All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(38)

She shakes her head. “Not drunk. Maybe just a little to relax me.”

I nod. “Let’s both have a glass.” I grab a bottle opener and work on pulling out the cork while Becca locates two stemless wine glasses in the cabinet, and then sets them on the counter.

I fill each glass about halfway and then she lifts one, clinking it against mine.

“Cheers,” I say.

“To?” she asks, glass paused halfway to her lips as she gazes at me.

“To best friends and good times—which may, or may not include pants. I’m open.” I chuckle and Becca follows suit, laughing with me as she takes her first sip of the crisp white wine.

“Pants are pretty overrated,” she says, smiling, still watching me.

“Eh. If we get there, we get there. If not, I have some amazing dessert that we can look forward to.”

Her expression softens like she can’t quite believe the words coming out of my mouth. But she has to know I’m serious, right? I would never in a million years push her toward sex. Sex is only fun when both parties are enthusiastic about the venture.

Consent is hot as fuck.

Period.

End of.

That’s not to say my libido hasn’t been on a power play since the second she walked through my door. The playful rock of her hips against mine as we flirted in the kitchen, her hungry mouth moving against my lips when I kissed her. My body might be ready to score, but my head, and my heart knows things are a little more complicated than that. Hell, maybe a lot more complicated. And while it’s true Owen Parrish doesn’t typically do complicated, I’m a big boy, and I know what I signed up for.

“Okay, so where were we?” she asks, wine in hand, perusing the kitchen.

“Rice?” I say helpfully.

She nods, and then gets back to work.

I adjust the situation in my pants, which is thankfully deflating, and then work on finishing dinner. We actually make a pretty good team. I stir fry chicken and vegetables while Becca sets out plates and works on finishing her glass of wine. She looks really good in my kitchen and there’s something I like about having her here, in my space, cooking for her. She’s so easy to be around, so low-drama and sweet.

Once the food is ready, we take our plates to the table. I refill our wine glasses with ice water, and our conversation over dinner quickly turns to hockey as it so often does. We talk about the hip injury our captain Grant is still recovering from, and what a lucky call that was that Asher didn’t end up with a concussion after getting cross-checked during last week’s game, and the rumors about our team owner looking for an exit. It’s nice to talk shop with her, and I appreciate the different perspective she can offer.

After the dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher, we settle on the couch together. I hand her the remote, but Becca doesn’t turn on the TV.

Instead she plants her hand against my abs and gives me a comforting pat. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

“I want to ask more about your past, and about your desire for control.”

“O-kay?” I say slowly. I kind of figured this talk might be coming, but that doesn’t mean I’m excited to have it.

“I want details.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

She considers this, curling her legs beneath her on the couch. “So, you like to be in charge . . . like dictate positions and, I don’t know . . . call the plays, so to speak?”

I interlace her fingers with mine. “Yeah, but it’s a little more than that.” I don’t even want to say this next part out loud, but I figure since she’s been so honest with me, I owe her the same.

“More like?” she asks at my hesitation.

“Like—I would love to spank your sexy ass.” For starters.

Her brows pull together. “You want to hurt me?”

“Not hurt you, dominate you,” I say, correcting her.

“But it will hurt at times, right?”

“Probably so,” I admit, running my thumb over her knuckles. “Maybe a little.”

“But why?” Her tone is filled with confusion.

Fuck. I feel like an asshole. Given her background, this woman deserves someone who will take his time, and be careful and considerate. This is the reason I tried to call off our deal. I’m not even certain I can be that guy.

But Becca’s still waiting for my answer. I take a deep breath.

“Because I get off on it.” I take her hand and place it over my denim-covered erection to show her how excited she gets me. “Just the thought of spanking your ass has me rock hard.”

I expect her to draw her hand away. I expect condemnation and judgment, and for her to flee at pretty much any moment.

Party’s over, folks.

Instead, she cups her hand over my cock and gives it a squeeze.

“Is that too fucked up for you?” I ask, my voice breaking on the words.

Becca removes her hand and brings it up to my cheek, looking longingly at me. “I won’t judge your needs. You never judged mine.”

A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I lean forward to kiss her sweet lips once softly.

And then her hand is back on my zipper, and she strokes me playfully over my pants. “I guess we’re both a little broken, huh?”