Page 13 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

He’s fucking enormous, obscenely thick, and as long as my forearm from wrist to elbow. “You’re a size six shoe,” I murmur, blinking at the massive beastie as it bobs in the air between us. “Maybe a six and a half.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding…embarrassed.

I glance up to see a pink flush spreading across his cheeks and grin. “Are you seriously apologizing for this gorgeous cock?”

“It’s big.”

“I know,” I say, biting my lip as I wrap my hand around the burning length, summoning a groan from low in his throat. “But I’m not afraid of the big bad wolf.”

He mutters something that sounds a little like “thank God” before adding, “Fair warning, my balls are ridiculous, too. I’m probably fertile as fuck. You’re going to need to be on all the birth control.”

“It’s covered. IUD.” I stroke him the way I’ve been dreaming about, firm and slow, learning what makes him gasp and what makes him swear. “Now kiss me again, please. Kiss me while you touch me.”

We find a rhythm—his hand between my legs, mine wrapped around him, mouths fused together like we’re sharing oxygen. The changing table creaks ominously with every movement, while somewhere above us, a silent pack of squirrels watches over us like a heavenly host of stuffed rodent BDSM.

And even knowing that…

Even with the strange, medicine-and-candy smell of the bathroom fighting for supremacy with Parker’s summer-in-the-forest cologne, soon, I’m close.

Impossibly, embarrassingly close from just his hand through my jeans. My thighs shake, my breath comes in shallow gasps, and Parker urges me on every step of the way, like the bad influence he is.

“Are you going to come for me, Mack?” he growls against my kiss-swollen mouth as he knuckles the spot that makes me see stars. Galaxies. “Are you going to get off on my hand so I can take you home and get you off with my dick?”

“Yes. God, yes.” I’m gasping now, trembling all over, so close I can taste it. “Just keep doing that… That thing, that…”

Knock, knock, knock. “Hello? Are you almost done already?”

Parker and I both let out a startled yipping sound, then go absolutely still—him with his hand between my legs; me with my fingers fisting his obscene erection. We lock eyes, panting like we’ve run a marathon, a silent decision passing between us.

“Someone’s in here!” I call out, my voice embarrassingly high and breathy.

But fuck, who cares?

This person is going to have to wait a fucking second. Or two.

It’ll only take a second or two…

“Who’s in there? Are there two of you?” the feminine voice demands. “Because if there are, you’d better get the hell out of there. I have a baby with a diaper that’s about to explode and zero patience for perverts in the bathroom right now.”

My eyes go wide. “Baby?” I hiss.

Parker mouths, “Who brings a baby to The Brass Monkey?” looking equally shocked.

“Come on, guys,” the woman calls again, her voice tighter this time, tinged with desperation. “This child’s ass is about to be everywhere. I just need five minutes.”

“Sorry! Just… Just a second!” I scramble off the changing table, accidentally kneeing Parker in the thigh, barely an inch from his allegedly giant balls.

He grunts, stumbling backward.

“Shit, sorry!” I hiss, reaching for him, but it’s too late.

He’s already tripping over his abandoned crutches, reaching for the wall to break his fall, and smashing against the light switch in the process.

The room plunges into darkness, making me suck in a startled breath as something else crashes to the floor.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Fine,” he mutters, sounding annoyed.

“Are you sure?” I fumble along the wall until I find the switch and flick it back in the other direction.

The lights stutter on to reveal Parker sprawled on the floor, tangled in his crutches, with the ball-gag squirrel on his back beside him, like a very kinky accomplice.

I can’t help it, my hand flies to my back pocket, whipping out my cell and snapping a pic before Parker can finish warning, “Don’t you dare!”

“Come on! Just open the door!” The voice outside is frantic now. “Please!”

“Coming,” Parker and I shout in unison, abandoning all pretense that there’s only one of us in here.

She’s about to find out the truth anyway.

I help a cussing Parker to his feet, giggling as quietly as possible. By the time we’ve got his crutches back in his pits and hobble to the exit, we’re both sniggering beneath our breath.

I throw open the door to reveal a woman holding a stinky toddler with golden curls a shade lighter than mine. The little girl looks very proud of the disaster she’s made in her pants.

Meanwhile, her mother’s eyes go wide as her mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of disapproval.

“Sorry,” I mumble, sidling past her. “All yours.”

Parker follows me, also muttering his amends.

We make it exactly three steps before a tiny voice pipes up. “Squirrel!”

I glance back to see the toddler pointing right at me.

“No, honey,” her mother says, her voice dripping with disdain. “That’s something else that starts with S.”

My jaw drops.

No way, she didn’t just…

The woman swoops into the bathroom, slamming the door with prejudice and a side of slut shaming.

Parker and I stand frozen for a beat.

Then he snorts. “Pretty sure she called you a ho.”

“I know,” I say, fighting a smile. “I’d be offended but… Well, I was just jerking a guy off in a public bathroom.”

He snorts again. “You sure were, babe.” He takes my hand, giving it a squeeze as he adds in a paternal way, “And I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs as we stumble back toward the bar, giggling like we got away with the prank of the century. My body still hums from his touch, still aches for more, but the absurdity of our exit from the loo has taken the edge off.

For the moment anyway, but I know that won’t last long.

“We should go home,” I say. “Now.”

“So fast,” he agrees. “Grab your purse and call a car. I’ll pay the tab and meet you by the door.”

“Roger that.”

We split up—him to the bar, me to our booth to gather our things. My new phone screen lights up with a few missed texts as I tug my cell from my pocket again, but I ignore them, pulling up the rideshare app instead.

My hands are still shaking a little. But from laughter, adrenaline, or how desperate I was to come five minutes ago, I’m not sure.

Probably all three.

When I’m done, I turn to see Parker finishing up at the bar. His hair is a disaster—my fault. His shirt is still mostly unbuttoned—also my fault. But he’s hauling serious ass on those crutches as he heads toward me, somehow managing to look graceful and powerful, even when accommodating an injury.

God, he’s gorgeous.

And funny.

And really nice to me.

How terrifying is that?

Chuck transforming from the guy who rescued me by the highway to a dickhead who cheated on me and held my record collection hostage for seven months was bad enough.

But Parker? Parker drove through a building for me.

Parker moved me into his guest room free of charge, bought me a new wardrobe as a “first day as a homeless person” surprise, and refused to let me pay him back.

Parker just gave me the most intense almost-orgasm of my life while surrounded by squirrels in bondage gear.

If he turns out to be a bad guy somewhere down the line…

I tell myself he won’t. I tell myself that with Parker, what you see is what you get. But another voice in my head says the best predictor of the future is the past, and I’ve never picked a good one.

Never.

Every man I’ve dated since Tanner, my first true love, has been a bastard in nice guy’s clothing.

And Tanner was no angel, not really. He was my teacher, for fuck’s sake.

It was completely inappropriate that we started flirting when I was still an eighteen-year-old kid in his classroom, even if we did wait to seal the deal until I graduated.

And things ended with him when we were still in the honeymoon phase. If I hadn’t left the safety of his arms to explore the world, maybe his arms would have turned out to be not-so-safe, too.

I suck in a breath, willing the inner spiral to slow its roll.

Parker’s headed across the bar.

Our car is almost here.

Soon, we’ll be on our way to his place to fuck like bunnies, and that’s fine! I can handle it. I’m totally ready for us to be alone, rapidly sobering up, and coming to terms with the need for “new rules” in the light of the fact that we’re about to become lovers for real.

Right?