Page 9 of Home for the Hockey-Days (Cedar Rapids Raccoons)

CHAPTER 9

Rowan

A ugust has left the building.

Not literally. He’s still standing a few feet from me ogling my naked body, and I don’t hate it. In fact, from the heat flickering in those eyes and the way his dick is punching a hole in his pants, I’m totally here for it.

No one has ever looked at me this way. I’m frozen in place because it feels like if I make even the smallest of moves, he’ll pounce. His chest heaves, a weird anticipation hums in the air between us, and I’m doing my level best not to stare at his pants.

It’s hard—both his cock, and the trying not to stare. Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, he’s hung.

And he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me.

It’s tempting.

I’m sure if I risked stepping closer to him I’d find a pool of drool at his feet.

A long, strained silence stretches out between us.

“You’re Johnny’s girl.” His low voice is a raw growl, like he’s physically fighting his dude-urges to bend me over and fuck me .

I puff out my chest. “The fuck I am. For one, I’m no one’s girl , and for two, that egomaniacal asshole and I parted ways a while back.”

Something registers on his face, but I can’t figure out what it is. He takes a full step toward me, and it’s as though the closer he comes, the thinner the air gets. His gaze flickers to my chest, and I swear my nipples tighten in response. This guy is practically controlling my body with just a stare.

He takes another step. Part of me wants to see how far he’s prepared to go, and the other wants to taunt him, push him, make him snap. I can’t help myself. “I know you hate him.”

He grunts like it’s an understatement.

I smirk. “What? You don’t want his sloppy seconds?” I know I shouldn’t provoke the giant caveman currently being ruled by his meat compass, but I’m angry, and horny, and I’d much rather August finish getting me off, than leave me to my own devices.

The space between us is eaten up by his long strides, and before I can even blink, my back slams into the wall. He towers over me, his hand holding my jaw so I meet his intense stare. “You’re no one’s sloppy anything, Rowan. Do you hear me?” He’s grinding the words out between gritted teeth.

I’m throbbing, everywhere, desperate for him to touch me. My brain has short circuited. I know he wants me to answer, but my senses are overwhelmed. His dick presses against me, his eyes burn into mine, and he smells of... man. That’s the only word I can think of to describe his musky scent.

“I asked you a question, Rowan.”

I’m not proud of how visceral my body’s reactions are. I’m scared to look down, because the pool of drool that I joked about forming at his feet? That ain’t got nothing on the thick coat of arousal making the tops of my thighs sticky. I offer a jerky nod, but instead of relenting, his entire being presses me more firmly into the wall.

“I need to hear you say it, Rowan. Out loud.”

Fuck. Guys like this don’t exist outside of dirty books and movies, but I’m a puddle of need, painfully aroused, and shamefully eager. “I’m no one’s sloppy seconds.”

“I need to touch you.”

I’ve never known someone to be so transparent before. If his body wasn’t telegraphing that he wanted me, the words fall from his lips like he doesn’t care who hears them.

Deciding I haven’t poked the bear enough, I lean forward and drag my tongue from his jawbone, all the way up to his cheekbone, before placing my mouth close to his ear. “Then fucking touch me.”

He shakes his head. “I need to apologize first.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. He picks now? This moment right here? After I’ve just told him to fucking touch me, to say he’s sorry?

This guy sure has a great sense of comedic timing.

“You do? Now?” My voice is pained.

“Yeah. Now.” His words are gruff. “I shouldn’t have laid hands on you without your permission.” He straightens, putting some space between us, too much fucking space for my liking, but I like how he’s trying to roll back his animalistic tendencies to be a gentleman, or... something.

He pulls back, his eyes flickering to my lips, his chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths as though he’s trying not to jump, as though he’s fighting every urge to take me, to own me, to ravage me.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, indecision and pain in his eyes, his jaw tense. “I wanted to shock you the way you shocked me with a pie in my face, but... I was out of line.”

I roll my lips so I don’t laugh, because he’s right. He should be sorry. Just because I liked it doesn’t make his actions right.

“You were out of line.” I nod.

He stares at the hair that falls across my face, picks up his hand, his fingers hovering so close to my skin, I shiver. His eyes search mine for permission, and when I nod again, he tucks the hair behind my ear.

“Consent is sexy.” I somehow manage not to shout over my pounding heartbeat. “And important.”

He nods, his face serious. “I know. I really am sorry.” His voice breaks, but he doesn’t move. He’s so near, so painfully close to my body that my skin dances with energy. My nipples are hard, goosebumps cover my body, and another shiver slithers up my spine, but I’m not cold.

“I don’t normally just... act like a fucking caveman, Rowan. I swear.”

Something about his tone makes me believe him more than I already did. “I know. Or you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

He drops his forehead to mine with a groan. “I should have behaved better.”

Yup, he should have. His actions were shitty, and toxic, and hot as all fucking hell, and if this man doesn’t touch me soon I’m going to combust.

“August?”

He jerks his head up to look at me. “Yeah?”

“You’re forgiven. Can you kiss me now? Ple?—”

His mouth meets mine in a frantic, aggressive battle. Hard, hungry, our lips meet in a fierce collision as his hands possess me, just like when he gripped my body earlier. Like he already owns me. Maybe he does.

When his fingers slide through my soaking wet folds, I whimper. My head lulls back onto the concrete wall and soft, quick pants burst from me as his fingers find my clit, and he drags his teeth down the column of my neck.

Something tells me August is about to ruin me for any man who comes after him, but I don’t want to stop. I’m caught in the undertow, and I welcome the rapture.

“So fucking wet.” His words kiss my skin on ripples of warm air. “Eyes on me.”

My eyes snap open, finding his heavy gaze waiting for me. His hand stops, then he starts over, grazing my clit with his fingertips like he’s teasing me, dragging out my pleasure, sending waves of desire racing through my blood. Except I’m good, I’m ready to go, the oven was already pre-heated before he’d even laid a finger on me.

Now I just want to fucking come. I curl my fingers around his neck and sink my nails into his skin before dragging them down the length of his throat, enjoying the growl that rumbles in his chest. “Stop toying with me and make me come already.”

His deep chuckle makes my chest vibrate. “Or what?” The challenge in his voice lights something up inside me, adding another log to the already scorching fire.

“Or I’ll finish myself off.” It’s my turn to chuckle. “I was doing just fine before you burst in here, you big oaf.”

“You mean when I found you moaning my name while you were getting off?” When he pulls his hand away from my pussy, I fight the whine that catches in my throat. “You definitely seemed fine.”

“I was.”

He jerks his chin at me. “Show me.”

Show him? He wants to watch me finger myself?

Fine. I slide my hand into my soaked pussy with a sigh, and as my fingers swirl over my clit, he shucks off his pants and boxers, never moving his gaze from my body. The faster my fingers move in my sopping wet pussy, the faster his hands pump his cock.

Hands. Plural. Dude needs two hands to wrap around that baton he’s packing.

Girthy as fuck.

My tongue snakes out and licks my lips as a bead of precum seeps out the tip of his dick. Will he let me lick that droplet off his cock?

“I-I’m going to come, August.” I don’t know if I’m telling him because I want permission, or for him to finish the job, but his lips and brow quirk.

“Stop talking about it, and do it, Toots. Come for me.”

My obnoxious guffaw gives my clit a moment of reprieve. “Toots?”

He narrows his stare, still sliding his hands up and down his length. I can’t look away from him. His intensity burns through my skin. My teeth sink into my lip as my fingers strumming my clit match his pace.

“Come for me,” he damn near snarls. “So I can fuck you till you scream.”