A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(12)

His brow furrows. Even that expression is fairly adorable on his distressed, pretty face. “But I remember . . .” He trails off.

“You remember what?” He was definitely far more intoxicated than I was, although I can admit now that I was tipsier than is generally safe when out alone with a strange man. And while parts of that night are fuzzy—like the last shot we did and the glasses of water we chugged—most of what happened between and on top of his sheets is not.

“I was . . . we were . . .” He’s back to pacing. “You were under me, weren’t you?” His eyes move over me, causing my already alert nipples to peak.

“That’s correct.” Our eyes lock, and some weird energy passes between us. “I was under you.”

“We were naked.” His voice is gravelly and low.

“Very naked, yes.” And I sound like I’m ready to get naked all over again.

If he weren’t a hockey player on my dad’s team, I wouldn’t be opposed. But he is. The level of complication is too high, and engaging in additional foreplay activities will not make this bad situation we’re in any better. No matter how good it will feel.

This is my internal argument as I hold on to the counter behind me to keep from doing something like grabbing the front of his shirt and biting his neck. He really liked that. A lot.

His brow creases again. He seems so confused.

“How much do you actually remember?” I ask.

“Uh, bits and pieces of everything? I think . . . apart from the sex, which you’re saying we didn’t have?” It’s more question than statement.

“Not technically, no,” I explain.

He takes a step closer, bringing him inside my personal-space bubble. I have nowhere to go, since I’m pressed up against the counter. I inhale, getting a whiff of his cologne and his deodorant. “What does that mean, ‘not technically’?”

Oh God, when he said we needed to talk, I didn’t think he meant rehashing all the down and dirty. “Well, uh . . . you went down on me—”

“I remember that.” He rubs his bottom lip, like maybe he’s recalling it in vivid detail.

“Do you remember what happened after that?” I have to tip my head back to look at him because he’s so close.

“I made you come with my mouth.”

“And your fingers.”

“And my fingers.” He nods his agreement. “You seemed to enjoy that quite a bit.”

Oh, Jesus. Here he goes again with his color commentary on my reaction to his foreplay skills. “I did. Like it, I mean. A lot.”

“So did I.” His tongue drags across his bottom lip. “But it gets murky for me after that.”

It’s definitely not murky for me. He’d prowled his way back up my body. Kissing bare skin, stopping at my nipples on the way back up to my mouth. He’d wanted to kiss me so I’d know what it was like for him to have me in his mouth and down his throat. A warm shiver works its way along my spine and pings around between my thighs at that lovely memory. He’d propped his huge body up on one forearm so we could make out while he fondled my boob.

I’d been the one to wrap my legs around his waist. I’d also adjusted my position so our sex parts could line up and we could achieve some mutual friction. Was it the smartest thing I’d ever done? Definitely not. Did it feel really good? Hell to the fuck yes.

“We wet humped,” I explain.

“‘Wet humped’?”

“Yeah, you know, like when you were a teenager, you’d dry hump someone through their clothes, but if you do it with the absence of clothing it’s considered wet humping.”

“Did we almost . . .” He trails off, as if he might be finally remembering that part of the night.

“You slipped low once.”

“Yes. I did. By accident.”

We nod at the same time, both of us obviously mentally taking a trip down wet-hump memory lane. The feel of his shaft gliding over my clit. Our lips brushing as he rolled his hips. His heavy groan when the head nudged my entrance and slipped inside, just the tip.

We’d both stilled for a moment, clearly aware that it wasn’t a good idea, or safe, but it had felt really good. He’d rushed to correct himself, and that was the point where he told me that as much as he wanted to have sex with me, he didn’t think it was a good idea because we were both still under the influence, and he didn’t want either of us to regret it. Or not remember it. It was incredibly sweet.

So instead we wet humped the living hell out of each other, several times.

We’re both breathing heavily, kind of like we were that night.

His expression becomes horror struck again. “Did I come on you?”

I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “On my stomach, yeah.” I motion a little higher. “And my chest.”

His eyes slide closed, and he shakes his head. “Good Lord. I am so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You were pretty into it, and so was I.”

“It’s not normally something I would do.”

“Me, either, but I had fun, and I’m pretty sure you did too.” Sadly, it’s the only fun time we’ll ever get to have.

His face turns a more vibrant shade of red, which is impressive, considering how red it already was. “But you left.”