Page 45 of The Import Slot
I head to the bathroom door where she stands, her mouth partly open, and her gaze darting from my eyes to my cock. I lean toward her and run my thumb over her bottom lip.
“What are you—?”
She doesn’t finish because I lean in and brush my lips against hers ever so slightly, enough for her to close her eyes with anticipation.
“I’m going to take a shower in the other bathroom. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” I whisper before turning toward my closet. I grab my things and leave my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
My shower buys me some thinking time because we’re still yet to have ‘the talk’ that she came here for last night. God knows I’d wanted to hear what was on her mind, but it’s probably for the best, considering she’d been drinking. What’s she going to say? Did she want to be friends with benefits? More than that? What did I want to give her in return? Fuck, come to think of it now, I want to give her everything. The fucking moon if I could.
But what happens come the offseason? I go on my merry way back to Manitoba without a backwards glance, hoping that Jen will watch me on the TV. Pfft, who am I kidding? Unless I got traded to the Sens, of course.
By the time I’m out of the shower and dressed, I’m more wound up than a clockwork toy that’s ready to go. I’m just grateful that Danny is nowhere to be seen.
I grab a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and make Jen a tea. When she eventually makes her way to the kitchen, she gives me a grin when she spots it, slipping onto a stool at the counter. She’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, clothes I’ve not seen before, but she looks hot. She looks fresh, and natural, and beautiful.
“From my boxes,” she says, noticing me eyeing her outfit.
I make my way around to stand behind her and spin her around so she’s facing me, her knees on either side of my thighs. Things feel different. Like we’ve crossed an invisible line with her sharing my bed last night, and I’m dying to kiss her properly again. Would she kiss me back?
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, looking at her.
She says nothing, just nods, examining me expectantly. I lean down closer to her and stop just millimetres away from her. My eyes flicking between her eyes and her lips, I’m fucking itching to kiss her again.
“What did you come to talk about last night?” She smells like soap, washing powder andher—it’s so inviting I can’t think straight.
“That photo you posted. I wanted to tell you I don’t just want to be your friend, Ry,” she almost whispers. “I don’t know what to do about the long term, but I’m so into you I—” She breaks off, and it invites me in.
I want to say that I’m so into her too and I want to move mountains for her, but my words stick in my throat, so I lean in and kiss her, cupping her face in my hands.
It’s better than I remembered.
My dick is hard again, and my hands grip the sides of her waist, gently adjusting my stance so she can feel me; I want her to know what she does to me.
She reaches up and snakes her hand around my neck, her fingers gently toying with the hair at my nape; it sends a shiver down my spine.
When she tightens her grip on me, and it spurs me on, our tongues gently caressing, my hands roaming up and down her back. She tastes like everything I’ve ever needed and wanted. There’s energy buzzing between us, the pull like a magnet never about to let up.
She lets out a soft moan. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I swear I can feel the heat coming from her pussy and I groan with want. She pulls away and looks at me, dazed.
“Wow. I think—” she says, but I lean in and kiss her again, wanting to relive the moment.
When I break away, I plant a few kisses on her lips before stepping back slightly.
“We’re screwed, Jen. You know that, right?” She doesn’t say anything. She just nods.
I know she feels exactly the same as I do: emotionally charged and fearing for our future, or lack of it. But I need to live in this moment. It’s too good to miss. I go in for another kiss.
I’m not sure how long we spend caught up in each other, but my rumbling stomach causes Jen to break away.
She glances at the clock on the stove and gives me a look of alarm. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No, I’ve been busy,” I shrug. I don’t actually remember the last time I skipped a meal. “Let me make us something to eat,” I say, heading to the fridge.
“Are you okay with eggs? Poached?”
Jen nods and I take them out of the fridge to poach them on the stove.
Jen rummages around the freezer, and pulls out a loaf of bread. She opens the bag and pulls out enough slices for us both, putting them into the toaster. We work in silence, but it’s not a silence that has to be filled with conversation. It’s a comfortable silence full of promise and I’m excited about what’s next.
