Collide: A Hockey Romance, page 19
“How are you this flexible?” I ask, seeing how she’s folded.
Her breathless laugh answers me before she does. “Shut up, Crawford.”
Summer wraps them around my waist, kissing me with a desperate pull. It surprises me how much she wants to be face-to-face since missionary isn’t my go-to. I’m the only one thinking that because she holds me so tight, her tits crush against my chest, and she bites my shoulder. With how big her personality is, I almost forget how much smaller she is than me. It’s obvious when I'm hovering over her, and her small form clings to me.
She shakes around my cock. “Can’t. Too much.”
I apply just a touch of pressure and watch her shatter. Her muffled high-pitched moan sends a voltage to my dick, and I’m so close I can feel every muscle in my body tighten.
“I’m going to come.” My words are hoarse on their way out. With her pulsing around me, I ride out her orgasm as long as I can. Then with strength I didn’t know she possessed, Summer flips us around to sit on top of me.
Dark eyes brighten. “You’re going to come when I tell you to come.”
Fuck.
I’m doing everything in my power not to, but her tits are sliding across my chest, and I’m entranced. Absolutely fucking mesmerized. When she sees my desperation, she smirks. She fucking smirks at me and lifts higher, pulling me out, my erection begging to go back inside her.
“I need to come,” I beg.
She leans in, her mouth inches from mine. “Say please.”
“Please.”
The quick answer must satisfy her because she holds the base and sits down all at once, buried to the hilt. “Summer…Oh fuck, that’s it, baby.”
With one lazy roll of her hips, I see a flash of white and the pearly gates of heaven through the dizzying array of lights behind my eyes. I would go a happy man.
“Fuck me, Summer,” I order, my fingers digging into her flesh when she does, slow then all at once. It’s almost amusing that the only time she's listened to me is when my dick is inside her. Though I don't voice that thought because Summer’s palms land on my chest as she works me inside of her so slow I think I might pass out. Her complacent smile tells me she’s holding back.
“Now who’s being a tease?”
She rolls her shoulder. “Seeing you suffer brings me joy.”
“You won’t succeed.”
“I think I already am.” She smiles, watching my abs tighten with each gyration of her hips.
“Only one of us is winning at this game, and baby, I never lose.”
Whether she intends to agree or shoot back a rebuttal, I don’t hear it. In one quick move, I clasp both her wrists and flip her on her stomach. She kneels as I pull her up to lay her head against my shoulder, mouth parted in pleasure. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life. With the way every nerve in my body ignites, I’m sure I could replace a bonfire on a campsite.
“I don’t like you,” she says through bated breaths.
“Tell me again when I’m not inside you.” Her pussy squeezes around me, and when she tries to move her ass into me, I hold her still with a moan stuck in my throat. “I like you in charge, but let’s be clear. This pussy is mine, and I’ll take care of it.”
Those must be the only words she needs because her face tightens in ecstasy, and she comes apart when I angle myself to hit her G-spot. The deep position triggers my own release.
My forehead falls in the crook of her neck when she drops onto her stomach. I rest my weight on my forearms so I don’t crush her. A sheen of sweat covers my body, and her sweet smell hugs every inch of my skin. My high hasn’t worn off, and pleasure skips along my bones wanting more. Flipping away, we’re shoulder to shoulder as I stare up at the ceiling and she looks at me.
“That was…”
“Yeah,” she exhales.
When my heartbeat settles into a steady rhythm, I turn to her. “Five minutes then we can go again.”
“Five minutes?” She stares in horror. “I’m going to need like one to three business days and some serious electrolytes.”
I chuckle. “How about ten minutes, and I’ll bring up some BioSteel?”
She only makes a face, probably because she is happily distracted by my naked body. I roll off the bed to discard the condom and pull on my sweats only for her to boo at me. Unlike Dylan, full frontal this early in the morning isn’t my thing. I toss her a shirt for good measure.
“Not very productive if it’s coming off in a few minutes,” she teases.
“Preventative measures in case one of the guys walks in.”
She wears it immediately. Summer’s hair is messy, face flushed, and lips swollen. She looks hotter than ever.
“Hungry?” I ask as she slips out of bed to head into my bathroom. She thinks for a minute and shakes her head, but I don’t buy that. “I’ll get you some breakfast.”
28 | SUMMER
I ALWAYS THOUGHT the whole ‘You won’t be able to walk tomorrow’ thing was a lie that men who talked a big game often said to inflate their own egos. It’s a credible conclusion considering no one has ever been able to make a promise on their word.
But Aiden Crawford has a knack for proving me wrong.
Six times. He made my limbs jelly and sent my body orbiting into space, six times. Aiden is a sex god, and it brings me a great deal of pain to admit that.
Damn hockey players and their stamina. Because it’s a ten-minute walk across campus to my first class, and I’m thinking of crawling there instead. My body is clearly basking in the stupid and wonderful decision to sleep with Aiden. I didn’t even need an alarm this morning with all the singing from my ovaries.
“Need a ride?” Donny stares at me through the window of his black G-Wagon.
“Not from you.”
“Come on. You know I’m only trying to help.”
“Help? I have to redo an entire section of my paper.”
When Donny came over Thursday night, he said my paper needed even more work, and that Langston agreed. Now, I have to redo it to add limitations that I had no idea even existed.
“I’ll help you with it. Just get in.”
Because of my uncomfortable walking situation, I hop in. The royal blue interior that his parents customized when he got into Dalton is spotless. The Ralph Lauren sweater and trousers he wears look so preppy I have to hold off rolling my eyes.
“Water?” He pulls out a Fiji water bottle from the console.
I take it with a quick thanks, downing half of it. Yesterday’s activities left me parched. There wasn’t time to recharge because when Aiden fell asleep, I got into an Uber. There is no reason for me to know that he likes to cuddle or that he doesn’t snore.
“Were you out last night?”
When I nod, he glances at me from the driver's side, but I don’t elaborate. Donny likes to pretend we’re old friends who gossip about our personal lives when that has never been the case.
“You know, partying won’t help you get into the program.”
Here we go. “I’m not partying.”
“You’re moving like you’re hungover. I’m just looking out for you, Summer. I’ve known how much you wanted this for so long. I just hope you don’t lose it by being careless.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Your paper says different.”
A hot spike jabs into my stomach. “You said it was good.” I hate the insecurity that laces my words.
“It should be excellent.”
I despise his constant patronization, but he’s right. “I know. I’ll work on it and send it over.”
He pulls into the parking lot, and we both head in the direction of our classes. I have no classes with Kian today, which is a pro and a con. A pro because I just spent all of yesterday with his best friend and if I accidentally slipped up and told him, I won’t hear the end of it. And a con because without a distraction, Donny’s words continue to replay in my head.
On my way to the cafeteria, I stop at food services to check my card balance for the month. All the money I have in there is from my savings and the odd jobs I did at the beginning of freshman year. The cashier swipes the card and hands it back.
“It’s full. You’re good to go.”
I stare at the plastic card, checking if it’s the right one. There is no way the three meals a day I buy on campus didn’t drain every penny. “Are you sure? Can you check again?”
The woman swipes it again, twisting the screen to show me. “You could buy the cafeteria with that much money,” she says.
Stepping out of line, my breaths are shallow as I dial my father.
“Morning, Su—”
“I don’t need your money.”
Lukas Preston has a bad habit of using money to buy love. It may have worked on my sisters, but it won’t work on me. I have money in my savings from waitressing the past three years, and the rest is covered with my scholarship. Aside from the money my mom is adamant that I use, my dad has always been my last option.
“It’s not about the money, Sunshine. I want to make sure you’re doing okay over there.”
A resentful scoff rises in my throat. “You should have spent it on someone who could be bought because it’s not me.”
“Summer, that is no way to speak to me,” he scolds, and a spike of guilt hits. The feeling is so instinctual it’s hard to feel vindicated by my behavior. “I’d still like to have dinner when you’re free.”
“I called because I don’t want you spending a penny on me. And no, I’m not available for dinner.” I hang up, still feeling that dark twist in my stomach. It lasts for days after I speak to my dad, but I’ve learned to live with it.
Defeated, I swipe the card for my lunch and find a spot in the lounge. Kian Ishida walks in holding a pink gift basket and wearing a bright smile, pulling me out of my pathetic reverie. His presence is lifting, but I still ignore it.
“Oh c’mon, anything but the silent treatment,” he groans like he’s in physical pain. “Did you get the Uncle Frank’s pizza? And the handmade card? In case you're not a fan of those, I made you a gift basket all on my own. I even included some bruise cream.”
If falling on my ass wasn’t enough embarrassment, then the bruise cream would do the trick. The basket Kian places in front of me is wrapped with a neat pink bow. Through the poorly taped cellophane, I can see snacks, tea, and skincare items.
It’s been days since Kian embarrassed me at Starlight, and he’s been working overtime for my forgiveness. The handmade gift pulls at my heartstrings. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment.”
“Good, but I’d do this forever if I had to,” he says. “You’re my best friend, Summer, and I don’t take hurting my friends lightly.”
I glance at him. “I thought Aiden was your best friend.”
“Yeah and all the guys, but you’re my best and only girl friend.”
“Wow, what an achievement,” I mutter.
“I’d call you my sister, but I don’t want to draw that hard line just yet in case Crawford fucks up.”
The joke might have been funny if I was in a better mood. “Hey, you never told me what it was like.”
“What?”
“Being dropped on your head as a child.”
He scowls.
As stupid as Kian is about ninety percent of the time, hearing him call me his best friend feels like a warm hug. It’s rare that I get this close to anyone, but with him, it feels natural. I won’t tell him now, but he’s one of my best friends, too.
29 | AIDEN
HOW SOON IS too soon to text someone after a hookup?
I’d say I’m well versed in post-hookup etiquette, but when it comes to Summer Preston all my experience out the window.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting a text from her the morning after she left—snuck out in the dead of night—to tell me she had fun or to schedule another romp in the sheets. That’s usually how morning afters work for me. But of course, this girl is going to be different.
Last night in itself was different. It was the best sex of my life, and I don’t really know how to move on after knowing that. With itching impatience, I pull out my phone and text her.
Summer
Aiden: Get home safe?
It’s a cowardly move, but I’m not confident I’d get a reply if I texted her anything else. I’m not sure if caring about her safety will get me one either, but it’s worth a try. I’m banking on her feeling bad about disappearing. The last thing I expected in the morning was seeing the right side of my bed empty, especially since it still smelled like her. Since I still smelled like her.
Summer: If I didn’t there would be cops at your place right now.
Aiden: You think I’d be a suspect? I guess yesterday's noise complaints wouldn’t help my case.
Summer: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Aiden: Maybe I can remind you. When are you free?
The grin on my face is embarrassing, but the memories replaying in my head definitely aren’t. Checking my phone three times a minute doesn’t seem to garner a reply, so I put it away. The desperation to touch her or hear her voice is debilitating. Not ideal because I have a meeting with Kilner today.
Our first-line defense has been slacking, so Kilner wants to pull someone up. As captain, I’ve been given the responsibility of compiling names, despite the guys being pissed about the sudden change.
Downstairs, I see Kian slip on his shoes. “Where are you going?” I ask.
“You’re kidding. Even my professors know about tonight.”
Seeing his outfit, I recall, “Your date with Cassie.”
It took Kian three days to choose an outfit. Summer helped because apparently, she forgave him. Which is annoying as hell because she’s never forgiven me that easily.
Kian fixes his tie and nervously heads to his car. I do the same, except my night is going to be spent with an angry Coach Kilner, who won’t be happy that I can’t help but zone out every few minutes.
PEACH-SCENTED SILK slips through my fingers. “You have amazing hair.”
Two days after my first message, Summer finally texted me her schedule. Two whole days. It was absolute torture. But we managed to carve out a few afternoons and the rare morning. She’s firm on her no sleepover rule because it treads too close to the relationship category. I don’t care as long as I get to see her.
“You can thank my mom for that. She used to oil my hair growing up and now I’m addicted.”
“Oil?” I ask curiously. This is my favorite part. When we talked about anything and everything, things I'd never get to know about her otherwise.
“You’ve never had oil massaged into your scalp?” she asks, eyes wide with surprise.
I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”
“You’re missing out. It used to be my favorite thing.” She lies back, and I run my hand over the smooth skin of her arm.
“You don’t do it anymore?”
She lets out a nostalgic breath. “I do, but having someone else do it is a whole other feeling.”
“I can do it for you.”
It’s the silence before she bursts into laughter that has me furrowing my brows. She catches her breath, losing it again when she tries to talk. “You did not just say that.”
I frown. “What?”
She laughs again, bewildered as she stares at my blank expression. “I’ll do it for you? No guy just offers to oil hair. I’ve literally never heard that before.”
Is that a weird thing to say? Fuck, maybe I should google serial killer tendencies again. “Well, you said it’s your favorite thing. If it makes you happy I’d do it.”
All the residual humor dissipates, and her eyes lock with mine. All my senses focus on her.
Then her gaze drops, snapping the tight string between us. “That’s a bit much for fuck buddies.”
Her words are a grimy knife to the gut. But before she can say something else that digs a hole out of my chest, I lean in and kiss her.
“Ow.” Summer rears back, breaking our kiss.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your beard,” she mutters, rubbing her chin. “It’s scratching me.”
My growing playoff beard is at that awkward length that leaves the friction burning Summer’s skin whenever I kiss her. She hasn't said much about it, but I can tell she’s not its biggest fan.
“You weren’t complaining when it was scratching the inside of your thighs.”
She rolls her eyes, and when I go in for another kiss, she stops me. “I have homework.”
“You kicking me out, Preston?” I settle for a kiss on her cheek. Trying to spend an extra second with her is nearly impossible lately. She was with Donny this morning, so I expected her to be a little distant. It’s become obvious she feels guilty about what we’re doing.
Summer steals my hoodie from the end of the bed. I have a T-shirt, so I don’t care if she takes it, it looks better on her anyway.
“Yes.” She tries escaping my hold, but I pull her back to stand between my legs.
“I’m starting to feel used.”
She raises a brow. “Try being bent in ten different positions.”
“Come to my game tonight.” Summer makes a face and I sigh. “Give me one good reason why you won’t.” I have never invited a girl to a game, but having Summer sitting rink side feels right.
“One: I don’t like hockey. Two: I’m not sitting in the stands wearing your jersey to fulfill your weird fantasy.”
A sliver of humor rises up my throat. “One: You like me. Two: I think Crystal wears my jersey anyway.”
“What?”
I examine her incredulity with delight. “The guys noticed she’s been wearing it ever since the carnival.”
The look is replaced with indifference. “When you hooked up with her.”
I glower. “No. Nothing happened. She’s just trying to get my attention now.”
