The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Josie

It’s a weird thought—my aunt would be so proud of me. But it lodges in my brain as we take off, Wesley grabbing my hand and threading those long fingers through mine.

He holds it tight, possessively. I like it.

On the street, Wesley says, “Your place, mine, or a hotel? And the hotel’s on me.”

From the clothes to the ice cream to the room, I’m sensing a pattern with this man. He’s…giving. Part of me wants to do the polite thing and decline, but I’m mixing it up tonight big time. “Since I’d rather not get stabbed in the ass with a couch spring, let’s do the hotel.”

He gives me a what the hell look.

“My friend has a couch with a bad spring,” I quickly explain. “But do you have condoms and are you…safe?”

I’ve read plenty of articles, including “Top Twenty Tips for Having a Great One-Night Stand” on The Dating Pool website. Being safe in all the ways is one of them.

“Yes. Negative. And I have condoms.”

“Me too. The first, that is,” I say.

Ten minutes later, he’s at the front desk of The Resort, a nearby hotel. I give him some space to check in, since it seems eaves-droppy to be right next to him as the clerk informs him of the mini-bar costs and how much incidentals are.

I hang back next to a waterfall structure, with a gurgling stream sluicing against a black stone wall, as Wesley chats amiably with the man behind the counter. Wesley’s that kind of guy. He has an easy, friendly way about him with everyone from the guy in the ice cream shop to the clerk.

As they chat, I text Maeve.

Josie: I’m at The Resort!

Maeve: I know, my little tiger! I know! And I can’t wait for your report.

Josie: Don’t wait up.

Maeve: Best words ever, bestie. Especially since it’s way past your bedtime.

Yup, I’m definitely getting out of my comfort zone tonight with Mister Asset Management. Once he’s checked in, he strides across the lobby, flipping the key card between his thumb and forefinger over and over. He doesn’t miss it once. Those are some nimble fingers.

“Ready?”

“Very, very ready,” I say, repeating the adjective he used earlier.

“That’s very, very good.”

A minute later, the elevator door whisks closed, and it’s just us. He turns to me, then tugs on my hand, jerking me against him. “What do you like, Josie?”

I like the outline of his hard cock against me right now. I like his scruff. I like his firm chest and his biceps that go on for millennia.

“In bed,” he adds, when I don’t answer right away. But he’s not pushy. “So I can give it to you. What you’re into.”

Is this a thing guys do? Ask what you like? Hunting for an answer, I swallow, flashing back to the porn I’ve watched, the scenes I’ve read, the fantasies I’ve played out.

I keep coming back to Maeve’s suggestion. I’m not really the most experienced girl when it comes to, well, what I’m into. But what I lack in experience I, evidently, make up for in gusto tonight. Here I go, San Francisco. “Can you bend me over the bed and fuck me hard?”

He breathes out in a rush of air, full of arousal as his eyes flash, like he’s won the jackpot at the slot machines. Then, in a rasp of a voice, he says, “Josie, I can and I fucking will.”

He seals his dirty promise with a hot, deep kiss that has me seeing stars.

When he breaks it, we’re at the tenth floor and soon, at the room. Once inside, he kicks the door closed then reaches for me again, jerking me against him, and with a quickness I’ve never experienced before, he lifts me up.

I wrap my legs around him, laughing. “You’re strong. Must be all those assets you lift.”

“You’re quick with that mouth. Must be all those books you read,” he says, then somehow, some way, he kisses me as he carries me koala-style to the bed. Talk about multitasking. He’s like the hero in an adventure tale—he can lasso the prize and leap across raging waters. Can he deliver orgasms in a single bound?

Turn the page and find out, gentle reader.

When he sets me down on the bed, I kick off my flip-flops and unwrap my scarf, tossing it on the floor. Greta will understand.

He toes off his shoes, then climbs over me. I expect more kisses, but instead, he pushes up my sweatshirt. “This has been driving me crazy since I first saw it,” he says, then presses a hot kiss to my belly, flicking his teeth across the ring. Oh, I think I’m into that. Gasping, I arch closer to his touch.

“I was hoping it meant you wanted to be kissed all over,” he says.

“Try me,” I tease. “And find out.”

He grabs the hem of the sweatshirt he bought for me, whisking it up. “Looks great on.” Tugs it over my head. “Looks even better off.”

He drags his teeth over his bottom lip as he roams those sinful brown eyes over me. I shiver under his hot stare. That seems to excite him, my reaction, judging from the hiss in his breath. The heat in his irises. The bulge in his jeans.

“Josie, Josie, Josie,” he repeats, shaking his head in admiration. Then, he’s all determination and desire as he kisses me thoroughly, starting at my belly button, traveling up my stomach, stopping to lift his face and say, “Yeah, drives me crazier.”

I smile, then sigh happily as he pays a visit to my tits, then frees them.

“Perfect,” he murmurs as he cups my tits, then buries his face between them. But he doesn’t stay there long. He moves to my right breast, flicking a delicious circle around the nipple, then drawing it into his mouth. Then nipping me lightly.

“Oh god,” I say, but it’s more like a half-moan, half-yelp.

“You like that.” It’s less a question, more a statement.

“I think I’m into it,” I tease.

“Let’s be sure,” he says, then bites a little harder. I arch into him in answer. He moves to the other one, and yes, I’m very into having my tits played with, as it turns out.

And he’s into playing with them. He squeezes and kneads, sucks and kisses, then lets out a long, hungry rumble. “Fuck, you taste good everywhere,” he says as he rises up and meets my face.

His gaze is borderline feral, and I love it. But he’s wearing too many clothes. He’s too sexy to be clothed.

“I wonder if you do too,” I say, then I push up, ready to discover.

“Find out,” he says.

In no time, I’m unbuttoning his shirt and he’s shrugging it off, and holy fucking hell. His muscles have muscles. His biceps are ripped. His abs are illegal. A blue bruise decorates the side of his stomach, and a small scar travels across his right wrist. “I bet you didn’t get this falling off a bike,” I say of the scar.

With a laugh, he shakes his head, then lets me explore him more.

The best part? The ink that crawls down his arms. Sunbursts on his shoulders and biceps, a couple music notes on his forearms, and a line drawing of a cute dog on his wrist. That silver chain I was drawn to earlier gleams around his neck, thick links resting against his skin. I can finally find out how he tastes right there, and the prospect makes me giddy. My hands journey across his pecs and up over his collarbone, my fingertips playing with the cool metal against his skin. I lean in and press my lips to his throat. He growls, a low sound as I savor the woodsy, clean scent. Like the forest trees from my hometown in Maine. Like a mountain stream.

Like a stranger who saved me tonight.

I lean back and stare a little longer. My eyes have never feasted so well. “Where did you get this body? Did you order it from the Department of Abs and Pecs?”

His smile is pleased. A bit proud but not cocky. “I work out a little,” he says dryly.

“Liar,” I say as I run my nails down his sturdy pecs, carved from, I dunno, titanium maybe. I travel down to his abs. “I mean, you’ve never skipped core day.”

“True,” he admits.

“And these arms,” I say, exploring them from forearm to shoulder. My jaw might be on the floor. It’s possible I’m drooling. “I’m sorry but I’m totally objectifying you right now.”

“I’m not sorry. But fair warning, in about one minute I’m going to tear off those panties, spread your thighs, and taste what I’ve done to you tonight.”

I know what I’m into now. His mouth. “First, can I objectify your cock with my mouth?”Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Dragging a hand through his hair in slow mo, he stares like he can’t quite believe he found me outside a gallery dressed in slippers and a T-shirt. And like he can’t believe his luck. He bends, cups my cheeks, and presses a hot kiss to my lips. “Yes.”

I’m not sure who’s inhabiting my body tonight. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this…forward.

But I am sure I’ve never been this turned on, this excited. In no time, he sheds his jeans and his boxer briefs, freeing his cock. It’s as sexy as the rest of him. Thick, hard, and with a drop of liquid arousal beading at the tip.

I push him down on the bed and climb over him, then right when I’m about to have some fun with his dick, I remember…my glasses.

I pop up. “Just a sec.”

I crawl across the bed to set them down on the nightstand, then he tackles me by the waist. “Can’t stand these clothes a second longer,” he says, then he’s flipping me onto my back and undressing me.

Skimming my pants down my legs, then my undies.

Everything’s happening so quickly, and for a few seconds, I’m no longer the bold girl. I’m vulnerable. Completely naked in a hotel room with a stranger. A sexy stranger, but still a stranger.

A stranger who’s…

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh, my.

Oh, fuck.

Wesley’s objectifying me right now. With his talented mouth. With his wicked lips. With his fantastic tongue. The man has slid between my thighs and is spreading me open. He’s groaning and sighing, flicking his tongue up and down my center, then sucking on my clit.

He laps me up as he glides his big hands under me, scooping me up, squeezing my ass, bringing me even closer to his mouth.

I feel like his dessert. Like I’m the ice cream porn he was really craving all day. Like The Hand Dipper date was part of the foreplay.

For a second, he stops. “Put your hands in my hair. It’s more fun that way. You can control the pace,” he says.

Oh, right. Good idea. I slide my fingers through his strands and jerk him close. He rumbles against my pussy, then blows on it. I suck in a breath that turns into flames inside me.

His mouth is back on me in seconds, and he eats me thoroughly. I’m tugging on his hair as he’s squeezing my ass. He kisses and sucks and worships. And it’s so decadent. It doesn’t take long at all till I’m rocking against his scruffy jaw, then gasping, crying, screaming.

I come hard and fast. And loud. So loud that when he finally stops, he’s chuckling. “I’m going to need to hear that again. It’s good for my ego,” he says.

“And my pussy,” I say, still catching my breath.

His smile burns off. “That’s it.” He reaches for my hand and tugs me up and off the bed. My feet hit the floor. “Time to fuck you hard.”

I frown. “Isn’t it my turn to objectify you?”

But he’s no longer in the mood to indulge me, it seems, since he spins me around and bends me over the mattress. “Hands on the bed. Ass in the air,” he instructs.

Something in his voice has me scrambling. My generous, helpful knight in shining armor is a little rough in bed, a lot dirty. He presses a big hand to the small of my back, pushing me down.

A flame sparks higher in me. Then hotter when he grabs my ass cheeks and squeezes them appreciatively. “The things I want to do…”

Is Wesley an ass man? Am I an ass woman? I don’t even know, but my body likes whatever he’s doing to me since my bones are dissolving.

But he lets go. Bends over, pushes my hair to the side. “Be right back.”

What? “Where…”

“Stay here.”

Um, I wasn’t going anywhere. Curiosity has got a hold of me so I crane my neck and watch him retreat, and yup. I’m an ass woman. That is one fine backside. Firm, and big.

He strides into the bathroom. A second later, water streams into the sink. Then stops. He returns, roots around in his jeans, and brings out his wallet. Then he fishes out a condom and meets my gaze. “You like watching me, don’t you?” he asks with a cocky rise in his lips.

“I do,” I admit, my eyes locked on him.

He holds the condom in one hand, then drops the other to his cock. Gives it a stroke.

I swallow.

His lips curve up.

He gives it a rougher tug.

I clench my thighs.

“Bet you’d watch me if you saw me jerking it to you.”

It feels like a filthy game we’re playing. Like we’re testing out scenarios in our one-night. “Bet you’d do the same,” I taunt.

His smile is full of wicked approval. He gives another shuttle of his fist till he’s squeezing out a drop of pre-come from the head of his cock. I squirm. He reaches closer, offers it to me. “Suck it off,” he says, a clear order.

And yes, I’m into that too. I part my lips, and he slides his thumb into my mouth. He tastes like clean hands. He washed his hands before he put a finger in my mouth. That’s some swoon-worthy attention to detail. I close my eyes and moan around his finger.

“Show me,” he says. “Show me how you wanted to suck my cock.”

This man keeps me on my toes. I open wider, saying, “More.”

He gives me another finger, and I suck harder on both. He groans, and I shudder.

After a few more seconds, he eases out. Smacks my ass lightly, then rolls on the condom. Nudging my legs a little wider, he notches the head of his cock against me, then sinks in.

I bow my back. Grip the covers. Moan.

“Yesssss,” he murmurs as he pauses, takes a beat. Then he sinks all the way in, filling me up.

I’m stretched. The pressure is intense. But so is the crackle of pleasure. The sharp, hot jolts that rush through me. Slowly, like a tease, he eases out almost all the way, leaving me wanting more.

But he doesn’t give it to me. He takes his sweet time, fucking into me slowly, inch by inch, then easing out. After he’s done that four or five times, I’m panting and begging.

“Wesley,” I moan, needy.

“Yes, baby?”

“Harder,” I demand.

“Ah, that’s right. You wanted a good, hard fucking tonight,” he says, then he slams into me.

I cry out from the intensity. “Oh fuck.”

He stills. “Okay?”

“That was a good oh fuck,” I say, my breath already shallow.

He grips my ass tighter and drives into me, his hips flush against mine, then eases out again. Making me ache for more. Making me beg.

“Please,” I gasp.

He sinks into me again, filling me till there’s no room left. Then he covers me with his body, his chest to my back, his arm banding around my tits. His mouth against my neck. His teeth nipping at my flesh.

It’s intimate the way he’s holding me, and aggressive the way he’s using me. I feel held and used all at once, and it’s so damn good. This is a kind of hard, rough sex I didn’t know I was into.

But it turns out, I am.

I’m clawing at the sheets as he pounds into me. I’m moaning and gasping. He’s grunting and cursing. My cells light up with each thrust. When I’m close, obviously close, he lets go of my tits, moves that hand up the back of my neck and into my hair.

He tugs on some strands, and that’s it. It sends me over the cliff. My brain blanks out. It goes offline as my body shakes.

The orgasm hurtles through me, a burst of pleasure and light and fire. I’m calling his name as he drives into me, then stills, jerks and groans for days.

Another slow pump. Another moan. Then he slumps over me, brushes my hair from my neck, and presses a tender kiss there.

He’s somehow filthy and sweet. And the way he fucks me is the best welcome to San Francisco ever.

A little later, we’re cleaned up and in bed, flicking through the channels, but finding nothing exciting to watch. Since, well, it’s regular TV.

I’m not sure how this works—hotel sex. Do we stay the night? It’s not even midnight. It’s eleven. And the day feels like it’s been ninety-six hours long and I’m tired, but I haven’t had dinner, even though the ice cream was real good. My stomach speaks up, growling.

Rude bitch.

He laughs. “You hungry, Josie?”

“That’s a yes.”

“Let’s get some food.”

I frown. “Do I have to get dressed?”

He scoffs. “No way.”

Soon, we’re dining on sushi in bed from a nearby restaurant, and he’s telling me about his favorite cafés in the city and the best place to get a latte, and I tell him about the places I want to see. But we don’t trade numbers. Or last names. We don’t say I’d love to see you again. And we don’t make plans.

Still, there’s one very important thing I want to say. My aunt gave me a list of the top things she’s never regretted, and since I’ve finally started tackling the items on the list, and making them my own, it seems right to let number one know how I feel. I draw a soldiering breath then say, “That thing I wanted to do?”

He adopts a perplexed look. “What would that be?”

I swat his biceps. “Have a one-night stand with a sexy stranger.”

“Ah, that thing. Yes, I recall it now.”

He’s making this so easy. Still, it feels important to get this right. When someone you love gives you instructions before they go, it seems like you should handle them with care. Wesley’s part of the list now. Part of this new history of me. The first checkmark. So I meet his eyes and say, “I’m glad it was you.”

He dips his face, smiling. When he lifts it, he locks his gaze with mine again, then says, “Me too.”

There’s an intensity in those warm, soulful eyes that makes my stomach flip. That makes me wonder what it would be like if he was more than a stranger. Briefly, I toy with the idea of asking if he wants to hang out, but there’s no item on Aunt Greta’s list or mine for anything more than one night. My new job starts in two more days—on Tuesday. My new life.

Best to be true to the plan.

We’re both quiet for a beat, and maybe he’s unsure of what happens next when he says, “So the night ended better than it began?”

“It really did,” I say, then I yawn, fighting to stay awake.

“Go to sleep,” he says, on a yawn too. “Sleep makes a perfect one-night stand even more perfect.”

I take off my glasses again. We dim the lights, slide under the covers, and crash into slumber.

I’m dead to the world until I get up to pee early in the morning. When I trudge back to bed, I fumble around for my phone to check the time and squint at the screen.

Christian: Get ready to be an aunt! Liv is in labor for real, and the babies are almost here!

Then he sends me the address to the hospital.

I bolt upright, wide awake despite the fact it’s five a.m. In a flurry, I jam on my glasses, yank on clothes, find a tube of toothpaste and smear some on my teeth, then hunt for a pad of paper.

Finding one, I scribble out a note, thanking Wesley.

Then I go, leaving him behind and taking the sexiest memory of my life with me into the early dawn.