Page 70 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Finn?” he asks, voice choked, clearly already understanding what I intend to do. Just like with missionary, I’ve never been a big fan of something like this. I like to be the one in control, with the power. But here and now—knowing Sam the way I do, I want to be on my knees for him.

The sound he makes when I take him in my mouth is enough to make my stomach turn molten. His hand skates around my neck, then up to the back of my head, his touch feather light. When I look up, he meets my eyes, then groans and drops his head back, like it’s too much to watch me. Like he’s looking into the sun.

I haven’t done this in forever, but the mechanics come right back to me—sucking and working the base of him with my mouth, getting into the same rhythm I feel when he’s inside me.

A sudden and shocking thrill of lust rolls through me, and I feel myself get wet. The thought of him inside me while I have his cock in my mouth is overwhelmingly sexy. When I look up again, I wish I’d had the foresight to strip him down before dropping to my knees, but there’s also something about this—Sam so caught off guard, his coat hanging off one shoulder because he was in the middle of removing it—that turns me on more.

By the time he comes, his body shuddering, I pull another first—I let him come in my mouth, then I meet his eyes and swallow it down.

“Fucking hell,” Sam mutters, reaching down and gathering me into his arms. I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve, my entire body hot and feverish. He slips a cool hand into my pants, and it’s like we’re teenagers—acting crazy. Not even taking our clothes off. We’re doing everything in the opposite order.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead against my shoulder with athud. He pants against me as his fingers slide up, pushing against my opening before sliding back down to my clit. He circles them once, quickly, and my knees give out.

Of course, Sam catches me. And he carries me to his bed.

This time, everything comes off before he touches me again.

***

“Come on,” Sam says, his hand warm on my forearm. There’s a huge, sprawling goody-goody smile on his face that I can’t look away from. “You know you want to sing, Finn.”

“I most certainly donot.”

When Sam asked if I wanted to come to a New Year’s Party at Devon and Lola’s place, I didn’t think it was actually going tobe aparty. I thought it was going to be the kind of adult get-together where you drink wine together, laugh, and talk about the state of the world.

But that’s not the case—around us, people are writhing, dancing, laughing, the noise volume in the dangerous territory. On the stage, Devon is doing karaoke, while Lola laughs and points at the crowd with a spatula.

I’ve never been to Devon and Lola’s place before, but it’s not surprising to me that it’s huge—professionally decorated and festive. There are fairy lights everywhere, along with glittering balloons, Polaroid cameras, and photo props. When we first got here, Sam pulled me tight against him, held one of the cameras up, and snapped a picture of the two of us. Later, Fallon dropped into the seat next to me.

“Iknewit,” she says, “welcome in.”

“What—no, I—” I’d immediately started to blush, thinking I needed to make sure Sam and I kept it quiet.

But Fallon held a finger to her lips, smiling at me. “You guys are good together. And you won’t catch us saying anything about it until you’re ready.”

Now, Sam links his fingers between mine and starts to tug me toward the stage. I’m laughing and gently tugging at him, but before we make it there, Devon’s karaoke song finishes and the screen flashes to the minute-long countdown.

“Oh, shit—” Sam laughs, spinning me around so I’m facing him. “It’s already midnight?”

“I guess,” I laugh, “but we agreed no midnight kiss, remember?”

“You said that,” he says, smiling warmly down at me and bringing me flush to him. “But I didn’t know we had a vote.”

“I guess I’m open to hearing your case.”

He leans down, nuzzling his face against mine. We’re near the edge of the room, shrouded in darkness, and people are so busy focusing on the countdown that nobody is looking at us.

“TEN... NINE... EIGHT...”

His other hand finds my waist, skating over my hip, his fingers running along the smooth fabric of my dress.

"SEVEN... SIX... FIVE..."

I should step back. We’re in public, and we haven’t even talked about where this is going yet, beyond admitting we want to pursue it. Sam moves forward, pressing his chest flush against mine. I’m struck again by just howlargeof a person he is.

“FOUR... THREE... TWO...”

I don't move, and Sam whispers, “What’s the verdict?”

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