Page 112 of Hockey Boy
With a sleepy groan, he presses a soft kiss to my shoulder, making my heart flutter.
Spinning so I can face him, I survey him and quickly get lost in his warm, sleepy brown eyes. “Hi, Princess.”
“Hi Hockey Boy.”
He slips his hand down my backside and squeezes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got fucked by a pair of stalkers.”
Chuckling, he brushes his lips against mine. “Must be my many dazzling personalities and huge cock.”
Circling his length, I give it a firm squeeze. “It’s positively massive.” I thumb each bar along his shaft, twisting them as I go.
He closes his eyes, and a guttural moan escapes him. As I slide my thumb over the head, smoothing his arousal over him, he shifts his hips closer. I’m adjusting, ready to slide down his body and show him precisely how much I enjoy his massive dick, when my phone dings.
That specific sound is a bucket of ice water on a hot fire. It’s the ringtone I set for my parents so that I’m always prepared before picking up the phone. Even a text message from them can sour my mood, though I didn’t realize until now just how badly that simple sound could ruin a moment.
I wince and drop my hand, a niggle of worry hitting me. I hate to disappoint him, but the moment is lost.
His face doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even look disappointed. No, concern swims in his eyes, but that’s the extent of it. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”
I groan into his chest. He’s so warm. I could easily get lost in him if I breathe deeply enough.
“Lex,” he says with more urgency. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my parents. That’s their ringtone. Ignore it. They’ll just ruin today.”
Warm lips press against my forehead. Once, twice, three times. Then he tips my chin, forcing me to face him. “We can’t keep running. Let’s face it head-on. Together.”
His words fill me with a strength I didn’t know was within reach this morning. So with a hum of agreement, I pick up my phone and look at the message.
Mom: I’ve booked the club for your thirtieth birthday. Could you send me a list of people you want me to invite?
My stomach rolls at the thought of my birthday. Especially when a second text pops up, this one in a separate thread.
Dad: Just over a month until your deadline. How about we turn the party into a wedding reception? I’ve already spoken with Donald. He thinks it’s a great idea.
With a loud groan, I throw myself onto the mattress. “He’s such an asshole.”
Aiden’s eyes narrow. “Who’s Donald?”
“Donald Sparrow. Of Sparrow Holdings. He plays golf with my father.”
“What would he have to do with your wedding reception?”
Oh, sweet Aiden. He still doesn’t get it. My father will never stop making deals. He’ll use every advantage, every situation, to increase his fortune and his standing. Despite how little we need either. “I guess my father thinks he should be the groom.”
Aiden’s jaw hardens.
The almost imperceptible reaction makes my heart lurch. I drop the phone and press my hands against his face, anxious to soften him. “He’s never going to give up on this.”
“That’s why we have this plan, isn’t it?”
My stomach flips. “You still want to do this? It feels wrong now that things are—” I sigh. I’m not even sure what things are, but they’re complicated. That’s for damn sure.
“They’re what?” Aiden asks, his tone perfectly calm.
“I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. Hell, I don’t even know if I really ever want to get married. Or if I want kids. My parents have always dictated my life. I’m only now learning what I like. For so long, I’ve made choices just to spite them. Finally, I’m taking into consideration what I actually want.”