I squeeze my eyelids shut and transport myself back to the fantasy. But I’m no longer in the hotel and Ryan is no longer with me. I’m at a hockey arena with Dean, and we’re making out on the ice.
Stifling another groan, I shake myself out of the scene and once again order my hand to stop moving. Where on God’s green planet is this fantasy going? Ice is cold. Who wants to freeze to death when they’re getting it on? And why is Dean kissing his way down my naked body? His practice is scheduled to start any minute. The entire team is going to walk out and catch us—
“I like the idea of getting caught.”
The groan escapes before I can corral it. Dean’s raspy confession isn’t part of the fantasy—it’s one hundred percent real life.
The night I’d asked him why he doesn’t have sex in his bedroom, his eyes had gone heavy-lidded, pure molten sex dripping from his voice as he’d drawled, “I like the idea of getting caught.”
Yep, Dean Di Laurentis gets off on the thought of someone catching him in the act.
And did he end the confession there? Of course not, because that would mean he hasn’t made it his mission in life to sexually torment me. Nope, he’d followed the first part with, “And once I get caught, I like being watched.”
I’m lusting over an exhibitionist. Hell, maybe I’m an exhibitionist too, because rather than stop the fantasy, I let it play out.
“You better come fast, baby.” Dean’s breath tickles my inner thigh. “Otherwise my teammates are gonna walk out of that locker room and see my face buried in your pussy.”
My breathing quickens. I squeeze one breast, lightly toying with my nipple. My other hand strokes my clit in tight little circles. Oh God. I’m so wet. And my clit is swollen with desire. I can practically feel Dean’s tongue swirling over it.
“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” The pad of his finger grazes my opening. “Look how wet you are.”
He pushes his finger inside me.
No, I’m pushing my own finger inside me. My breasts have been abandoned and now I’ve got both hands between my legs. Rubbing my clit with one, fingering myself with the other, as I melt into the mattress and imagine Dean going down on me.
“Gonna fuck you right here on the ice, Allie.”
My toes curl. The pressure in my core is unbearable.
In the fantasy, Dean rises to his knees. His chest gleams under the bright lights in the arena. His cock is long and proud. He wraps his fist around the base and leans forward, bringing it closer and closer to where I want it most.
And then we hear it. Footsteps. Voices. Laughter. The players are coming out of the chute. Dean smiles wickedly. Then he plunges that hard dick inside me—
And I come so hard I forget how to breathe. I lie on my bed, gasping, trembling. Stars flash behind my closed eyelids as the orgasm crashes through me in hot, pulsing waves.
Oh my God.
That was… it was… I don’t even have the words to describe it.
And the sad part? The orgasm that just ripped me to shreds wasn’t half as powerful as the ones Dean gave me in person.
I’m still shaking from the aftershocks as I fumble in the dark until my hand lands on the box of tissues atop my nightstand. I pull a couple out and use them to wipe between my legs. I can’t remember the last time I got this wet during a solo session.
Think of how much wetter you’ll be if you fuck me again…
Argh. I can practically hear Dean taunting me. Enticing me…
I take a breath. Okay. I’m a pragmatic person. And I aced that Argumentative Logic course I took in freshman year. So maybe I need to rationalize this out.
Premise I: Dean Di Laurentis is a phenomenal lay.
Premise II: He wants to have sex with me again.
Premise III: The idea of having sex with him turns me on.
Conclusion: I should have sex with Dean.
All right, that one was easy enough. Now comes the complicated part.
Premise I: Casual sex makes me uncomfortable.
Premise II: I just got out of a long-term relationship and am not ready for another one.
Premise III: Even if I was, I wouldn’t want a relationship with manwhore Dean.
Conclusion: Um…?
I try another one:
Premise I: I don’t want a relationship with Dean.
Premise II: He doesn’t want a relationship with me.
Conclusion: We should have casual sex.
Another no-brainer, but it still doesn’t solve the Casual Sex conundrum. Really, though, if I stop to think about it, the only person dishing out any judgment here is me. Will a fling with Dean make me a slut? He certainly doesn’t think so. Neither would my friends, although I certainly don’t plan on telling them about it if I choose to fling Dean. Which raises the question, why do I want to keep it a secret?
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I ponder that. The answer continues to stump me, but the idea of everyone knowing I’m screwing around with Dean still brings a rush of discomfort. Fine. It’ll have to remain a secret. Maybe tomorrow I can give some more thought as to why I feel that way.
Well…shit. Have I actually reached a decision?
I’m already grabbing my phone, so…yeah, I guess I have.