The Risk

by Elle Kennedy

  She gazes up at me with big brown eyes.

  “I’m being quiet,” I choke out. “Promise.”

  She smiles and resumes her ministrations. She sucks on my tip, and I watch her lips, mesmerized, as they gobble me up. Her head dips down again, and suddenly my cock is nearly poking the back of her throat. I barely have time to register the incredible sensation when she eases off, her head swiftly moving back up, her hand working in perfect unison with her wicked mouth.

  I can’t believe Brenna Jensen is blowing me.

  Life is full of unexpected surprises. A few months ago, this girl was provoking me at a house party, swearing she’d never fall into bed with a Harvard man. And now here we are. In her bed, with her mouth on my cock and my fist in her hair.

  Her lips are…

  The suction is…

  Dammit, my brain shorted out again.

  Pleasure zips up my spine. I love seeing her delicate throat work when she swallows me on every downstroke. Her perfect ass is jutting in the air, and my hands are itching to cup it, squeeze it.

  I tighten my fist in her long hair and tug her head up. “Twist around so I can lick you at the same time,” I rasp.

  Pure arousal darkens her gaze. “That’s such a good idea,” she whispers.

  She moves in a blur, wiggling out of her flannel pants and straddling my face. When my tongue comes out for a taste, she makes a strangled noise. A loud one.

  “Quiet,” I taunt, before giving her clit a long, languid lick.

  She retaliates by stuffing half my dick in her mouth, and it’s my turn to make noise again. “Oh my God,” I groan against her pussy. “We’re never going to get through this.”

  Her soft laughter tickles my shaft, creating a vibration effect that travels through my body. My hips involuntarily jerk upward, pushing me to the back of her throat.

  She yelps in surprise, and I quickly withdraw. “Sorry,” I murmur. “That wasn’t on purpose.”

  “It’s okay, you just startled me.”

  I return my attention to her sexy body, reaching up to squeeze her ass cheeks. This is fucking amazing. Her sweet flavor on my tongue, her mouth on my dick. It’s so, so good. I move my tongue slowly over her clit, hoping to tease her, to draw out her pleasure, but it isn’t long before she’s whimpering impatiently and grinding down on my face.

  Greedy little thing. I chuckle at her eagerness, until she starts jacking me against her tongue, and the laughter dies. Red-hot pleasure buzzes up my spine. My balls tingle in warning, and I wrench my mouth from her pussy and mutter, “I don’t want to come until you do.”

  “Then get me there,” she dares.

  Challenge accepted. I wrap my lips around her clit and suck.

  She squirms in delight. “Oh, that’s good. Do that again.”

  With my tongue tending to her clit, I bring my index finger into the mix and push it inside her. She’s so wet and so tight and I am so close to erupting in her mouth. It takes all the willpower in the world to hold off.

  “Come on, babe,” I whisper. “Don’t make me come alone.”

  She moans quietly and rocks her hips.

  “That’s it,” I coax.

  Her lips tighten around the head of my cock. She mumbles something against it, I think signaling her orgasm, because suddenly I feel her inner muscles contracting around my finger, her clit throbbing beneath my tongue.

  I explode without warning, but my mouth is occupied and I hope she doesn’t get pissed that I don’t ask for permission. The orgasm surges to the surface and fills her mouth. The pleasure’s so intense I almost black out.

  I feel moisture pool on my abs. Brenna sits up and says, “Sorry, Jakey, I don’t swallow. Let me get a tissue.”

  And now I’m sputtering with laughter because only this girl could do what she just did to my body and then crack me up.

  She grabs a wad of tissues from the box on the nightstand and cleans me up. “That was fun,” she informs me.

  I fully agree. “Give me like ten minutes and then we can do it all over again—”

  “Brenna?”

  We both freeze.

  “Who are you talking to?” a brusque voice demands. “Who’s in there?”

  “Nobody,” she calls, cautioning me with her eyes to keep quiet.

  Right, like I was about to open my mouth. That’s Chad Jensen on the other side of the door. He’d probably skin me alive if he found me in here.

  “I heard his voice, Brenna, and don’t tell me it was the TV because there’s no TV in there.”

  “I’m watching something on my laptop,” she lies.

  “Bullshit. I know when you’re lying. How about you introduce me to your friend?”

  I don’t miss the flare of panic on her face. “No, Dad, how about I don’t.”

  There’s a tense pause. “Can we have a word, please?”

  Brenna’s jaw is locked shut. It looks like she’s grinding her teeth as she tries to unhinge it. “One second,” she tells the door. Then she’s hurriedly putting on her pants, while gesturing for me to do the same. “I’ll be right back,” she mouths.

  Maybe coming here was a bad idea, after all. As Brenna steps out into the hall, I pull up my boxers and cargo pants, tug the zipper closed, and say a prayer that I’m not about to get murdered.

  Brenna’s voice is muffled, but her father’s isn’t. Coach Jensen is a commanding, terrifying figure. And yet I still find myself creeping toward the door.

  “…talked about this.” Brenna sounds annoyed.

  “You can’t lock your door with some stranger in there. If you’re going to have guests over, then you should be prepared to introduce them to your father.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not introducing you to every single person in my life. It’s just a friend.”

  “Then there’s no reason for you to hide him, is there?”

  “Dad, please drop it, okay?”

  “I’m not going through this with you again.” Coach Jensen is clearly starting to get upset. Not angry, but genuinely upset. Which triggers my uneasiness. “I can’t deal with all the secrets and sneaking around again. You know what happened the last time we weren’t upfront with each other.”

  “There’s nothing to be upfront about,” she replies in frustration. “It’s just some guy.”

  I flinch. Just some guy?

  I mean, she’s right. It isn’t like we’ve been dating for years. I don’t have an engagement ring in my pocket. And I understand why she can’t tell her father that she’s hooking up with the hockey player who’s going to demolish his team next week. But I’m more than just some guy.

  Aren’t I?

  It’s not an easy pill for Coach Jensen to swallow, either. “So it’s some casual Craigslist thing?” he roars.

  “Dad! Ew! First of all, nobody my age uses Craigslist! It’s a breeding ground for pedophiles and deviants.”

  I choke down a burst of laughter.

  “And second of all, my personal life is none of your business.”

  “When you live in my house, it becomes my business.”

  It’s starting to get intense, so I edge away from the door.

  “Please, Dad. Just…go to sleep,” she says wearily. “My friend is leaving, anyway. I have to finish writing my article for tomorrow.”

  “Fine.” Her father doesn’t sound at all appeased. “Tell your friend to use the front door this time. I don’t want him breaking that drainpipe out there, or the lattice, or whatever the hell he used to get up here.”

  Busted.

  Heavy footsteps thud in the hallway, while softer ones approach the door. When Brenna reappears, the flush has left her cheeks. Her eyes are devoid of desire. Of any emotion, actually. “You need to go.”

  “I figured.” I’m already putting on my jacket.

  “I’m sorry about that. He’s…it’s…difficult.” She won’t meet my gaze, and I can tell by the way she’s wringing her hands together that she’s nervous.

 
; Or maybe it’s embarrassment making her fidget. I didn’t think Brenna Jensen was capable of feeling embarrassed, though. Or defeated. She’s usually so tenacious, but for the first time since we met, it seems like all the fight has gone out of her.

  “Has he always been so strict?” I ask.

  “Yes, but it’s not all on him. I kind of gave him cause to assume the worst when it comes to me.”

  The cryptic remark sparks my curiosity. I want to push for details, but her guarded demeanor isn’t a promising indication that I’d receive any answers.

  “Jake,” she starts. “I don’t know when or if we’ll get to see each other again.”

  I frown. “Why’s that?”

  “Because…” Her gaze finally shifts from her feet to my face. “It’s too complicated. I don’t know when my apartment will be ready, and as long as I’m living here I can’t have you sneaking in and out. And I can guarantee my father won’t approve of this.”

  “Why, because I play for Harvard? He’ll get over it.”

  “It’s not even that. He’s not going to approve of anyone after—” She stops, shakes her head, and starts again. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. You helped me out with Mulder, and I stuck to my end of the bargain.”

  “Bargain?” I echo darkly.

  “You wanted a real date. You got one. We hooked up a couple times, gave each other some orgasms. So let’s call it a successful fling and move on. What’s the point of keeping it up, anyway? It won’t go anywhere.”

  I want to argue, but at the same time I know she’s right. I’m leaving town in the summer. And right now I need to focus on this game against Briar, and then, if all goes well, the first round of the national tournament. And if that pans out? We’re looking at the Frozen Four.

  Brenna is a distraction. And the irony of that does not escape me. A few weeks ago I was lecturing McCarthy about this same issue. No, I was lecturing all my guys about their vices, ordering them to shelve everything until the season was over.

  And yet here I am, getting tangled up with Chad Jensen’s daughter. When she texted me earlier about that ridiculous whipped-cream bullshit? Instead of staying at the Dime with my teammates or tracking down Heath and Jonah to reprimand them, all I could think about was how I hadn’t kissed Brenna in days. And what did I do? I borrowed Brooks’s car and drove all the way to Hastings like a lovesick loser.

  Maybe she’s right. Maybe we do need to cool it.

  But I don’t want to, dammit. So I voice the sentiment. “I want to keep seeing you.”

  “That’s great, Jake. But I just told you, I’m done.”

  Frustration rises in my chest. “I don’t think you mean it.”

  “How about you don’t tell me what I mean or don’t mean?” Sighing, she walks over to the window ledge and picks up my boots. “It’s time for you to go.”

  “Are you sure your father isn’t going to pop out of the shadows?” I ask warily.

  “He won’t. He might be a jerk sometimes, but he won’t cause a scene in front of a stranger.”

  A stranger. Once again I feel a prick of hurt, which is irritating. I’m Jake Connelly, for chrissake. My feelings don’t get hurt, and I only give a damn about one thing: hockey. I shouldn’t care what Brenna thinks of me.

  We creep out of her bedroom. Light spills out from under a door at the end of the hall. I assume Coach Jensen’s room. Luckily, the door remains closed. On the way downstairs, my socked foot connects with a step that creaks so loudly it’s like the entire house is groaning in displeasure. I hear ya, house. I’m not too happy right now, either.

  In the front hall, I slip into my Timberlands and lace them up. “You really don’t want to see each other anymore?” My voice is slightly hoarse, and not because I have to whisper.

  “I…” She drags one hand through her tousled hair. “I can’t deal with this right now. Just go, Jake. Please.”

  So I go.

  22

  Jake

  Hazel comes with me to Gloucester on Saturday morning to visit my folks. On the train ride up, she does most of the talking. I try hard to pay attention, because we haven’t hung out in a while, but my mind is elsewhere. It’s back in Hastings, at Brenna’s house, replaying that entire night.

  I don’t understand the weird tension between Brenna and her father. She admitted to being a bad girl, but I can’t help but wonder—what on earth did she do to earn his complete distrust? Did she murder the family pet?

  She’s been ignoring me for three days, and my ego has officially taken a dive. Four unanswered messages? This has never happened to me before. Meanwhile, we have one week until the conference finals, and my head is all over the place. I’m not worried about the exhibition tonight and tomorrow for the Boston Cancer Society, because it’s not about a win or a loss; it’s about helping a good cause. But I definitely need to get my shit together before next week.

  “Oh, and you know who’s getting married,” Hazel is saying.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Are you even paying attention to me?” she demands.

  I drag the back of my hand over my face. I had such a shit sleep last night. “Yeah,” I say absently. “You said you’re getting married—wait, what? You’re getting married?”

  “No, not me. I’m not getting married, you dumbass.” She rolls her eyes and shoves a strand of dirty-blonde hair behind her ear.

  Her hair is down, I suddenly realize. She usually braids it or has it in a ponytail. “Your hair’s down,” I blurt out.

  A faint blush reddens her cheeks. “Yep. It’s been down for the last forty minutes.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What’s going on with you? Why are you such a space cadet today?”

  “I’m thinking about the game this weekend.” Her skeptical expression tells me she doesn’t buy that, so I don’t give her the chance to follow up. “So who’s getting married?”

  “Tina Carlen. She was a year behind us in school.”

  “Petey’s sister?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wait, how old is she?”

  “Twenty.”

  “And she’s getting married? Did you get an invite to the wedding?”

  “Yep. You probably did, too. You never check your email.”

  My jaw falls open. “They sent e-vites for their wedding?”

  “Millennials, am I right?”

  I snicker.

  The train rolls into the station ten minutes later, and then we’re on our way to my parents’ house. “Mom’s going to be thrilled to see you,” I tell Hazel as we approach the front stoop.

  “Did you tell her I was coming?”

  “No. I thought it would be a fun surprise.”

  I’m not wrong. Mom is overjoyed when she spots Hazel in the entryway. “Hazel!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around my childhood friend. “I didn’t know you were coming! What a great surprise!”

  Hazel hugs her back. “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. C.”

  “Hang up your coat and come see what we’ve done with the family room! We completely redecorated.” She grabs Hazel’s hand and ushers her away. A moment later, they’re in the family room, where Hazel is pretending to like all the changes. I know it’s an act, because Hazel’s always been a tomboy. My mom’s flowered wallpaper and frilly curtains are way too feminine for her liking.

  “Jake.” My father appears in the kitchen doorway, his dark hair messy as usual. “Sorry I wasn’t here last weekend, but I’m sure glad to see you today.”

  “Good to see you, too.” We exchange the manliest of greetings: a combination of side hug, shoulder slap, and handshake.

  I follow him into the kitchen. “Coffee?” Dad says.

  “Yes, please.”

  He pours me a cup, then goes to the fridge and starts pulling out ingredients. “I’m on breakfast duty today. What do you think about omelets?”

  “Sounds great. Need any help?”

  “You can chop up this stuff.” He gestures to the array of
vegetables on the counter.

  I find a cutting board, grab a knife, and start chopping. On the other side of the kitchen island, Dad cracks eggs into a ceramic bowl.

  “So I was watching a segment on HockeyNet last night,” he says as he whisks the eggs. “Top ten most promising rookies for the upcoming season. You were number two.”

  “Who was number one?” I demand. Because fuck that. Not to toot my own horn, but the last player out of college who came even close to my stats is Garrett Graham, and he’s killing it in Boston.

  “Wayne Dodd,” Dad says.

  I relax. Acceptable. Dodd is a goalie for one of the Big Ten schools. He’s an excellent player, but the goalie position requires a whole other set of skills. I might be number two, but technically I’m number one in the forward position. I can live with that.

  “Dodd has a mean glove,” I say. “I saw one of their televised games, and he looked terrifying.”

  Dad narrows his eyes. “Think you might face him in the Frozen Four?”

  “Good chance. Once all the conference finals are decided, we’ll find out who’ll be moving forward.” And that should be my primary focus—getting my team to the national tournament. The pressure is insane. Sixteen teams will be whittled down to four in the course of a weekend. From four it’ll become two, and then one. We need to be that one.

  Dad changes the subject. “Are you looking at places in Edmonton yet? Checking out the online listings?”

  “I haven’t had time to do much browsing,” I admit. “I’ve been concentrating on preparing for the Briar game.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, good call.” He takes the cutting board from me and uses the knife to scrape the diced mushrooms and green peppers into the omelet bubbling in the pan. “So…you brought Hazel home with you today…”

  “Is that suddenly an issue?” I chuckle, because Hazel’s been over to our house hundreds if not thousands of times.

  “No, of course not.” He looks over his broad shoulder and grins sheepishly. “That was my cool, macho way of asking if you two are finally together.”