Page 105 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
The point is, I never rimmed anyone before. I never got rimmed. And if any of the women had strap-ons tucked with their bright silicon toys, they never told me.
I’m doing things with Oskar that I never did with anyone before.
I gaze again at Oskar’s puckered, wrinkled hole, then I lean toward it and lick it.
Oskar’s moan is instantaneous. He practically flies from my arms, tumbling onto my legs and toppling off the bed. I grab hold of his hips and bring him closer to me.
“Is good,” I say.
“So good,” Oskar says.
I lick him again.
And again.
And again.
I want to memorize his taste, his musky scent, the way he feels in my arms, and the soft moans that he emits. I want to memorize everything.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Oskar
The City Hall looms ahead. It’s a brutalist monstrosity, concrete jutting out in unpleasant angles and low ceilings, as if the local government was determined to inspire as much fear and distaste in anyone visiting so they don’t argue back.
Most buildings in Boston are beautiful, but this one seems to have taken pride in making itself as unpleasant as possible.
My phone pings. “My parents are here.”
Dmitri’s eyebrows jolt up. “Really?”
We’re still clasping hands, but I rub a hand over his palm. “Your in-laws.”
His grin turns goofy. “Is nice of them.”
“They’re great. Sorry about Pappa going all protective.”
“Is fine.” He shrugs. “I would have done it if my son had married team’s bad boy.”
“Son?” My voice squeaks. “You think about...I mean, in the future?”
Dmitri stops and turns to me. His eyes are soft, and I know I’m not being the least bit subtle. He knows exactly what I’m thinking. Exactly.
“Yes. I like your family, Oskar. Why not have a house filled with misbehaving tiny people?”
My throat tightens.
“You know Evan and Vinnie have daughter—”
“Oh.”
He squeezes my hand, then drags me forward.
“Wait! Really?”
“He stops. Yeah, they really do. Her name is Stella, and—”
I elbow Dmitri hard.
