Page 16 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Sixteen

Kailey

I should have gone home a long time ago.

But I’d hung in the box talking with Oliver about the game (and his new dragon), Hazel checking in with their sitter a few times, but since Dominic was asleep, she’d wanted to enjoy the rare night out sans baby.

Then I’d drifted downstairs, running into a couple of the coaches and Pru, who was one of the main users of the program I had created.

Pru was…what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Strong and loud, confident and ballsy .

But she was soft, too. The way she melted into Marcel and how their bodies seemed to be in constant awareness of each other. Shifting and realigning so they fit together perfectly. Hazel and Oliver had that, too, along with Luc and Lexi.

It was beautiful, and I’d found myself being far more social now that I’d noticed it.

And the longer I was around , the longer that ball of nerves in my stomach, the one that was always there and the one that probably would never fully go away, had sunk deeper and deeper.

But that was so much better than spinning faster and faster, the barbed edges of that tangled ball lashing out and cutting my insides to ribbons.

Maybe one day it would sink so deep that it would drop out of me completely.

Like laying an egg.

That had my lips twitching as I turned and walked toward the exit, but not before promising to call Marcel’s dad, Leo, when I had a free moment to discuss some software he wanted created—me and Leo jived, mostly because he was as much of a geek as I was.

But he was so much like Pru that it was hard to be anxious with him, not when he was talking a mile a minute about stuff I was comfortable with and never got impatient with my answers.

He wanted to see if I wanted the side project or could recommend someone else.

Freelancing was my gaming and book money.

So, I’d probably be down.

Plus, it was good practice for me. There would be comfortable, positive interactions with little to no anxiety (because Marcel’s dad was awesome), and I could keep building on those, continue growing and moving forward and?—

I’d instinctively started moving forward, hurrying because I was coming to the hallway that would lead me right by the guys’ changing room.

Always head down, no risk at seeing anything.

And plus, the outer door was always closed anyway.

Except today…not closed.

The blond wooden panel was pushed wide. The lights inside dimmed. The room empty?—

A flicker of movement.

No.

Not empty.

My lips parted as a wave of heat hit me with the force of a tsunami.

Smitty was standing there.

Naked with only a towel around his neck. And, sweet baby dragon, I’d always discounted big men in the romance novels I read as something that fiction writers made up, and yeah, I’d caught a glimpse in those gray sweatpants, but it was fucking different seeing that cock out in the wild.

I went wet, could feel my panties clinging to my pussy. My nipples tightening, rubbing against my bra, the slight chafe a tease and not nearly enough.

Right.

I should…

Leave.

He might want privacy—except, hadn’t I heard all those stories about him liking to parade around naked?

Maybe he liked people to watch?

Maybe he would like me?—

Wait, Kailey. Jesus, I thought, slamming my eyes closed. On the life of your dragon, Esmerelda, he hasn’t consented to you staring at him like a creeper. Keep. On. Walking.

Right.

This was wrong.

But my lids slit open, and I inhaled sharply at all those muscles dancing as he dragged the towel through his hair. So why did it feel so damned right watching him like this? Wanting him like this?

Then he froze.

Spun to fully face me.

And…I couldn’t look away.

Not when the hand clutching the towel dropped to his side. Not when that brought my gaze back down.

To his penis.

Which garnered a good long stare, its length growing as it hardened under my watchful eyes. It swung slightly when he took a step toward me, his thighs flexing and drawing my gaze down toward those quads.

The black hair covering them did absolutely nothing to disguise their strength.

Especially as he strode toward me with complete casualness, seemingly not giving a damn that he was naked and gloriously erect when I managed to tear my eyes off his cock and bring them up to his face.

To the—no pun intended—cocky smile on his lips. To the molten heat that threatened to turn me to ash. To the?—

He reached me, winding his fingers around my wrist and drawing me into the room.

All the air left my lungs, and only part of the reason was from my front colliding with his.

The rest was…because my front had collided with his.

Smitty was naked and strong, and his arms were wrapping around me, his masculine spice in my nose, the blazing heat of his body scorching through my clothes.

“Little bird,” he murmured, his chin coming to the top of my head, his arms wrapped tight. “Oh, little bird, how am I going to punish you for spying on me?”

My breath caught. “Wh-what?”

A warm, broad hand smoothing over my hair, down my spine. “You’re a peeping Tom,” he murmured on a husky chuckle. “So, how should I punish you?”

My pulse picked up speed, battering its way through my veins.

Fingers on my chin, tilting my head up. “You like that,” he murmured. “You like the idea of me punishing you.”

A shaky inhale, my teeth finding my bottom lip, nibbling lightly.

His hand on my back dipped down, cupping my ass. “Should I smack this?” A rasping question paired with his cock pulsing against my stomach. “I’d give almost anything to see it turn red beneath my palm.”

My knees wobbled, nearly giving way.

But he had me, that hand palming my ass keeping me flush against his naked body.

“You like that,” he said again, eyes blazing into mine, head dipping down so our mouths were nearly aligned. “What else do you like, little bird?”

“I—” My words faltered when his tongue darted out, tasted my bottom lip.

“Yeah?” he pressed, verbally and physically, I realized distantly as he guided me farther into the room. “Sweetheart, what do you like a man to do to you?” he asked again, slowly hefting me up, a soft moan escaping me when my breasts rubbed against his chest.

My feet hit a bench, and though my legs were wobbly, he still held me tightly against him, one hand protecting the back of my head, making sure it didn’t hit the shelves behind me. “I don’t know.”

My whisper had him freezing.

“Little bird,” he said gently, his other hand cupping my cheek. “ Honey,” he added when my gaze drifted to his shoulders (strong and broad and all too distracting).

I glanced back at him.

“Are you a virgin?”

Stiffness in my frame, a spinning in my stomach. Cheeks flaring. “No.” I shook my head. “I’ve?—”

I could shrink down.

Or…I could own it.

“I’ve slept with three men.”

Careful eyes studying mine, as though judging my words for truth. Then the gentle faded and the mischief crept in. “So, I only have to kill three people,” he teased. “That’s doable.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I am.” His fingers trailed along my jaw. “And you’re beautiful.”

“I—” Another cheek flare, but he didn’t seem to mind because his lips went there, pressing where my skin felt the hottest and then to the other side, tongue dipping out to taste the other heated spot. “You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

Now it was his turn to blush.

And I got a firsthand view of how sexy it was.

This big man blushing over something I’d said? I wanted to recapture the moment, over and over again.

But later.

Because he was naked now.

And I was feeling like a heroine from one of my books. Sexy and powerful and strong. Confident and…turned on.

Right.

That was the biggest, most intense thing I was feeling.

And it loosened my joints, my spine, had my body melting against his, my arms coming around his shoulders, feeling that bare, hot skin beneath my palms. “I don’t know what I like,” I murmured.

“I’ve never even gotten close to having an orgasm with any of the men I’ve slept with.

” His head jerked, and I smoothed my hands down his chest. “But I read a lot.” A breath and…

I just went for it. “And I have a long list of fantasies.”

Now his head jerk was joined by a wicked smile.

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling me tighter against him, bending his head so his lips trailed along my throat.

I nodded.

“Okay, little bird,” he murmured against my skin.

Then he moved .

One second, I was standing on the bench, our bodies aligned, his mouth on my neck, and the next, he was flipping us so that he was sitting on the bench, and I was straddling his lap, and then he was kissing me.

Not gently.

Not tentatively.

But slamming his mouth onto mine, parting my lips, and tangling our tongues together.

That big hand went back to my ass, the other dove into my hair, dislodging my ponytail, his low, deep rumble of a groan vibrating up through his chest, through mine, teasing my nipples, settling somewhere low inside me.

Okay.

It was in my pussy.

That deep, rumbling sound settled right in my pussy.

A nip to my mouth, his lips finding my jaw, sliding down, and sucking roughly at the spot where my shoulder met my throat. I suspected I’d have a mark there the next morning but couldn’t bring myself to care.

Not when he’d yanked the hem of my shirt up and over my head, not when I was gasping as he buried his face in my breasts.

Not as one of his big hands was tugging my bra down.

My breasts popped free.

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “I knew they’d be pink.”

“Smitty,” I whispered.

He glanced up at me, fire in his expression and need stark in the lines of his face.

“Oh no, little bird,” he said, clamping down on me when I began rocking on his lap, the hard length of his cock pressing against the seam of my leggings, causing the material to rub against just the right spot.

“Not yet. You still haven’t been punished. ”

I shivered. “Smitty,” I whispered again, this time not bothering to hide the pleading in my tone.

A steady stream of warm air across my chest.

No. Across one nipple, then the other, the pink tips hardening, beading, begging for his mouth, his teeth and tongue. His hands. His chest.

Anything.

Just so he’d touch me.

Another stream. This one closer to the aching tip.

A flick of his tongue that had a moan tumbling from my tongue. A graze of his beard that had my hands going to his head, trying to pull him down.

He held firm. “No, little bird,” he said, untwining my hands and placing them over my head, pressing lightly until I understood that he wanted me to grip the bottom of the shelf. “Don’t let go,” he ordered.

Then he leaned away, keeping me in his lap, but shifting so that his back was to the wall and my body was a few inches from his mouth.

He stared.

I quivered, hips jerking.

A hand clamping on my hip again, steadying me.

“Hold still and stay quiet, little bird,” he murmured, and I did—holding my bottom half still against his pelvis, clamping my lips together.

“Good girl,” he murmured before leaning in and repeating the treatment on my other breast.

Slowly, interminably slowly. A stream of air—gentle, then firmer, then closer.

Moving back and forth. Keeping up the blowing, giving me a little, the occasional flick of his tongue.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t everything.

It wasn’t what I needed with an almost clawing anguish that didn’t relent.

Not until I was absolutely trembling, sweat sheeting my body, gasps escaping, groans rising out of my throat.

A short, sharp suck that had me jumping.

“Quiet,” he ordered, placing one finger to my mouth. “Or I won’t do it again.”

My chest rose and fell rapidly.

He bent, closed his teeth over one hard peak. “Yeah, little bird?” The words were so close to my skin that they felt like a physical caress, each syllable a damp touch that was sending me up a fragile edge. “ Little bird, ” he warned.

I nodded, shuddering again when one calloused fingertip ran over my beaded nipple. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’ll stay quiet.”

The smile he gave me was pure fire.

And then, without the least bit of warning, he sucked my nipple deep.

My moan choked me, threatening to escape, but I bit my bottom lip hard, not wanting him to stop, desperate for him to keep going. And he rewarded me for the quiet—cupping my breasts and molding them, lifting one globe and then the other so he could suckle each of them in turn.

It was too much and not enough, and I was desperate…

For something.

For—

“Okay, little bird,” he rasped against my skin. “Give me that mouth and move.”

His hand on my hip shifted, encouraging me to grind against him, and that was exactly what I needed.

That pressure, that movement. The man beneath me and his hard cock.

His mouth on mine, swallowing my moans. Still worshiping my breasts with one hand while the other arm banded around my waist, keeping me in motion, encouraging me to ride him faster and harder and?—

That swelling of pressure began to coil tighter in my middle, the prerequisite to me flying over the edge.

One I’d never had outside of my own hands or my toys or?—

Thoughts splintered when he tugged me slightly forward, changing the angle and—holy son of a dragon— that was incredible.

Actual sparks of light behind my eyelids and…

Implosion.