Page 23 of Good Boy

“Or I’ll have to take drastic measures.”

“Like what?” she challenges.

I stare at her mouth. She’s wearing pink lipstick. Usually I prefer red—looks hotter when it leaves a ring around the head of my cock. But the pink’s not bad either. Makes her look sweet, and sometimes sweet is just as hot as spicy.

Fuck it. As much as I love this fun skating-around-each-other thing we’ve got going on, I’m long overdue for a shot on goal.

So I kiss her.

Chapter 6

As Deep as a Puddle

Jess

Blake’s mouth is on mine. How the hell did that happen? And why am I not stopping this?

Okay, I know why. Because it’s so, so good.

Considering his massive size and puppy-dog personality, you might expect the man to be a sloppy kisser. But he’s not. Blake kisses with surprising gentleness. His lips are warm and soft, and he always takes his time with his tongue—I remember that from our last hookup.

And it’s just as potent as I remember.

His hand cups the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss. He licks a hot line across my bottom lip, and when I risk opening my eyes, I see that his are squeezed shut. His gorgeous face is creased with concentration, and that makes me smile. Of course, the moment I part my lips, his tongue slides past them. The tip of it meets the tip of mine, and it’s like a cattle prod to the spine.

Heat spirals between my legs, so fast and unexpected that I jerk my mouth away.

“None of that,” I mutter. “I told you, no repeats.”

His green eyes open, and they’re burning with lust. “But I want a repeat.”

“Can’t always get what you want, dude.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“Someone needs to be.” I suck in an unsteady breath. My heart is beating way too fast, and damn it, why didn’t I wear underwear? I was trying to avoid the embarrassment of visible panty lines, but on the humiliation scale, I’m pretty sure a wet stain trumps panty lines.

“You weren’t mean to me in Toronto…”

No, I wasn’t. And look where that got me—bouncing on Blake’s dick like it was a pogo stick while my brother almost died in the other room.

Blake is more perceptive than I thought. Or maybe he’s just a mind reader. “It wasn’t your fault J-Bomb’s fever came back that night. Wouldn’t have mattered if we were sitting there watching TV. He had pneumonia. Us keeping our clothes on wouldn’t have changed that.”

The rational part of my brain knows that. Actually, I think every part of my brain knows that. But if I don’t focus on the guilt, then I might start focusing on other things…like how good Blake’s muscular body had felt beneath mine. How full I felt when he was inside me.

He’s not my type. If anything, he’s the opposite of my type. He’s big and brash and…a jock. What do I need with a jock? I want someone who’s deep and artsy and who I can have a serious conversation with, not someone who says frat-boy nonsense like “Cheezus” and “samesies.”

A one-night stand, sure, I’ll take it. I had it. But there’s no point in going there again when I know there’s no future with this guy.

Blake, however, is nothing if not persistent. “We had fun that night, J-Babe. Let’s have fun again.”

“No thanks.”

“You always this stubborn?”

“You always this pushy?”

“Fucking duh.” He grins. “How ’bout this? We don’t have to bone tonight. I just want another kiss.”

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