The Boyfriend Zone by Jillian Quinn
Laying in Preston’s bed, naked and glistening with sweat, I curl up next to him trying to catch my breath. He kisses my forehead, and my skin burns from his lips.
“Come home with me for Thanksgiving.”
I roll onto my back and look over at him. “That counts as dating.”
“I don’t care,” he huffs. “I haven’t been with anyone but you since we met. Most people would consider that dating. Unless you’ve been hooking up with other guys behind my back,” he says the last part with a cocky smirk.
He damn well knows I haven’t been with anyone but him.
“I can’t ditch my dad on Thanksgiving to eat with you.”
“Bring him.”
My eyes widen. “He would love that.”
“I thought so. I know he’s a big fan of my dad and my uncles. Everyone is coming to my house.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but your mom doesn’t seem like the Susie Homemaker type.”
He laughs. “She’s not. My dad is cooking. He makes pineapple stuffing that’s so good you have to come just to try it.”
“My dad might stroke out if I tell him Alex Parker is cooking turkey dinner for him.”
“So, you’ll come?”
I bite my lip, considering his offer. “I would love to, but I have to ask my dad.”
“All this talk of food is making me hungry.”
I sit up, balancing my weight on my elbow. “What do you want to eat? We can go to the cafeteria or order a pizza.”
He pinches my nipple between his fingers and smirks. “I want you.”
“You already had me.”
“Not all of you.” He beckons me with his finger. “Get over here. Ride my face. I haven’t tasted your pussy yet today.”
“You’re so romantic.” I get on my knees, about to comply with his order, when he grips my hips and pulls me on top of him. He slides down the mattress, far enough that I’m now straddling his face.
“Mmm…” I whisper, using his headboard to steady myself.
He’s going to town on my pussy, licking and sucking until I practically black out from the pleasure. I fist his hair in my hands, weaving my fingers through it. He peeks up at me, his eyes wide as he takes me to the point of ecstasy.
Preston rolls his tongue over my clit and pushes three fingers inside my wetness, spreading me open. The stubble on his chin scratches me, making it even more intense. He laps up my juices, his tongue moving at a rapid pace, tearing a scream from my lips. I come so hard my entire body shakes, and I rock forward.
Preston lifts me up, kissing my clit before he lowers me down his body. He’s hard again, his cock lengthening against my stomach.
“I’m still hungry,” he says. “I can never get enough of you.”
“I hope you never do,” I confess, terrified I’ve said too much.
“Me, too.” He rubs his cock along my slick folds. “Are you on the pill yet?”
“Yeah. We should be good.”
He smiles and then lifts me up just enough for him to push his thick cock in me. “I think it’s safe to say we’re not just friends anymore.”
My eyes close from the instant pinch which subsides with each thrust of his hips.
“I never wanted to be your friend,” he growls.
I press my palms to his chest, riding his cock harder, quickening the pace. “I never wanted to be yours either.”
He licks his lips and makes a hissing sound when he slams back into me, his cock filling me up. I lean forward, and Preston grabs the back of my head. Our lips meet, and when they do, my head spins from the intensity of his kiss. He consumes me, devours me with his tongue.
When I’m with Preston, I forget about rules and my messy past. He makes everything better. One day at a time, he heals all the old wounds.
* * *
After we go another round, we’re both spent and starving—this time for actual food. Dressed in shorts and one of Preston’s hockey shirts, I follow him downstairs. Some of his teammates are in the living room. A few of them turn around when our feet hit the bottom landing.
“Do you two do anything other than fuck?” Drake asks, with a cocky smirk.
Preston laughs. “I think it’s time I take you out, don’t you?”
I can’t stop smiling. “You want to take me on a date?”
“That’s what I said.” He kisses the top of my head, holding me close. “I’ll make a reservation at a restaurant.”
“As long as my dad doesn’t find out.”
Preston’s smile turns into a frown. “Let me take care of your dad.” He focuses his gaze on Jamie. “Bex is coming to Thanksgiving with Coach Bryant.”
“Sweet. I’ll be there,” Drake says. “Bring Taylor with you.”
“I don’t know for sure,” I interject. “I still have to ask my dad if he wants to change our usual plans. You guys know better than anyone how much he hates change.”
They grunt in answer.
“What about Taylor?” Drake asks.
“Taylor is a definite no. She flies home to California every year for Thanksgiving. Why? You like her?”
Drake shrugs. “She’s okay.”
Jamie throws a pillow at his head. “Don’t lie, bro. I’m getting sick of hearing about Taylor.”
Drake’s cheeks flush. “Whatever.”
Preston threads his fingers between mine and leads me into the kitchen. It’s vacant, much like the first night we were together, until Jamie and Drake come barreling in behind us.
“Do you know how to cook?” Jamie asks me.
“Not unless you want mac and cheese from a box,” I deadpan.
Jamie looks at Drake.
They both shrug.
“That works.”
“No,” Preston says. “Make your own damn food. Or get Shannon back so she can cook for the house again.”
I look at Jamie. “You’re not talking to Shannon anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie mutters. “She’s mad at me.”
“He misses her,” Drake says. “Hell, even I miss her. She makes the best pancakes. Now that Shan’s gone, we have to eat at the cafeteria.”
I hold up my hands. “Don’t look at me.”
“Shannon is wife material,” Drake says. “This idiot is too stupid to realize.”
“Enough about Shan,” Jamie growls.
Preston opens the refrigerator and scans the shelves. “Ignore them, babe. I do.”
He removes what looks like leftover chicken enchiladas.
“Stop asking my girl to make shit for you,” he tells Jamie. “If you want someone to baby you, then go beg Shannon to come back.”
I take a seat at the kitchen island.
“What did you do?” I ask Jamie.
“It’s complicated.” He sighs. “You know how women are. Pain in my ass.”
“Hey, I’m right here,” I remind him.
Preston preheats the oven and sets the container of Mexican food on the counter.
“You okay with enchiladas?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll eat whatever.”
His eyes illuminate, and a sick thought crosses his face. I know him well enough to read his dirty thoughts. I smile in response.
I stare at him, wondering how we got to this point. Now, I have to work up the courage to tell my dad that I’m madly, head over heels in love with the star of his team.