The Wingman

by Cathryn Fox

  “Yes, it feels incredible,” I groan, and he shuffles forward on the floor, forcing me backward until my knees hit the bed. He nudges me until I fall onto the mattress, and he reaches up, runs his thumb over my breasts and gives me a little shove until I’m flat on my back. He readjusts my legs and puts them over his shoulders, and I go up on my elbows to watch.

  Oh my God, Rider between my legs, his fingers in me, his mouth all over my pussy has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “You have the prettiest little cunt,” he says and my eyes go wide. He sneaks a glance at me, likely to catch my reaction to his dirty mouth, but the spasming of my body gives me away. “You like that, Jules? You like when I tell you how pretty your cunt is?”

  “Yes,” I garble, and rock toward his mouth.

  He chuckles. “So eager and needy.”

  Drunk on him, I say, “Please.”

  “What is it you need from me?” he asks and fucks me with one thick finger.

  “That,” I say shamelessly.

  “How about this?” He takes my clit into his mouth, runs it between his teeth and I swear to God I’m no longer on the bed. No, I’m pretty damn sure I’m levitating, lost in the clouds as he takes me higher and higher.

  “Rider, holy God.”

  “I take that as a yes.” He nibbles some more, then changes the pace, sliding into me fast, harder, the sharp blade of his tongue lashing against my swollen clit in the most glorious ways. What the hell is this man doing to me? No guy has ever pleasured me like this, turned my body into liquid, but that thought brings on another. I sober quickly, afraid I’ve gone too far, that I’m on a crash course with no choice but to slip from the tenuous hold on reality, lose all sense of control and fall to the ground without a safety net.

  Once again, he reads my body language, and his mouth is right there, next to my ear, as he keeps a finger inside me. “Don’t overthink this, Jules. I’ve got you,” he says. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers. “I promise. I want to make this good for you.”

  His words, the soft comforting way they’re spoken, seep into my skin, climb over the barriers and bring on a calm as they squeeze my heart.

  “Think about how good this feels,” he says and slides a second finger into me for a beautiful snug fit as he goes back between my legs.

  “Yes,” I say as pleasure rockets through me.

  He sucks my clit, and my hips come off the bed, seeking, searching, my thoughts focused solely on the pleasure this man is giving me.

  “Yes,” he murmurs. “You taste so fucking good.”

  I hiss out a breath as sensations center on my core, and the next thing I know, my body is convulsing around his fingers and mouth. I jerk forward, writhe, smash my clit against his face as I take what I want without a care in the damn world. Perfection, and so out of character for me. But this is Rider, not my ex, and we’re friends with benefits. I can be myself with him, no judgement, just acceptance.

  “Rider,” I cry and grip his hair, run my nails through, all the while holding him to me like I’m afraid this is a dream and will end any second. He licks me, lightly pets my sex, and when the spasms stop, he climbs up my body.

  “Do you have any idea how sexy it is when you come?”

  “No,” I say, as heat colors my cheeks. My God, I was squirming and screaming his name like it was my job, like I’d never had good, or rather great, sex in my life. Which I haven’t.

  “Now that I know how good I can make you feel, I want to make you come again and again. Fuck, the way you taste, move your sweet body, call my name. I fucking love it.” I gulp and try to turn away, but he cups my face.

  “Hey,” he whispers, and brushes his thumb over my cheek, those intense gray eyes of his turning serious. “You never need to be embarrassed with me and I don’t want to play games, okay. Let’s just be open and honest here.”

  As he searches my face for truth, his cock indents my leg and I moan. If he wants total honesty… “I want you in my mouth again,” I admit, my mouth watering with the thoughts of it. “I like the taste of you, too.”

  “Jesus.” He shakes his head, and an agonized groan crawls out of his throat. I bite my tongue to stop the chuckle from surfacing. But I have to say I love this openness between us. It’s…freeing, and not something I’ve ever really experienced before. “As much as I’d like that too,” he continues. “I’m so fucking close, babe, and I want in here,” he says and slides a finger into me.

  “God, I want that too,” I murmur arousal curling around me as my core grips him.

  In a hurried move, he grabs his pants from the floor and his sudden absence leaves cold where there was once warmth, but then he’s back again, sliding on the condom and repositioning me on the bed like I’m a rag doll. Which pretty much describes the current state of my limbs.

  His mouth finds mine and his kisses are warm and sweet as he grips my legs and pushes on them, until my knees are up at my sides and feet are wrapped around his back. I kind of like the way he just moves me around, and arranges me on the bed. Honestly, I like not having to do all the thinking, or all the work.

  “You lied to me,” he says, and I work to make sense of what he’s saying as he offers me his thick crown.

  He pushes inside my opening, and I’m so hot and wet, he easily glides in. It feels so good, I lift my body from the bed, but he inches back so I can’t take more of what I need. Bastard!

  “When did I lie to you?” I ask, squirming and shifting and trying desperately to get more of him inside of me.

  He slides a tiny bit more of his thick length into my quivering sex, and I get that he’s playing with me. His gaze moves over mine, a slight curl to his lips. He waits to see my reaction and this time I go perfectly still, allowing him to set the pace as he slowly, agonizingly fills me. Just fuck me already. But I don’t dare move for fear he’ll back up again. That’s when it occurs to me how easily trainable I am, how well we can read each other. That thought makes me chuckle.

  “When you said you weren’t after any of my parts,” he says. “You lied.”

  For a second, I can’t think but then I remember our first meeting, when he teased that I could be harvesting his parts and I told him I had no interest in any of his organs, namely the one currently pushing open my tight walls and filling me to perfection. My laugh bubbles around us.

  “I love it when you laugh,” he says, but that laugh morphs into a moan as he powers his hips forward and goes so high and deep it pounds against my cervix, but never have I felt anything so glorious in my entire freaking life.

  “Rider.” I slide my hands around his neck and he buries his mouth in my neck. Every muscle in my body flutters.

  “You feel so good,” he says and my hands move to his ass. His tight muscles bunch and relax again with each thrust, and I can no longer think. All I can do is breathe and take pleasure in what he’s doing to me.

  “You’re right. I did lie. I want your cock,” I say and I love the growl those honest words produce.

  “I think you’re a tease,” he says, sliding out, only to power forward and seat himself high again. I scratch at his back and struggle for my next breath. His chest rubs against mine as he moves and it stimulates my hard nipples.

  His mouth finds mine, and I groan as our tongues tangle. He kisses me long and deep and repositions so he can look between our bodies. “Fuck, I love the way your cunt takes me,” he says. I go up on my elbows to watch, and every sensation rocketing through my body settles between my legs.

  “I’ve never watched before,” I admit.

  “Can you touch yourself for me, babe?” he asks, and at first, I tense. “Put your hands on your clit. Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to watch.”

  “Okay.” I can hardly believe I’m sliding my hand down my stomach until I reach my clit, but damn it, I feel sexy. I feel alive under this man’s care. When his eyes dark
en even more, I throw my head back and slide my finger over my sopping wet clit.

  “That’s so damn hot,” he growls as his cock thickens even more inside me. “You’ve got me right there.”

  “Yes,” I say. His cock rams into me and my headboard bangs against the wall, but I don’t care. No, all I care about is the heat, the fire burning through my body, the way his cock is pounding, deep, heavy, blunt strokes against my G-spot and cervix. I rub my clit harder, and an orgasm builds until I explode, a gush of liquid warmth spilling between my legs.

  “Motherfucker,” he says and pulls back. He slams into me, grips my hair and holds on as he depletes himself high inside me. He stays like that, every muscle in his body taut for a minute, then he collapses on top of me, pinning me to the bed. In the past I might have felt trapped, or even claustrophobic, but right now, comfort surrounds me. I relax against him, secure.

  “What the hell?” I finally manage to say.

  His head lifts, and his dimple taunts me as his gaze meets mine. “You good?”

  “Good? Ah yeah,” I say and he chuckles. “I climaxed twice and that never happens.” He blows on his knuckles and buffs them against his chest. “You’re such an ass,” I say and laugh. How is it I’m so comfortable with this man in such a short amount of time?

  “An ass who just gave you two orgasms, you mean.”

  “Why…why is this so different with you?” I question without thinking.

  7

  Rider

  I don’t know the answer to her question. But I can’t deny that I’m wondering the same thing. The fact that she let herself go, trusted me enough to free her body and come all over my fingers and cock… well, that’s a gift she’s given me, and one I’ll always treasure.

  I roll to my back, tug off the condom and grab a tissue from the box beside the bed. I set it down to dispose of later and pull her to me as I bask in my post-orgasm bliss. Sleep pulls at me, but I don’t want this moment to end. I widen my eyes and suck in a breath to force the oxygen back into my brain. I glance around her room. It’s dim, but there is enough light from the moon to cast shadows on the wall and showcase her paintings.

  “Homey,” I say, and examine the painted picture of a vineyard. Is it someplace she’d visited, someplace special to her?

  She jerks up. “Excuse me?”

  “What?” I ask at the startled expression on her face, the fire blazing in her dark eyes. Any man who can’t see that she was the most beautiful woman in the room, a woman who deserves a guy’s undivided attention, is a total douche. But, selfish bastard that I am, I’m glad Tate bored her into my arms, and her bed.

  Her big eyes narrow in on me. “Did you just call me homely?”

  I laugh—loud and hard—until my damn stomach hurts. Could this girl be any more adorable, and the furthest thing from homely?

  “I said…homey.”

  “Oh,” she says and laughs. “Sometimes you mumble.”

  I fix her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. “I do not mumble, and you’re beautiful. I already told you that.” Why the heck does she have such a hard time believing that? Yeah, I get that her friend likes to take the spotlight, and Jules seems happy for her to do that, and that beneath it all, she’s guarded. She said it wasn’t because of her ex, and I shouldn’t want to know why, but dammit, I can’t help but want to know more about her. But it didn’t seem like something she wanted to talk about and I’m not going to push.

  She snuggles against me, and I’m more comfortable than I ever could have imagined. Normally I don’t stay to snuggle, but I’m lethargic, and have no reason to rush home to a big empty house that is the opposite of hers in every way.

  “What kind of art do you have on your wall?” she asks.

  In my mind’s eye I picture the monochrome prints on my wall. “Just the stuff the decorator put there.”

  “You had a professional decorate it?”

  “Yeah,” I say, noting the surprise in her voice. “Cole hired a decorator and recommended her to the rest of us. I’m happy with the results,” I say. Those meaningless pictures serve the purpose of filling the gray walls and big open rooms. Some are even conversation starters.

  “That surprises me, since you seem to like art so much. But I guess I am glad you don’t have a bubble gum wall.”

  “You don’t know that. You’ve not been to my place.”

  “Please tell me you don’t?”

  “I don’t.” I chuckle. “But how it’s decorated doesn’t really matter. I’m not home a lot, and in the summers, I hang out at my cottage on Wautauga Beach.” Once the hockey season is over, we’ll all be heading there. I like the cottage, but now that my buddies are filling their houses with wives and kids, it’s a constant reminder of what I want but can’t have. “The guys’ wives all decorated it for me. They insisted on a beachy theme and believe me, there’s no telling them no. You’d probably love the place,” I say, although I don’t bring women there.

  “Are you close to the other players’ wives?”

  “Yeah, we’re all close.” I guffaw. “Although they’ve been trying to fix me up for as long as I can remember. But still, you’d like them. Not that you can ever meet them. I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

  “No, me neither,” she says and while that should bring a measure of relief that she’s not looking to insert herself into my life, it somehow comes off feeling like I’d just been cross-checked. My stomach takes that moment to grumble and I’m happy for the distraction.

  Jules laughs. “I guess I did promise you grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  I smooth my hair back, and her eyes follow the motion. “How about I make them?”

  Her cute freckles bunch as she crinkles her nose. “You cook?”

  “Yup.”

  “No way.”

  I press a kiss to her forehead and slide from the covers. I tug on my jeans and hold my hand out to help her up. She slides her tiny palm into mine.

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” I ask. Hell, when I was a kid, before child protective services rescued me—although rescued is not a word I’d use, considering some of the homes I’d been sent to weren’t much better than my own—and Dad was gone and Mom was off fucking some random guy for money in the back bedroom, I used to make my own food. “I’m not a gourmet chef or anything, but I can get by.”

  “Okay, Wingman, let’s see what you got.”

  I wag my brows at her. “I think you already did, and I’m pretty sure you like what I got.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Food and sex.”

  “And hockey.”

  “Right, and hockey.” She tugs on her T-shirt and pulls a pair of pajama bottoms from her drawer. Now how is it possible that she’s making a pair of oversized flannels sexy?

  Jesus, I need to get out more often.

  “Lead the way,” I say and follow her downstairs back to the kitchen. I slow my pace and admire all the artwork on the way. We reach the kitchen, and that’s when I notice all the plants under her window sill. A hiss has me turning my attention to her cat, who is lounging in some stacked plush playhouse and eyeing me suspiciously.

  “You grow your own herbs?” I ask.

  “I do. I like organic,” she says.

  “I like it in theory, but if it means I can’t eat a Whopper Wiener, I’m out.”

  She chuckles at that. “I’ve taken courses on their healing powers. I hit the market every weekend. If you’re interested, you can come if you’d like.”

  “I’m away next week.” I mimic the action of shooting a puck as she pulls a block of cheese and a tub of butter from the fridge. “Big game against Vancouver. Not that you’d know, since you don’t follow hockey,” I shoot back.

  “Drink?” she asks and holds up a jug of something homemade.

  “What is it?”

  “Kombucha.”

  I hold my hands up and back away. “No frigging way, that stuff tastes like ass.”

  “How do you know
what—” She holds her hand up. “Never mind.”

  I laugh. “How can you drink that poison?”

  “I make it, actually. Try it.” She produces two glasses and pours the purple concoction into both. “I use organic blueberries. It’s pretty good.” She hands me the glass. “And good for you.”

  She takes a big drink and I examine the content. “Yeah, so is a prostate exam and you don’t see me lining up for one of those.”

  She chokes, puts her hand over her nose and grabs the paper towel. “Ow, Rider!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t make me laugh when I have something in my mouth. That came out my nose and it hurts.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say and try to stifle a chuckle.

  “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be laughing.”

  I bite my lip to stop myself from grinning, and tear off a paper towel. “Really, I didn’t mean it.” I move her hands away and dab at her nose. “All better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, sit and drink your poison.”

  She mumbles something about it not being poison and hands me a pan as I pull a chair out for her. She lowers herself and I set the pan onto the stove and get to work on the sandwiches.

  Jules stands and flicks on the radio, which is sitting on top of her fridge. “Did you rescue that from the twentieth century?” I ask her.

  “Like I said, I enjoy restoring old things.”

  My head jerks back. “I didn’t think you meant electronic things.”

  She shrugs. “Dad is an engineer. He was always fiddling with things like this. I used to like to help him.”

  “And yet you became a nurse.”

  “I did, but I learned a lot from my dad.”

  “That’s nice.” A warm bubble fills my chest. “It’s nice that you are all close.” I cast her a quick glance and don’t miss the curiosity in her eyes.

  “You… ah…is your father in your life?” she asks. I turn from her. Fast. Every muscle in my body bunching. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to answer that. I was just curious, I guess. It’s none of my business.”