Page 24 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Three

Smitty

I was lying on the bed, still in my slacks, my suit jacket discarded to the side, my white button-down halfway unbuttoned.

And Kailey was talking my ear off, totally jazzed after her dinner out with Hazel, Pru, and Beth.

She’d glossed over the interactions with Monica, which had told me precisely how well they’d gotten on—that being not at all.

But then she’d talked about the girls and the food, and she’d watched me play—like she had every game since that first night together.

Which made me feel about six feet—okay, twelve feet tall.

It was fucking adorable hearing her talk about hockey, too, when she clearly still knew very little about the sport and said things like “quarters” and “the guy who played on the right side of the ice.”

I’d never really been around someone who didn’t know much about hockey, let alone a woman who was interested in me, especially since I’d started playing for the Breakers.

The big leagues brought serious puck bunnies, but most of them—or at least the ones interested in me—knew that hockey had three periods and that right wing or right D was the person who’d been playing on that side of the ice.

If only because they needed to know when to go out to the parking lot and try to pick up the players…and which player to pick up.

Right.

So not the thing I needed to think about when my woman was talking to me on the phone.

“And I lost you,” she said softly.

“Sorry,” I said, “I’m just…” I sighed. “I was thinking about puck bunnies.”

A pause. “What’s that?”

I explained. “And I’m worried about Raph. He was…” Off wasn’t the right word because he’d played well in the game, but there was something off about his mental state. Like something was wrong, but he wasn’t sharing. “He’s quiet,” I finished lamely, which so wasn’t a good explanation.

But the thing was, Raph wasn’t a quiet guy.

He talked almost as much as me, and he was always playing pranks (hello, Herman), or at the very least, dishing out plenty of shit in the locker room.

“Because of Monica.”

Not a question.

I sighed again. “Yeah, I think so, little bird.”

“Maybe the pregnancy is really tough on her,” she said. “I know that Hazel wasn’t exactly loving the whole morning sickness beginning part.”

“Yeah.”

But it wasn’t just that.

“But it’s not only that,” she said, agreeing with my inner worry.

“No.” I blew out a breath and rolled to my stomach. “But I don’t want to talk about that,” I said, forcing the worry to the side, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it unless Raph let me in a little or he had a bit more clarity with what was going on.

“It’s important to talk about the heavy stuff.”

God, I loved this woman. “Yeah, it is,” I agreed. “And we can do that more later. Now”—I hit the button for FaceTime—“I want to plan how I’m going to punish you.”

The video connected, revealing her smiling face. “What have I done now, baby?”

“Oh, little bird, you’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

Eight days later—and only not seven because I’d gotten home on the team’s flight around three in the morning and didn’t want to wake Kailey up—I was climbing the stairs to her apartment and finally going to see her in person.

FaceTime naughty time wasn’t nearly as fun as real-life naked time.

We were very overdue for some naked time.

I needed to hold her, to taste her, to be inside her and?—

Her door flew open.

And fuck, she was beautiful. Her smile, the way her face lit up, the blue dress that clung to her curves, her bare feet with pink-painted toes.

I clocked that all in a second.

Then she was in my arms and against my chest. Cinnamon in my nose, curves beneath my palms. My woman.

Home, even though I wasn’t walking through my front door, but hers.

Home because she was pressed to me, or rather, because she was hopping up and I was lifting her as we moved inside, slanting our mouths together.

Her fingers clenched in my shirt, tugging me closer, tongue diving deep.

Her legs were tight around me.

Her moans were in my mouth.

It would be so easy to inch up the hem of her dress and—fuck it. It was easy, so I tugged up the bottom, slid my hands down and around and?—

Fuck.

Her underwear wasn’t more than a scrap of silk that left those plump, round cheeks bare. “Little bird,” I murmured, breaking the kiss and carrying her into the kitchen.

“What?” she asked innocently, breathing hard.

“You’ve been naughty again.”

“Because I put on clothes?” she asked silkily.

I dipped my finger under the thin strap that was sliding between her cheeks. “Is that what this is?” I asked, sliding it down, down .

She shivered as I plunked her on the kitchen counter, not bothering to tug down her dress. Yes, I’d had it all planned out, had wanted to take her out and?—

Her hand came to my jeans, worked its way into the waistband, fingers grazing the tip of my cock.

I needed her more.

Her dress was rucked up, baring miles of velvety skin, baring that tiny scrap of lace.

Lavender. Sheer. Not concealing the small thatch of brown curls I’d kissed my way across many times over the last weeks, not concealing the plump folds of her labia, pink and glistening in the bright lights of the kitchen.

There was a little tie on that blue dress, something that must hold the two halves together, because while her clever little fingers of one hand worked at teasing the head of my cock, the other lifted, tugged at a slender strap of navy fabric.

And like fucking magic, the dress fell open.

A sheer bra revealing puffy pink nipples, the pouty tips calling for my mouth.

Hips that were a man’s dream, something with substance, something to hold on to as I pounded deep.

A belly button that I’d dipped my tongue into, a trail of freckles I’d connected with my mouth, collarbones that seemed so slender and fragile and yet, if I kissed her there, if I flicked out my tongue, sucked the tender skin, her breath caught and her pussy dripped, and?—

“Smitty,” she whispered.

I’d been staring, because, fuck, she was gorgeous.

But she really wanted me to be doing.

So, I dropped to my knees, tugged the scrap of silk to the side, and fell onto her pussy. Tongue driving deep, mouth sucking hard, taking all the things I’d learned that she liked as we’d played and gotten to know each other and had moved slowly over the last weeks, and put them to good use.

This wasn’t a war of delicate, careful touches and a slow surrender.

This was a war of breaking her apart with pleasure, making her shatter time and again, and then putting her back together.

Except, she surprised the shit out of me.

Because I felt her legs flex around me only a moment before she launched herself forward and off the edge of the counter, grinding her pussy against my mouth and making me stagger for a moment.

Then her hands were threading into my hair, holding me tight. I had to react quickly so that she didn’t fall backward, sliding my hands up her back and pressing her in.

Her hips bucked as I rose to my feet and spun, keeping her pussy against my mouth, continuing to work her as her legs wrapped around my shoulders, dangled down my back.

I used leverage to pin her back against the cabinets, to get my mouth exactly where I wanted it, where she needed it, deeper and harder, tongue sliding into the hot, liquid depths and?—

Her fingers clenched tight in my hair.

There.

Right fucking there. I kept working her, tongue thrusting and dragging up, pressing against her clit until?—

She shuddered. Those fingers got tighter

“ Baby,” she moaned, hips bucking as much as they were able, against my face. “I need you inside me.”

“I am,” I said, against her skin, and to prove my point, I thrust my tongue deeper.

Another tightening—this time her fingers and her tight, little muscles clenching around my tongue.

“Conner.”

I opened my eyes, saw the sexiest thing I’d ever had the pleasure of viewing—pink cheeks, swollen lips, burning molten need blazing across emerald depths.

“Now, baby,” she said. “Please.”

And as if I could deny her anything.

A shift had her off my shoulders and resting on my chest, another had her down on her feet. I reached into my pocket for my wallet and the condom I had stashed there, but even as I had the plastic square out, she was unbuttoning my jeans, tugging down the zipper, freeing my cock.

Hot, wet lips on its length.

Suction that nearly sent me to my knees.

My hands were shaking when I tugged her off, when I tried to roll on the condom, when I lifted her again.

Too fast.

Too much.

But somehow her back was against the cabinets again, her legs around my hips this time, and the head of my cock was poised at her entrance.

For a second only.

Because then she was shifting down and I was thrusting up and then…

All that tight and wet and—fuck, but tight —heat was surrounding me.

Too fast. Too much.

Her head dropped back, and I barely managed to catch it before her skull collided with the cabinets, moans filling the air.

Slow. Slow . I needed to move?—

A hand on my beard, drawing my focus to a burning green gaze. “Slow later, baby. Fast and hard now.”

I was worried about hurting her.

I was worried about going too fast and scaring her.

I was?—

She clenched around my cock, the ultimate feminine demand, and her nails dug lightly into my skin. “ Now , honey.”

And what was that about denying her anything?

Because it was impossible.

I moved, thrusting out and back in harder than I would have dared, faster than I would have dared, but her pussy was convulsing around me, her lips were parted, moans dripping off her tongue, hips meeting mine?—

A shudder.

Me hitting just the right angle.

“ Fuck ,” she groaned. “Fuck. Oh my God. Smitty. Oh?—”

She’d never come with a man inside her.

I was going to be the one to make that happen.

That was the moment I stopped worrying about anything other than Kailey, her body, her reactions, the climax that was barreling her way. Thrusts at the angle that made her shudder, the rhythm that had pink darkening on her cheeks, the pressure that had sweat sheeting her body.

And then…

I saw her face change, saw the millisecond that things changed from good to almost there to going to happen and?—

My name on her tongue, those eyes going wide, that pussy tightening around me.

She fell apart, and I was barely a moment behind her, my orgasm practically scorching the skin from my bones and turning me to ash.

I came out of it with my bare ass on her kitchen floor, her limp body in my lap, and the realization that?—

“I didn’t even get your underwear off, little bird.”

Still.

Then laughter.

“Or your bra.”

More laughter, so husky and soft that it had my cock still twitching and hard inside her, making it known that it was up for another round.

Her head tilted back; her lips curved. “Was that your punishment or mine?”

I didn’t know.

I didn’t care.

All I knew was that now the edge was off.

It was time for the war of delicate, careful touches, for her slow surrender.

And if that was my punishment, then I couldn’t fucking wait.