The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Josie

I’m waiting at the foot of the staircase, wearing only his jersey and a pair of white cotton panties. Music beats low from upstairs, something sultry with a lot of bass.

The lights are dim in the home, setting the mood.

The scene is set, but before I take the first step upstairs, I bring a hand to my chest. My heart is beating so fast. I try to catch my breath. I’ve imagined this so many times.

He’s taunted me with this scenario since the first night we were together when he said in the hotel: “Bet you’d watch me if you saw me jerking it to you.”

Yes, I would.

Tonight, I will.

I take the first step. The stair creaks—the soundtrack to desire. I ascend, my pulse spiking with every move. When I reach the top, the music grows louder. That’s Wesley for you—always having a playlist for everything. I turn down the short hallway and pad across the hardwood floor, heading toward the sliver of moonlight refracting through the doorway. An invitation. I step past it, then stop. A sound of pure desire crawls up my throat.

He’s stretched out on his bed, his big body sprawled in all his naked post-game glory. Bulging biceps, carved abs, thick thighs—and that gorgeous dick. He’s stroking it. But not with too much intention. Not like he’s about to burst. Like he’s just started. Like he’s weighing it.

His curled palm slides down to the base, then back up. My body clenches. He coasts his fist over the head, pushing out a drop. My mouth waters. I want that drop so badly on my tongue. His eyes are closed. His lips are parted. His chest, rising and falling. He’s pretending he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m pretending we’re not yet together.

Then I hear a noise that lights me up. A rasp rumbling its way up his chest. It’s the sound of an American muscle car hurtling down a road. With a groan, he grips his cock harder and I stare wantonly, like a voyeur.

He shuttles his fist along his length, the rhythm picking up, the pace increasing, his grunts growing louder. Then, low and guttural as he murmurs a strangled, “Josie.”

I gasp. My legs are shaking, and my panties are soaked. I am outrageously wet.

To watch him get off in front of me is better than any porn I’ve ever seen. The man I want is touching himself while thinking of me.

Pleasure pools low in my belly, and I could honestly probably come from watching him. Like a dream orgasm, the kind that crashes over you in your sleep.

On an upstroke, his eyes float open. He blinks, locks his gaze to mine like a sniper. Doesn’t say a word. Takes a long, lazy stroke, pointing his cock my way. Like he’s saying he’s caught me. “You like to watch?”

I nod, unsure if I can even speak at this moment. My throat is dry with desire.

He stops his strokes though. I whimper.

“You want to keep watching?”

I find words this time, needing them, I sense, for the show to go on. “Yes. Please.”

Crooking his fingers, he beckons for me to come closer. I cross the room, climb up, and kneel on the foot of the bed.

“Ready?” he asks.

“So ready.”

He grips his cock again. I stare hungrily. He jerks harder. “Ever watched me before?” It’s borderline confrontational. A man cross-examining me.

I shake my head no, then confess, “I’ve only imagined it.”

“How do you want me to finish? In my hand? On your tits?” The questions are aggressive too, spiking my arousal as he goes on. “In your mouth? On your back?”

This part wasn’t scripted, but the image of him spilling his release on my body and rubbing it into me with his palm has me gasping and crying out. “My back, please. All over me.”

“Bet your sweet little pussy is soaked,” he observes, pumping his cock harder as I stare, mesmerized.

“It is,” I say, desperate for relief.

“Bet it’s fucking dripping down your thighs.”

My core throbs. “Feels that way.”

He tips his chin carelessly at me. “Show me. Take those panties off.”

I remove them quickly, but before I can drop them on the bed he reaches out a hand, asking for them. I give them to him without a clue what he’s going to do next. He turns them inside out and grips his cock with the damp panel of my cotton panties.

My mind short-circuits. The sight of him spreading my wetness along his dick has me moaning uncontrollably.

I didn’t know that was something I desired until this very moment—him pleasuring himself with my wet panties. It’s so dirty, and it turns me on beyond belief.

“So much better,” he says in a haze, stroking faster with the fabric till he stops abruptly. “You know what would be even better?”

I’m lost in a sex trance and can only shake my head.

“If you sat on my face right now.”

Dropping the panties, he reaches for me, then grabs my hips. Quickly, I take off my glasses before he pulls me down onto his face. He’s not gentle—he’s hungry and horny as he French kisses my pussy. But I’m wearing a long jersey that’s covering the view of his face, so I grab the hem, and loop it through the neck like a halter top tied off, exposing my belly.

The look in his eyes is feral. “Now fuck my face.”

I start moving, thrusting against him as he eagerly drinks me up. The sounds we’re making are ridiculous—loud, wet slurps from him and high-pitched moans from me, harmonizing with the slap of the headboard against the wall.

We find a pace, and then he lifts a hand and smacks my ass. The sting radiates straight to my clit.

“Do it again,” I urge him.

He rewards me with a slap on the other cheek.

My body responds with a flood of pleasure, and I cry out as I come hard on his face. When I return to reality, he gently lifts me off him then slowly guides me down his body so my pussy rubs against his chest, his stomach, his groin, leaving a wet trail in my wake.

“I need you on my cock so fucking badly,” he says breathlessly.

That’s where I want to be. “I’m on birth control. I’ve been tested too. Negative.”

He nods savagely. “Me too. Negative.”

That’s all there is to it. I sink down on his beautiful dick, savoring the feel of him bare as he fills me easily. Stretches me.

I ride him like an expert horsewoman, hot and sweaty and wild in our post-game victory fuck. His breath comes fast, urgent. “I want you to keep coming upstairs. I want you to keep finding me. Want you every single fucking night,” he says.

“I’ll be here,” I gasp, and it seems like we’re promising more than sex.

He rises up so we’re face-to-face. He runs a hand up my back and around to the ends of my hair, tugging my mouth closer to his. This kiss is messy. A stop-and-start kind of kiss, chased with a new desperation. His lips slide to the corner of my mouth and he nips me there, then groans, pulling back while still fucking up into me.

His eyes are wide, dark, and full of filthy promise as he lets go of my hair, then coasts that hand around to my front, across my chest, and up my throat.

I gasp, stretching my neck for him. His thumb and fingers clasp the sides of my throat, but his palm never comes down too hard on me. He’s gripping me without choking me, and I feel…taken.

“I love that,” I murmur.

“I fucking love it too. All of this. Just fucking love it.”

I’ve never heard him like this. So urgent. So raw. His tone ignites me, and so does his body. His movements turn jerky. As his breathing staggers, he lets go of my throat while I shove a hand between my thighs and rub my clit until my body spirals once again and the world blurs. I come again, sharp, hot, and loud. I’m shaking and he’s groaning.

He’s got to be right there with me, but when I open my eyes, his jaw is ticking, his eyes full of restraint. “Hands and knees, baby,” he says.

It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing and why. But I ease off him and comply, getting on all fours. He moves behind me on his knees, then there’s the sound of a quick jerk and hot liquid splashes on my lower back. He marks me with his come, then spreads it into me as I moan.

My reality is even better than my fantasy.

Later, after we’ve cleaned up and we’re lying in bed together, Wesley pulls me close, kisses my hair. “I want to tell your brother that I’m with you. You good with that?”

With you.

It’s so simple. So clear. There are no questions with those two words.

“Yes.” If I say anything else, a sob of happiness might climb up my throat. Because I am so, so good with that.

I don’t know how long we’ll have, but however long it is, I want it to be on our terms.