The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Josie

I’ve lived in my head for so long. I’ve studied the world down to the last detail, arming myself with information and insight for any situation. But there’s no book to prepare me for this experience.

For his demand.

But I don’t need one, it turns out. My body knows what it wants when Wes tells me to strip for him.

On the back deck, with a cocktail of heat lamp and cool November air kissing my skin, I drop the blanket, set down my e-reader on the table, and reach for the zipper of my maroon hoodie, like I’m mesmerized by his order. Eager to follow it. I don’t need to research how to undress for your sexy roomie that you’re a little caught up with.

I just…do.

I tug down the zipper.

The sound of each metal tooth sliding open unlocks me more. When my sweatshirt opens, I let the material fall to the seat of the chair, my chest rising and falling with an anticipation that’s gripping me.

Wes still has one hand pressed to the back of my chair. Like that, his gaze strays up and down my torso, then lands on my face. There’s an I’m waiting look flashing in his sinful eyes. “Almost,” he says in a command.

Sweet, hot tension curls through me. My breath comes fast and urgent as I reach for my bra straps and slide them down my arms, letting them fall to the crooks of my elbows. I bring my hands to my tits, taking my time, pushing the cups down but only a little. “Like this?” I ask, my voice pitching up in playful curiosity.

“Close,” he rasps out.

With my head tilted, I lower the lace a little more, exposing the top of one nipple—a tease. “How’s this?”

Wes swallows roughly, a rumble escaping his lips. “All the way, Josie.” It’s a demand now.

I slide my teeth along my lower lip, savoring his reaction, then rewarding him as I push the cups down, freeing my tits. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Yes. Fucking yes.” It’s full of filthy approval as he reaches out with his free hand, plucking at the fabric of my lacy bra. “I ask again. Is this new?”

I didn’t reply to him before. I wanted to play. He clearly needs the answer now, so I give it to him. “Yes.”

His breath is hot. Shaky. He lets go of the chair back and drags his hand through his hair, like he’s steadying himself. The moonlight coasts across his handsome face, lighting him up for a few potent seconds. His stare is serious. But there are no questions in his eyes. No uncertainty on his face.

This is a man who must have come through the door determined to fuck me tonight. That knowledge sends a blast of heat to my core. Then another rush comes when his hands cover my breasts, and he kneads them. He’s not at all gentle.

“Oh god,” I gasp.

He rolls my right nipple with his thumb, then the other. Then both at the same time, and I’m nearly flying out of the chair as pleasure twists in me. He squeezes my tits, nice and rough.

“I’m into this,” I gasp out.

“That makes two of us,” he says dryly. With a carnal groan, he drops one hand so he can drag a thumb along my jawline. Holding my face in his hand, he pulls me closer, then gently slides off my glasses, handing them to me.

I set them carefully on the table.

Then he crushes my mouth with his.

The kiss is deep. His tongue urges me open, and I part my lips for him. He kisses like he plays hockey—he goes all out. His teeth are hard against my lips. His tongue is insistent. His hold is powerful. The kiss is downright dizzying and soon, my mind is fuzzy, full of static, like a machine going offline.

And I want so much more.

My hands snake up around his neck, and I try to pull him closer to me in the chair. He lets go of my mouth, drops to his knees in his tailored suit pants, and blazes a trail of open-mouthed kisses down my throat, then traveling to my collarbone. Biting me.

I yelp, because it was unexpected. Because I’ve never been bitten. And I like it.

He dips his face to my breasts next, tugging one nipple into his mouth and biting again too.

I cry out as a sharp, delicious pain tinged with pleasure ricochets through me.

Wes looks up, grinning wickedly. So damn pleased. He goes for seconds, kissing up my throat again, this time running his finger along my bottom lip, pressing it into my mouth.

I moan as I suck on his finger. I wriggle, getting more turned on. I had no idea this would feel so…filthy and free. He pushes in another. I swirl my tongue along both, sucking more. They taste clean, like he stopped to wash his hands before he came to me, and this thoughtful gesture makes me wetter. This attention to detail turns me on.

I suck harder, squirming in the chair as his other hand ropes into my hair. He curls some strands around his fist. And tugs.

A breath staggers from me. He lets go, looking down at me, a wry grin forming on his handsome face. “I think I know what you’re into.”

They’re my favorite words, and he knows it. “What am I into?” The question comes out as desperate as I feel.

With a crook in his lips, he drops a hand between my thighs and squeezes me through my jeans. Roughly. Like he’s grabbing my pussy. Is that supposed to be hot? From a guy you like, I guess it is. Because the temperature in me shoots higher.

I like being manhandled by Wes. I like his size, his big hands, his rawness. He’s a bedroom explorer, taking me down an unmarked trail, cutting down branches for me as we go.

He slides a thumb under my chin, his dark eyes locking with mine as he says, “I think you want to be fucked by someone who’s not gentle. By someone who’s not polite. By someone who’s figured out that smart girls like dirty sex.”

That’s a sticker the world needs. “Yes,” I gasp. “This one does.”

“Then let’s break that roomie rule so I can fuck you dirty.”

This is not a drill. This is my wild, wicked life. “Yes. Now. Thanks,” I say, grabbing my glasses and putting them back on.

He laughs, then reaches for my hoodie from the chair, offering a hand next. I take his as he tugs me to a stand. I pull my bra up so I’m not walking around tits free, since that’s awkward. Wes moves behind me as I go, setting his hands on my waist, kissing my shoulders while I walk through the sliding glass door into the home.

He stops and shuts the door, but doesn’t relent in his kisses. He’s kissing the back of my neck as he locks it, then as we walk down the hall.

I keep shuddering.

Trembling.

Moaning.

I stop in the hallway, setting a hand on the wall. “Wes, I can’t focus when you kiss me.”

“Good. Don’t focus.”

“But we’ll never get to my bed.”

That stops him. He spins me around, making me face him. He’s silent for a second, then says in a softer voice, “Come upstairs. Come to my bed.”

I blink at the unexpected vulnerability in his tone. “You’ve never invited me upstairs.”

“That was deliberate.”

“Why? Is it messy? I’ve never gone.”

“I know you haven’t.”

“How do you know? Do you have cameras?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I trust you.”

“Good. I wanted to respect your privacy.”

His lips curve up as he travels a hand over my bare arm, leaving goose bumps in his wake. “About that…”

“About respect?” I ask to clarify.

“Yes. You need to know why I didn’t invite you up.”

“Okay,” I ask, but I’m not nervous. I’m…aroused. This is getting good.

“Because all I’ve wanted since you moved in is to get you in my bed, Josie.” He slides his hand into my hair, gathers some strands and tugs me closer, like my hair’s a leash. It’s hotter than I would have thought. “And to fuck you like I don’t respect you.”

A rush of heat whooshes down my body, settles in my core in a needy ache. “Take me upstairs and fuck me like that right now.”

Adventurous Josie is in the house.