Page 152 of Friendzone Hockey
There’s a yank, my body collides with his solid one. “Dashie, in case it’s unclear, you get to text me whenever the fuck you want, however the fuck as many times as you want. Like you always have.”
He says that now, but he doesn’t know what it’ll be like. “Promise you’ll tell me if it’s too much.”
“I promise, but it won’t be. Maybe you’ll be the one getting sick of how much I text you, huh?”
He pokes at my ticklish ribs, tearing a laugh from me. “Guess we’ll see.”
“And if you’re unsure about anything else, please talk to me, eh? We make things work with good communication.”
“Then theoretically, we should be fine. That’s one thing we’ve never failed at.”
“That a dig at how much I’ve made you talk over the years?”
“Maybe…”
“That’s it.”
He’s way too good—and too quick—at tossing me over his shoulder. “Stacey!”
His response is a smack to my ass. Then he takes me to bed … I guess to show me that he can get a point across without any words at all.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
NOW
Stacey
Did I marry him at City Hall two days later? You’re goddamn right I did. We have the record for the longest time to get together in the group, but the fastest to get married once we made ourselves official. RhettLo holds the shortest engagement—they got married without ever getting engaged. I got a new bed and moved him into my room since it’s bigger than his.
Dash is sprawled on his stomach, dark hair askew, but ring hand where I can see it, glinting in the deep amber morning sun. That was the secret surprise. I measured his finger with a piece of string while he was sleeping and took it to the jeweler when I was out with Sutter doing bank stuff. I’d love to let him sleep, but I’m too excited to start the day with him. If I wake him with a blow job, he’ll forgive me.
But as soon as I try to move, he whines, clinging to me. “Stace.”
Guess I’ll have to go with plan B. In a smooth move, I flip him onto his back. He blinks sleepy eyes as I divest him of the comforter.
“Good morning, Mr. Alderchuck.”
It’s cheating. He can’t help smiling when I call him that. He sees where I’m headed, south, toward his dick. I spread his hair-dusted thighs before he’s properly awake. Using the flat side of my tongue, I lick up his flaccid shaft, and he bucks his hips. I just like looking at him like this, naked and open for me, his balls hanging over the crack of his ass, all fluttery lashes and sexy morning hair.
Getting Dash hard doesn’t take long, making the head of his cock red and angry with arousal is an art I’ve been perfecting for the past two days. His hands tug the roots of my hair, wreaking havoc on my skull, but I don’t care—the sounds he’s making, like a wounded horny animal.
I edge the fuck out of him. Until he cries. He begs and beats on my back with his heel.
“Hey, brats don’t get to come.”
“I’m not gonna survive. Please.Please.”
In case no one’s noticed, I’m kind of a sucker for him. Pretty sure the term used is cock-whipped. I suck hard with a single finger far enough inside him to light a fire to his insides, and he comes down my throat. He muffles himself with a pillow, tries to at least, but I’m sure Casey and Sutter still heard him in the next room.
I carry my chest high over that one. I’ve never heard Dash scream through the wall with other lovers.
Only me.
“What was … what was that for?” he asks, trying and failing to catch his breath.
“That was good morning.”
