Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Cam

My first regular season game as a starting goalie in the NHL. My first home opener. My first time playing with these guys, some of the greatest in the league. Nerves have my heart thundering in my chest the whole afternoon through stretches, suiting up, and warmups.

I run through the bazillion things I want to keep track of. How the lines play together, any weaknesses I see from my perspective behind them, any tics or habits of the other team. The list goes on.

As I grind the ice around the goal to my preferred roughness, I breathe and take in the icy scent.

Tonight’s ice smells different. Sure it’s a new stadium but it seeps into my being with a different warmth. It wasn’t like this for the last two pre-season games on the road. I flick a glance up at the owner’s box. A tall, lithe figure stands against the balcony, backlit by the box’s lights. The temperature of the stadium climbs another degree. The difference is Christina.

Smiling, I return to my routine, side lunging in place and staying warm while we get ready for faceoff.

As both teams skate into position, I get into my zone. My pulse slows, my focus narrows. Only the players, the puck, and the ice exist. We explode into action. The puck zings between sticks. Blades swoosh on the ice. Guys clash against the boards, the sound echoing in the arena. Meanwhile, I barely blink, ready in a micro-second should the puck be shot my way.

After the first shot on goal, an easy save, I call to Jack and Kyle that San Jose’s right wing leaves an opening when he’s receiving a pass too close to his skates. They nod and on the next loop in our territory they steal the puck away from him.

Calmer, I settle in to watch. The hits are a little harder, the puck is a little faster, but I’ve been training for more than a decade and I’m damned good. I’ve got this.

During the second intermission, I beat myself up about a stupid goal that whizzed through a cluster of players into the five hole a half second before I folded to my butterfly. But when the puck dropped for the third period, I was determined to be invincible. Goalies more than any other player have to be as cold as the ice. There’s no time for distractions. Especially not doubt or anger.

We win handily with a final score of 3-1.

We’re almost levitating off our skates on the path to the locker room, yelling and shoving in a frenzy of excess energy.

Coach needs three tries to quiet us. His speech is short and to the point. “You guys played fucking great hockey. We didn’t look like an expansion team, we looked like an original six team. But this is only the second of eighty-two games, so keep doing what you’re doing and try to pace your celebrating tonight.”

Jack howls, sending us into a new fever pitch of rowdiness.

Greg comes in, and we quiet for a minute. He keeps it short as well. All our muscles are clenched trying to contain our celebration. “Austin picked the perfect song for you guys. And you lived up to it. Well played. My sisters and I have been looking forward to this for more than two years. We’ve put together a fantastic team and organization for our hometown. I knew Austin was ready for the highest level of professional hockey. I wasn’t sure they knew they were. We sold out, every seat filled. They love you already. You showed them—and me—your love tonight, too. And we’re grateful. Congratulations, guys!”

We roar.

The unspoken plan at least for most of the team is to head to Chasers, and most of us shower and change in record time. A couple of the more seasoned guys are dragged in front of the press but the rest of us escape and head to our roped-off corner of the bar.

I check my phone as I close my locker. I’ve started thinking of Christina as Dancer to my Prancer, so I changed her name in my phone, which will also help keep our communications private.

Dancer

Congratulations! You looked great out there!

Surprised you could see me from those nosebleed seats.

Hey, I’ll have you know they’re supposed to be the best seats in the house.

I prefer to see the whites of their eyes.

LOL, that you do. What are you doing to celebrate?

Hmm, is that an invitation?

More a question. You know, with that thing? at the end?

Funny girl. The team needs to burn off a little adrenaline. We’re headed to Chasers. Want to join us?

I don’t think an owner showing up is going to vibe with the team’s letting loose. Especially a woman…

She left that ellipse to torture me. Or else she’s shy but thinking of a different sort of celebration. Damn, my cock has been hard since I saw her text. After a win, it doesn’t take much anyway, which is why so many of the guys enjoy the puck bunny attention. I take the bait.

I’d love to celebrate privately with you after a quick drink.

Oh yeah? I was hoping you’d say that. Could you ride share to my house though, please? I don’t want Greg to see your car here overnight.

My excitement flags, at least mentally. My cock doesn’t care how the hell I get there and would prefer to skip the drink. I shove it aside. I’d agreed to casual and secret, and the benefits far outweigh the downsides. I reread the text. Sweet. She wants of a full night. But if I go there now, I’ll pound her, and especially given her comments the first time we had sex, I don’t want to hurt her. I groan, but rein in my libido.

It’ll probably be an hour and a half. That ok?

Door will be unlocked. If I fall asleep, wake me. :)

thumbs up emoji

Now I need to navigate a bar full of puck bunnies and randy teammates with a hard-on for an hour.

* * * *

The estate is dark when the ride share pulls around the circular driveway. Christina believes her brother won’t notice me staying the night, but they must have security cameras at the very least, if not onsite guards. Hopefully, they only report to Greg about intruders who weren’t authorized for the gate.

I stride down the pathway, lit by short walkway lamps, and knock softly on her door before twisting the handle.

Leaning in, I see a dark living room and kitchen, with a nightlight in the hall and a low light coming from her bedroom. Placing my bag on the floor quietly, I toe off my shoes and pad down the short hall.

She’s curled on a fancy half-backed, one-ended couch by her bedroom window. A chaise? I don’t know what they’re called and make a mental note to ask her later.

She’s wearing a red filmy nightgown, bright against the dark gray velvet of the furniture. It gently holds her breasts then flows over her, probably to mid-thigh when she’s standing, based on her stretched out bare leg. She has a lightweight fringed throw partially over one shoulder and her bent leg, one hand resting on a pool of blanket and one curled under her head.

I shuck my shirt, tossing it aside, and my socks. Clad only in jeans hiding boxer briefs, I glide forward, soundless on the thick carpet.

My shadow moves over her as I step in front of the bedside lamp, and her head twitches. Her eyes blink open and she starts.

I drop to my knees so she can see me. “Hey, it’s me.”

She smiles. “Hey, you.”

When she starts to uncurl her legs as though to get up, I stop her. I slide my butt and a knee onto the odd couch to face her. I can’t resist touching her nightwear, more negligee than actual sleeping apparel. I rub it between finger and thumb, and it’s soft and lightweight. It’s so sheer I can see my finger through it, which I guess is why they have three layers to the dress and why the bra cups are a different opaque shiny fabric. I want to turn on all the lights and have her pirouette for me.

She stretches her arms over her head, arching her back and drawing my eyes back to her breasts.

“Tell me you sleep in this.” My voice is rusty with lust, as well as from shouting during the team celebrations.

“Sometimes, when I’m feeling sexy.”

“You should always feel sexy, because you are.” She snorts, but I double down. “It’s true, it’s not a line. So you felt sexy tonight, hmm?”

I trace the tops of her breasts along the line where the fabric meets her skin.

Her nipples harden and it’s everything I can do to not fall on her like a slavering animal. The win still thrums in my veins and heats my blood. “I don’t know how slow I can be tonight. My first—”

“You don’t need to be slow tonight. Seeing you play made me so hot I could barely wait the hour for you. Changing into this didn’t help. The cool fabric sliding against me when I wanted the roughness and heat of your hands? Please, Cam.” She puts her arms up to me and her words unleash my beast.

I lever to kneel between her legs on the chaise and slide the thin straps of her negligee down her arms. Her breasts pop free. I scoop one hand under her hips inside the fabric and lift her to tug the nightie to her knees. Setting her down, I bend one of her knees and she mimics the movement with her other leg, so I can draw off the garment and toss it in the direction of my t-shirt. I like the idea of our clothing being as intertwined as we’re about to be.

She’s biting her lip watching for what I’ll do next with wide eyes in the dim light. I glance down. She’s wearing the tiniest matching lace underwear.

“Pardon me for a moment,” I mutter. “I need to see the back view.”

Her laugh is low and throaty as I flip her over.

Yep, sure enough, it’s a G-string. Palming her ass cheeks, I stroke then squeeze. She moans, then yelps when I snap the string against her tailbone, before dragging it down her legs. I flip her back, propping her against the slanted end of the couch again. Fuck me, she’s still chewing on that lip.

“Only I get to gnaw on you tonight,” I say, leaning in to kiss her thoroughly.

Her hands are at my waist, working the button and fly of my jeans.

I’m too impatient to let her play so I stand to skim off my jeans and briefs together, grabbing a condom out of my wallet and returning to my kneeling position between her legs. With her reclining like this, half-sitting half-lying, I’ll need to adjust something to fuck her. I grab her legs and lift them, scooting closer before lowering them to rest on my thighs. Now I have unfettered access to all of her. Craving another taste, I plant a hand by her hip and capture her lips again.

The kiss ratchets my desire higher, and I break it off to refocus on all her other delicious parts. No matter how fast my pulse races, Christina is normally tight, and I never want to hurt her. I run my fingers over her pussy lips, patting them a couple of times and eliciting a gasp from her. I part them and dip my middle finger inside testing her readiness. Dragging some wetness up, I circle her clit twice.

Her hand comes to grip my wrist.

I grin. “Ah, baby girl, it’s cute you think you can stop me. If San Jose couldn’t get by me, how are you going to?”

She snickers and lets go. “I wouldn’t dream of trying. I was going to offer encouragement, but I see you don’t need it. Just—hurry, please.”

She thrusts her hips on the next circle. Her level of arousal clearly matches mine. The need, the craving, is almost uncontrollable. I spread her arousal around her opening, roll the condom on, and notch my cock against her.

She’s watching me, and when her hands come to my hips to pull, I thrust halfway in. I retract a little, then thrust again. Then, as I have every time since she told me her concerns that first night, I check in. “All good?”

“Other than the fact that you’re not moving, yes. I thought you weren’t going to go slow?” she pants.

I laugh. “I’m not.”

I lean forward, elbows locking me over her as she reclines on this weird couch that has turned out to be super convenient. And my hips power over hers, fast and furious.

She arches up. “Cam.”

“What do you need?”

“I want to feel more of you.” Her voice is throaty. “Scoot us down, please?”

Complying with her requests is one of my new favorite things, so I lift her and bring us down several inches. I spread my legs over the sides of the piece and sit, bringing her legs to the crook of my elbows and take them wide, hanging onto the sides of the furniture as I press forward to suck one of her furled nipples into my mouth.

“God, your goalie flexibility.” Her eyes drift closed. She looks so innocent yet debauched lying with her hair spread around her, her lips and nipples rosy and wet from my mouth. A spurt of heat in my chest feels different than my normal lust.

Ignoring it, I succumb to her and my need for release. I don’t have as much leverage in this position, so instead, I grab her hips and move both of us in counterpoint, our flesh slapping with the force of the movement.

She gasps and claws at my chest.

I pant through gritted teeth, “Tell me if it hurts. Or, please, tell me you’re close.”

“I’m close.”

“Thank God.” The couch thing moves an inch and I readjust my feet. I can’t stand it anymore and I raise my torso. Holding her still to thrust against with one hand on her hip, my other goes to thumb her clit because there is no holding back this maelstrom of an explosion I’m edging toward.

She cries out. Her body goes rigid, and everything under my hands vibrates. First her clit, then her whole pussy, inside and out, and her belly quivers next to my other thumb.

I jackhammer into her, chasing my own pleasure. My world whites out as I shoot my load, losing my rhythm but still making small thrusts for a long moment. Finally, I release her so I can support myself on my arms, no longer able to sit upright.