Page 27 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

Her smile remains, and she keeps her eyes on me at first as she slowly fills her mouth with my length. She turns her head again to take me completely, and my palm covers her head. I want to hold her there, to pump my hips. But we aren’t inthatsafe of a place right now. Sure, that makes it hotter. It also makes it a little criminal. But fuck, does it feel good.

I lift my hips a little, and she moans. I stare out the window, forcing my eyes to remain open and vigilant, though all I want to do is stare at the ceiling and fuck her mouth so hard and fast. I maintain my discipline but shove her bloomers up higher and run my fingertip along her ass until I find her soaking wet pussy. I dip one finger inside, and she moans as she sucks my cock. It swells in her mouth, and I know I’m going to drown her with my cum in seconds.

“I promise to make it even after work,” I say, teasing her while she works me in and out of her mouth. Sucking the tip and pausing for a beat before dropping her mouth down on me again, taking all of me. She grabs the base of my shaft with her hand the closer I get to coming, and when she strokes me while resting my tip against her tongue, I drop my hand on her head. We share a look that I hope lets her know I’m about to come, and she grins against my cock before taking me fully so I can come inside her mouth. She swallows every drop, even running her palm along her bottom lip when she lifts her head and licking away any remnants. It’s the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. And right now, I don’t give two shits about keeping a secret from her brother. At this point, if he kills me, I’ll just come back as a ghost and haunt Frankie Bardot so I can fuck her every night.

9/

frankie

The nightof my high school graduation, I had a dream that I snuck into Noah Drake’s bedroom and gave him a blow job. I woke up sweaty and embarrassed. But also more curious than ever.

I’m sure it was just my subconscious working through an unrequited crush after seeing Noah sitting next to my brother during my graduation ceremony. Probably a little latent hope that maybe he finallysaw me,too.He fed me a piece of my cake during my graduation party, and the gesture definitely carried a suggestion with it. Looking back, he was flirting with me then. That was the start of summer. And the flirting continued through the warm summer days at the lake and all the way up to the kiss.

But the clues that Noah saw me as more than his best friend’s little sister trace back well before then. I thought about it all night. And as I watched him practice with my brother today, tiny nuances in his behavior jogged my memory more.

During his senior year at Miller Brook, Noah glanced in my direction every time he stopped a goal. Not just sometimes.Every. Time.

I didn’t let myself think it was special. I was sixteen. He was eighteen. Years that are irrelevant now but felt like the widest valley on Earth just a short while ago.

Then there was my junior year when he and my brother were home from college for the holidays, and I fell asleep outside by the firepit after several of their friends were over to make s’mores and drink cheap beer. They left me out there when everyone went inside to watch a movie or pass out. But Noah? He came back for me. I felt him scoop me up in his arms. I pretended not to wake up as he carried me from the deck through the back sliding door and up the stairs to my bedroom. He pulled my blanket over my body after untying my sneakers and sliding them off my feet. I imagined he kissed my head, and I dreamt so hard that it was real I almost started to believe it was. But I know that part was in my mind. Because now I’m aware of what those lips feel like. And even a kiss to my forehead would imprint on me in a way that left no room for doubt.

And that’s why it hurt so much after he ignored me after our summer kiss. I knew I’d never be able to shake it—the memory, the feel, the need for another.

“It was definitely a Wednesday,” Noah jokes, referencing my crack about the empty park earlier today as he closes the money envelope after checking my count. We didn’t have many visitors today, but the lulls happen every year. I always worry that we aren’t going to make enough to pay the bill for the community center meal. We always have more than enough.

“You mind depositing the money for me, Frankie? I promised my wife I’d be home in time for the new episode ofThe Bachelor.” Norris’s mouth stretches with a wry smile, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he feels bad that he can’t swing by the bank or because he’s embarrassed he’s hooked on addictive reality television.

“It’s totally fine,” I say, chuckling. “I can make the deposit in the morning. Enjoy your night. And treat that woman to some deep dish or something. She’s a queen, you know?”

Norris salutes me.

“She’s a saint, I think you mean.” He pats his breast pocket, smooshing his half-empty pack of cigarettes that matches the permanent wrinkles in every shirt he owns. He’s one of maybe four people I know who still smoke actual cigarettes. Technically, my uncle Frank—my namesake—smokes cigars. But I’m not sure there’s a difference, at least not health-wise.

“What if my Christmas wish is that you finally quit?” My request holds very little weight compared to his wife, Wendy’s. She’s asked him to quit about a hundred times. He’s tried a dozen. And failed every single one of them, miserably.

“Frankie, I think we both know I have nothing to do with your Christmas wish,” he says, his gaze flashing to Noah before it returns to me, and he winks.

“Uh,” I stammer, my eyes growing wide as my entire body rushes with heat.

“You two are obvious,” he laughs out. “But your “secret” is safe with me.” He does the air quote thing to really rub it in.

“Not sure what secret you mean, Norris, but thanks,” Noah says. I turn to laugh with him, figuring he’s trying to put our fling back into the box. But I run into his chest the moment I pivot, and his hands cup my cheeks, tilting my face so he can press his lips on mine in front of someone for the first time ever. Well, other than in front of his mom, but that one doesn’t count. And technically, he’s still wearing the beard, so I’m really kissing Santa. But . . . semantics.

“Ha, good for you. Have a good night, you two,” Norris says, tipping his hat so low it meets his bushy gray eyebrows.

Noah slings the light kit bag over his shoulder and walks Norris to his car. The two of them share a few laughs on the wayand shake hands before Norris gets into the driver’s seat and backs out of his spot.

“What were you two laughing about,” I ask him when he returns. I’m not sure I really want to know.

He gives me a lopsided grin as he closes the lockbox after pulling out my backpack. He still doesn’t spill the beans when he turns off the set lights. And I think he plans on keeping his lips zipped as he walks me to my car.

“Noah Drake, if you don’t tell me, I am never repeating what I did a few hours ago.” I stomp my feet and cross my arms over my chest as I stop several yards away from my car.

Noah laughs out once, then turns to face me, his smirk only deepening when our eyes meet. He sets my backpack on the sidewalk then steps into me, gently tugging my crossed arms apart and resting my elbows in his palms. My hands flatten on his biceps, and I don’t want to feel them, but my fingers curl around the bulged muscles anyway.Dammit!

He closes the gap between us, forcing me to look up in his eyes. It’s strange how my body still buzzes with nerves as if he hasn’t kissed me before. Every time feels like the first. New. Dangerous. A rush.

“Norris told me I better not mess with his girl.”

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