Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(18)

“Thank you,” I murmur. I don’t even know if she believed me when I said I was in a dry spell. Even if she did, she doesn’t know quite how much I’ve needed this. I’m grateful anyway. This was better than a hard workout or meditation or getting off to my favorite porno. She strokes my hair—way more gently than before, when she was pulling me against her just the way she wanted—as we press our foreheads together. I bite the inside of my cheek as she runs her hand down my side, settling on my waistband.

“I should be thanking you,” she says. She worries her lower lip with her teeth as she looks up at me. “That was…”

“Hot as fuck?”

Her lips quirk into a smile—right before she cups my crotch over the fabric of my jeans. “Yes.”

I duck in for another kiss. “I don’t have a condom.”

She strokes me through my jeans. “I can think of other ways to thank you back.”

I groan as she unbuttons my jeans and pushes them down far enough to free my cock; she holds it almost delicately, rubbing her thumb against the head, smearing around the beads of pre-come. I kiss her again, happy to hear her sharp intake of breath.

She kisses me back, but then she pulls away. She gives my cock an experimental tug that has my stomach clenching, but doesn’t take it further.

“I have a confession,” she says abruptly. “I haven’t… done this… in a long time.”

“You don’t have to,” I say, even though I very much want her to keep going. “I can just take care of it quickly.”

She shakes her head. “No, I want to.” She cocks her head to the side, giving me another little stroke.

I take pity on her and wrap my hand around hers. I press a kiss to her forehead. I move our hands together, thumbing at the head of my cock, twisting slightly in the way that never fails to make my breath hitch. She follows along, using her other hand to cup my balls. They’re aching already, and her touch sparks another, deeper level of desire. We’re quiet except for our breathing, still pressed up against the wall of this tiny space. I’ve never minded getting dirty in the name of sex, especially when it holds a hint of the forbidden. Despite the dusty, cramped surroundings, I’d rather be here than anywhere else. Tasting Red on my tongue, watching her brow furrow as she learns what movements make me moan. When I get close, feeling that familiar tug in my gut, I drop my head to her shoulder and murmur a warning.

We jerk me the rest of the way together. I come groaning her name. Not Red, but her real name, Penny. Our hands get sticky with my seed, and before I can offer my shirt as a wipe, she lifts her hand to her mouth and licks it clean.

I think my brain short-circuits, seeing her cute pink tongue working over her delicate fingers, and then it absolutely fries when she moves on to my hand, taking each of my fingers into her mouth and licking away the rest of the come. She ends with kissing me, the same as I did for her when I got up from my knees. When she pulls away, I just keep staring at her, even as I pull my pants back up and tuck myself away. She tugs up her leggings, then runs both her hands through her hair, tossing it over her shoulder.

“You do know my name,” she teases. “I was getting worried.”

I grin. “Can I have your number? Do you have a Snap?”

I take out my phone and start a new contact, typing in “Penny” and handing it to her so she can put in her last name and number.

I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I don’t do repeat hookups; I’ve only done it a few times, over the years, and they almost always edged into complicated before I could break things off. Once I almost broke poor Sebby’s heart. But if we’re going to be teaching this class together, it can’t hurt to have her contact information.

For some reason, she scowls as she takes my phone. “Is this how we’re going to do it?”

“Do what?”

She puts her number into my phone but doesn’t hold it out. “Callahan. You know who I am.”

I’m shaking my head before she even finishes her sentence. “I wouldn’t forget you.”

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. She slaps the phone into my palm. “I’m not planning on telling my father, in case you’re worried about that.”

I glance down at my phone as her words hit me. Penny Ryder, it says.

Ryder. As in…

“Oh, fucking hell,” I say. The words come out strangled. I kept thinking that she looked familiar because I’ve seen the photograph of her on her father’s desk dozens of times. The red hair might be all hers, but the eyes sure as hell aren’t. He’s mentioned before that his daughter goes to McKee, and why wouldn’t the daughter of a hockey coach know her way around a rink?

She reaches out and squeezes my arm, but I jerk away. “Callahan,” she says. “I’m sorry, I just assumed that you knew. I thought you were pretending.”

“Why would I pretend about that?”

“I don’t know! I knew who you were, I just thought…”

“He’s going to fucking murder me.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to find out. And I wanted it just as much as you.”

I yank open the door. “I need to go.”

“Wait—”