back in punishing waves.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“Want it so badly,” I say, then I slow the pace, take my time easing in, out. Pushing up, bracing myself, watching those blue eyes sparkle beneath me. “Want you so much. Want you more every day. More than the night I met you.”

“Same,” she whispers, the playfulness slinking off.

We turn quiet, the sex slower, the mood more tender.

She wraps her arms around my neck, then loops her ankles around my ass. I follow her lead, slow-fucking her for a few mind-bending minutes. It feels like the room is spinning, or maybe it’s my heart in my chest that’s spinning out.

“You’re fucking me like you respect me now,” she says, her throat catching. The sound goes straight to my chest, squeezing it.

“Is that a problem?” Say no. Say fucking no.

She shakes her head. “I like this too.”

“Good. Same here, baby.”

I move in her till she’s panting again, then I rise up to my knees, grab her hips, and drive in deep, rubbing her clit with my fingers till she’s shuddering and grasping at the sheets.

But she doesn’t seem to want to hold on to the covers. Instead, she reaches for me—grabbing at my hair as she comes again.

It’s so sexy I can’t stand it, and pleasure barrels into me, blurring out the night, the city, the whole damn world.

My thighs shake and my body tenses.

I come so hard, my mind blanks out for a long minute or more.

When it comes back online, I’m sure we broke our roomie rule, but sure, too, we’re on a collision course to smash others. Maybe ones we didn’t even set. Unwritten rules like don’t fall for your roommate.

Though I’m pretty sure I broke that one a while ago.

The rest is just details.