Page 74 of Goalie Lessons

“Oh.” Astrid pulls back from me, blinking, eyes shifting to me. “I…”

“I have an idea,” I growl, gripping her ass in my hands and carrying her across the room. I get her on her back and am starting to draw her leggings down over her hips by the time she realizes what I’m talking about.

She sits up, eyes meeting mine, and to my surprise, there’s a brush of red over her cheeks. “That’s a big step.”

My fingers are still hooked into the band of her leggings, the material pulling against my hand. “Is it?”

Outside, the sun is setting, throwing the room into a deep, hazy purple. Astrid is washed in the light, her black hair mussed around her face, her lips slightly parted and kissed pink. For a second, I think about abandoning her leggings and drawing myself over her, going right back to the kissing, but I want to taste her.

I think about what she said, about foreplay, and smile up at her, deciding to tell her just that. “I want to taste you, Astrid.”

She sucks in a breath, drops her head back, her chest rising and falling when she lets out a quick laugh. “Okay,” she laughs after a second. “That’s an A-plus line.”

“I learned from the best.” I wait a beat, then ask, “Are you…comfortable with this?”

My other girlfriends haven’t always loved having me go down on them, citing whether or not they’d shaved and which part of their cycles they were in as reasons why we shouldn’t do it. I know a lot of guys might not like it, but my cock throbs at the idea of getting my head between Astrid’s legs, tasting her.

Touching her in a way that feels even more intimate.

She laughs. “Well, yeah. Of course I am.”

“Of course you are?”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe that’s me generalizing, but yeah.”

She stares at me, and I stare at her, still holding her pants. My cock is painfully hard against the bed, and I clear my throat. My voice comes out rough, eager. “Good. Because I want to get my tongue on your pussy, Astrid.”

That surprises her again, and I watch a shiver run through her body. This time, when I start tugging on her leggings again, she doesn’t fight me. I pull them off around her ankles, flinging them to the other side of the room, then joining them with her panties.

When she’s bare to me, I ease her legs open and let out a groan.

“You’re so wet,” I mutter, running my hands along the insides of her thighs, reveling in the skin there—even softer than the rest of her. I have the urge to settle my teeth there, bite her, leave a mark.

Instead, I trail my lips over her thighs, then bite gently, sucking and kissing the spot when I’m done.

“Grayson O’Connor,” she gasps, getting the words out through breaths. “Did you just give me a hickey on my thigh?”

“I did,” I admit, unable to stop the self-satisfied smirk from crossing my face. Astrid doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who would like possessive talk, but I can’t lie to myself, “Grayson was here.”

“You are such a—”

But her words cut off, because I lean forward and run my tongue up the length of her. I groan against her, which makes her shudder, and her hands fly to my head, fingers intertwining in my hair, like she needs something to hold on to.

“Oh,” she says, simply, plainly, and I pull back a bit.

“That okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she stutters. I return to her, exploring, getting lost in the motion of it. For a long time, I don’t think about making her come. I just let myself give into the pleasure of knowing her, mapping her.

When Astrid starts to writhe, her legs tightening on either side of my head, I realize that, without intending to, I think I’ve aced this foreplay portion. I move up to her clit, pressing the flat of my tongue against her and looking up at her, trying to catch her eye.

She’s already looking down at me with a hooded, dazed expression. In a breathy, wild voice, she says, “Just-just like that. A little faster. Think like—”

Astrid cuts off as I follow her instructions, increasing my pace, and when she lets out a little mewling noise, I bring my hands up, gripping her hips and growling against her.

She makes me feel like nothing could ever be enough. Like I will never be able to get close enough to satisfy the urges inside me.

“—think like with the fingers, but you have to press a little harder with your tongue,” she finishes, and I do just that, applying more pressure. Astrid comes apart, gasping, her hands tightening to the point of pain in my hair, but it’s a good pain, zipping down my back and going straight to my cock.

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