Page 49

HURTS SO GOOD

Sabrina

“Are you tipsy?” I ask the man who can’t stop touching me.

“Are you saying I’m not usually affectionate?” Tyler counters, nuzzling my neck as we stretch out on the couch.

“You’re just kind of…extra happy.”

He brushes his lips along my shoulder now. “You said time with friends led to happiness,” he says, tossing my words right back at me.

I shove him lightly. “And you said pussy…cats.”

His gaze drifts to the little gymnast in the room, who’s climbing the Everest of the cat tower now. “And I was right.” He drops a kiss to the shell of my ear. “But do you want me to stop?”

I shiver. “Nope,” I say. But I also didn’t expect this from him tonight—all the cat gifts, all the playfulness, all the Tyler-ness.

“And to answer your question, I had a couple drinks in Cozy Valley, but that was a few hours ago. So honestly, this is just me.” His voice dips slightly, a little vulnerable with that admission.

My resolve melts even more. Still, I tease him with, “Just you, Falcon?”

“I’m naturally affectionate. Accept it, Snow.”

And I do. Mostly . Sure, he’s affectionate on our sex dates. But tonight isn’t even on the calendar. Which I suppose brings me to my real question. “Tyler,” I whisper before he melts me with another kiss.

He looks up again, his gaze soft and earnest, like he knows what’s on my mind. “Yes, baby?”

The way he says that, with such tenderness and fierceness, makes my bones feel like they’re dissolving.

It’s been a little over a week and a half since the Popsicle lesson.

Still, my mind is tracking dates with him, like I used to track workouts and competition prep.

It’s tracking spicy lessons and late-night plans.

It’s trying to make sense of this…unconventional arrangement with my boss.

“We made a game plan,” I say gently. “This isn’t in the calendar. Tonight isn’t on the schedule.”

“I know,” he says, his voice full of heat and desperation. “But I’m going out of town soon for a road trip. And I won’t be able to see you again for a while.”

“True,” I say.

“And it’s too hard to resist you,” he adds, then lavishes my neck with open-mouthed caresses, tender brushes of his lips that heat me up from the inside.

Maybe this was inevitable. This shoehorning in of extra days.

But it also worries me. I don’t want to get too used to him.

Or any of this. History tells me it’ll all fall apart and probably at the worst possible time.

I can’t get accustomed to any of it, from the foster kitten practicing her climbing skills on the cat tower Tyler bought me to this man hanging out with me on a rare night when it’s only us in the home .

“But what happens if we start bending the rules now?” The protest dies on my tongue when he slides a hand down the side of my body and cups my breast through my shirt.

“Is this on your list?” He squeezes my nipple piercing. Pleasure shoots through me, making my toes curl, and I’ve forgotten everything else but this .

“Yes,” I gasp.

Nipple play is definitely on the list, but it’s mixed with a little something else too. Something I kind of want to do. Something I’ve never really gotten the hang of.

There’s only one issue. “It feels a little selfish though,” I admit.

“If it’s selfish, we’re doing it,” he says, his tone practically demanding we start right now.

I laugh. “Why?”

“Because if you think it’s selfish, I want it. Because it means I get to focus on you the whole fucking time.” Then he brings his face close to mine, drops a hot kiss to my lips before whispering, “Because I like you getting what you want.”

In that case…

“Turn to page twenty,” I tell him.

He rushes to my bedroom and returns seconds later with my tiny sex diary. His lips curve in a sexy grin, a little lopsided, a little hopeful. The look in his eyes is pure candy. This is his guilty pleasure— my pleasures .

Discovering them. Delivering them. And reading them out loud, which he does next.

His voice is a low rasp, his eyes flickering with heat, the bulge in his slacks getting harder with every spoken word like he can’t believe his luck.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m tied up in my bed, my arms stretched above me and tied to the slats on the headboard, my own silk scarves holding me in place.

My breath stutters in anticipation. I rub my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. But the ache is me now.

Especially since Tyler’s half-naked. His sweatshirt is long gone, and his shirt has been cast off, but he still wears the slacks from his post-game suit.

It’s a hot look—especially considering how those beige slacks stretch against his thick thighs.

And how his strong muscles flex in his arms as he checks the knots one more time.

I’m dressed in only panties and a bra. Somewhere in my apartment a little cat roams, but she’s fine.

And I’m more than fine as he kisses his way down my body, his lips trailing over the lace of my bra. With his teeth helping, he pushes the cups down, revealing my tits and hard nipples that might as well boast a neon sign flashing the words— Touch Me, Play With Me, Have Some Fun.

He sucks in a breath as he gazes lasciviously at them.

“Tell me,” he demands, flicking a finger against the right barbell. “Tell me why nipple play is on your list.”

A rush of pleasure spreads through me, heat and sparks filling my cells. Do I tell him? Do I say it?

Fuck it. “I like to play with them when I get myself off,” I admit.

His eyes darken. He sucks in a staggered breath. “You playing with your tits when you’re alone is the hottest thing ever.”

Then he straddles me and unhooks my bra from the clasp in the middle, letting the cups fall to the side. His big hands palm my tits.

I grow wetter by the second, arching into his touch.

He squeezes both a little bit harder.

I squirm .

He kneads them roughly.

I gasp.

He flicks his finger against the barbell on the left one, and my voice pitches up.

“Oh god. So good,” I cry out.

He teases the right one. I nearly scream.

The look on his face is pure satisfaction as he moves off me slightly and issues a command: “Spread these thighs, baby.”

I comply, and when his gaze lands on the wet patch of my panties, his hazel eyes go feral. “Fuck, baby. You do like nipple play,” he says.

And the answer is fuck yes . He returns his hands to my breasts, rubbing, squeezing, making me writhe against his touch.

A flush crawls down my chest, and my skin warms everywhere. A pulse beats between my thighs.

Tyler dips his face, buries it between the valley of my tits, then draws one nipple between his lips and flicks his tongue across the barbell.

Then he does the same to the other.

Soon, I’m panting, arching, and—I’m dripping. I’m so wet, so turned on I can’t stand it. My arms strain against the scarves.

As I try to break free, his laugh cuts through, but then it vanishes as he palms my right breast another time and draws my hard nipple back to his mouth, his tongue swirling across the piercing again and again in a dizzying, intoxicating motion.

I nearly come. “Keep doing that,” I urge.

And he does one better. He kisses and sucks, while dipping his other hand into my panties.

And the second his fingers meet my slick heat I lose my mind. Less than a minute later, I’m gasping and falling apart. I jerk against the scarves, losing myself to him, and moaning for a good, long time until the dramatic cry of a kitten pierces the air.

“Ha. Told you she needed something,” Tyler says, triumphant, pointing to Drama sitting in the doorway, meowing for attention.

“Fine. You’re right, Cat Daddy.”

“I knew it,” he says, then hops out of bed to fetch the furball.

I peer over at the big, strapping hockey stud cradling a tiny kitten against his chest. I sigh happily. “I think she wants you to throw her one of those tinfoil balls,” I say.

“Perfect. I get to play with both of you,” Tyler says.

And a few minutes later, he’s multitasking—tossing tinfoil balls to the kitten while stroking my pussy again, bringing me to another orgasm.

We’ve broken our number one rule. It feels like we’re breaking an unwritten one when a few minutes later, he says, “Tell me about your lessons.”

I snort. “Is that a condition of untying?”

His eyes shoot to my wrists, still shackled by the silk scarves. “Oh shit,” he says, then hustles to untie me.

He stretches across me, and wow, I have quite a nice view of his chest. It’s so strong and sturdy, and there’s a bruise right there.

As he frees my right hand, I reach for the bruise, gently touching the inky lake on his right pec, just under his kids’ birthdays.

“Does this hurt?” I ask as he shifts to my left wrist.

He glances down at me, pausing his knot work. His lips shift. “If I say yes, will you kiss it?”

The flirt is strong in him.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” I suppose it’s strong in me too.

He frowns, playing it up. “It hurts so much. ”

I stretch closer, pressing a kiss to the slab of muscle. His breath hitches as I touch him, and a thrill rushes through me.

He unknots the scarf on my left wrist, freeing me and catching my left hand in his. He strokes the faint red marks the material’s left on my arm. “Does this hurt?”

Well, two can play at this game. “Yes.”

He kisses it, then my other wrist. I shiver from his soft touches, these after kisses to my once-bound wrists.

From under him like this, I scan his upper body, spotting a scratch on his forearm.

With him still leaning over me, I drag a finger across the cut—it’s maybe a week old, nearly healed. “This?”

He pauses, then perhaps gives in completely, letting me take the lead in this game as he says, “So much.”