Page 59 of Cherry Picking
“If I ever give up hockey, this is the dream.”
“You’ve got the underwear for it.”
I knock my elbow into his rib, and this time I feel the arm around me falter. It doesn’t fall away but loosens.
Instead of worrying, I shake off the negative thoughts and slip under Riley’s arm to catch the attention of one of the men under the canopy.
“Hey. So, what exactly does a strip club sell at a festival?”
The man—an early twenties-ish smaller man with curly dark hair parted on the side and an assortment of sparkling colors decorating his eyes and cheeks—looks up with a bright but sheepish smile.
“Memberships, mostly,” he says, cocking his head and sweeping his gaze along my body. “Knox is usually around with the tablet to give virtual tours bar any innocent eyes present.”
It’s the kind of open attention I haven’t felt in a while, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“You a dancer, then?”
The man’s smile grows, and his eyes dart from mine to the table in front of him. “Owner, actually. One half of. Kian.”
He offers his hand, and I shake it as Riley’s heavy presence appears at my back. His hands land on my waist, and he rests his chin on my shoulder.
“I’m Griffin, and this is …” Riley’s fingers dig into the skin above my hips, and his chest presses hard enough on my back that I have to lean some of my weight on the table. “My boyfriend, Riley.”
Kian slides his eyes from me to Riley with a faint pink blush. “Don’t worry about me. My hookups are strictly on the books.”
“What does that mean?” Riley’s husky grumble vibrates against my skin.
“It means—” says a big, bearded, lumberjack of a man who swings into the booth and taps Kian on the head with a tablet. “That Ki here is a sub-for-hire. Sex is his job, not a recreational activity.”
“What he said. If your boyfriend wanted to fuck me, he’d have to pay me.”
Riley growls and yanks my hips back into his hard enough to make my head spin. A possessive display wasn’t on my dating bingo card, but by the way my dick responds, I’m not against it.
“Myboyfriendwon’t be fucking anyone.”
All of this, and Riley calling me his boyfriend is the horniest part of this whole exchange.
Both of the men laugh as if this is an everyday exchange, and given their odd jobs, it very well might be.
“I kind of want to be fucked right now,” I whisper as Riley playfully swats my thigh.
“Say goodbye to the nice people, Griffin.”
Oh, he’s so going to bend me over the first counter he can get me in front of.
When he pulls me away and shoves me onto an unoccupied bench, my mind is swirling with very naughty things I shouldn’t be thinking in public, but then he drops down beside me with a massive hard-on jutting against his thigh, and I know I’m not the only one.
“You were jealous.”
He side-eyes me and grips his length as discreetly as possible. “Of you getting eye-fucked by a man whose job is to take dick? Maybe a little.”
I bark out a laugh and glide a hand to my own down south problem, giving a quick squeeze before leaning forward to make it less apparent. “It’s hot and kind of flattering. But I’m not interested in sex with anyone else.”
The thought alone is sobering, and when our eyes meet, a pang hits and echoes in my chest.
“You’re it for me, Riley. Sex. Love. I want to wake up beside you for the rest of my life.”
I can’t even pinpoint the exact moment this became true. It was gradual. Just like how we went from Riley leaving my bed after sex to him dragging me to his where we sleep every night.
