Page 52 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Man took another sip of his tea, a thin line of yellow from the spices clung to his upper lip before he licked it away and glanced up at the shelf where a beautiful photo of his wife sat.

It was as if he were looking to her for the best way to answer.

Then he turned back to me. “I would say, why? Why do men always need an enemy? If it’s not women, it’s gay people.

If it’s not gay people, it’s trans people.

If it’s not trans people, it’s colored people.

If it’s not colored people, it’s people of another religion.

Why do men always need to fight someone else and take away from them?

Those people aren’t taking anything away from men.

Gay people aren’t taking away marriage or marriable straight people.

Colored people aren’t doing anything but trying to live their lives, make an honest living, and feed their families.

Trans people are the same. The same for the Jewish, and the Muslim, and Hindu.

We all just want to be happy, healthy, and loved.

But women are not the enemy. Women are the creators of life.

It’s called the ‘mothership’ for a reason, because she is where we all return to to feel safe.

So why are men trying to take that away?

Why are they attacking the mothership? Why are they attacking the creator?

Why are men so hellbent on stepping on others?

Life is not a ladder, where only one person can be on the top rung.

Life is a big, glorious mountain, with enough room at the peak for everyone.

We all just have to hold hands so nobody falls off the edge. ”

A hot tear slid down my cheek as my throat grew tight. I reached for my tea and took a sip now that it’d cooled off.

“Young men today need to stop trying to dominate,” Man went on.

“And start collaborating. When we work together, rather than against or over someone, we are more productive. Collaborate with women, don’t dominate them.

Because I raised four strong-willed daughters, and I know they will be among the first to revolt if this war on women persists—and their mother and I raised them to go for the jugular. ”

My eyes shot open wide. I was not expecting Man to go in that direction, and by the look of surprise on Damon’s face, neither was he.

Man gave a sharp nod and finished his tea. “Are we done here, or do you need more?”

“Uh … we …” I looked over at Damon. “Quick break?”

“Y-yeah. Sounds good.” He hit a button and removed his headphones.

Man got up from his seat. “I will make us more tea. I also have cookies.” Then he shuffled off to the kitchen, leaving Damon and I sitting on the couch staring at each other with stunned expressions.

He was the first to blink and shook his head before smiling.

“This podcast is going to rock a lot of boats. But it’s going to be gold. ”

Unease crawled through me. “You think?”

His nod was slow. “Definitely. Freaking gold.”

That night was watercolor again. Unlike last week, where we drew evergreen trees swaying in the wind, this week we were encouraged to try birch trees with their white and black bark.

I struggled even more with this class than I did the last, probably because it was difficult to keep the black paint from blending too much with the white on the trunks.

In the end, my page looked more like a tangled mess of dalmatian limbs than a grove of birch trees caught up in a warm spring breeze.

“Where’s your mom?” I asked Laurel as I accompanied her up the porch steps later that night.

“No idea,” she said, glancing at the key hook. “Her keys are gone, and come to think of it, her car is gone from the carport now that I remember.” She turned toward the living room, and startled me with her abrupt yell of, “Damon!”

I snorted in amusement.

“What?” he called from the living room.

“Where’s Mom?”

“She said she went out.” He tossed a wave at me over the couch. “Hey, Mav. You sticking around to play video games?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Promise. But I’m pretty beat so I’m going to head home.”

“Thanks for taking us to watercolor,” Laurel said, since Honor had already run home. “Your trees weren’t … too bad.”

I snorted and turned the handle on the front door. “You’re too kind. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Grabbing my phone from my pocket as I headed back to my truck, I shot off a quick text to Gabrielle.

Missed you today. Where are you?

No answer.

I know we weren’t technically “dating” and I had no claim on her, but a heads up would be nice. Even her kids didn’t know where she was. That seemed very unlike her. There was still no reply when I pulled up to my cabin, but that made sense because a familiar SUV was parked out front—and empty.

With a grin on my face, a rock-hard cock in my jeans, and a spring in my step, I entered the cabin to find the entire living room lit up with candles and a very sexy woman in nothing but a matching set of lacy black underwear and a bra sitting on my couch with a glass of wine. “Welcome home,” she purred.

Yanking my shirt over my head and stepping out of my jeans, I nearly tripped and got another concussion as I hurried over to her.

“This is quite the surprise,” I said, in nothing but my boxers now as I took the wineglass from her, drained it, and set it on the coffee table before hooking my fingers into the waistband of her panties.

I tugged them down her legs, shouldered her thighs apart, and sunk down onto my belly as I used two fingers to spread her lips and reveal her shiny pink center.

I leaned forward and sucked her clit between my lips, eliciting a sigh from the sexy woman above me.

She sunk deeper into the couch and her legs flopped open wider.

“I missed you,” I murmured, using the flat of my tongue to cover more surface area of her pussy. “I missed this .”

Her fingers made their way into my hair and she held me there, possessively. “I barely got any work done today. All I could think about was you. About last night in your truck and wanting more.”

Grinning against her cleft, I pulled her clit back into my mouth and flicked my tongue over the tip a few times before releasing it.

“I’ll always give you more.” Then with a deep inhale, I dove in and went to town, sucking and licking until she writhed against me, bucking her hips against my face and tugging on the ends of my hair.

Her first orgasm came as no surprise. It was quick and furious as she filled my mouth with her release and everything swelled against my mouth.

She collapsed against the sofa, boneless, chest heaving, and she released my hair.

I sat up, my cock stiff and painful in my boxers, and a damp mark of precum making the light gray fabric dark in one spot.

“You staying the night?” I asked, my eyes drawn to the swollen, glistening space between her legs. I already wanted more.

She groggily opened her eyes and blinked a few times, remorse in her gaze. “I can’t.”

I already knew her answer when I asked, but I had to try anyway.

Maybe one day she’d surprise me and say she could.

Eyeing the pitched tent in my lap, a sly smile curved her mouth, and she slid to her knees on the floor in front of me, pulling down my boxers.

I lifted my hips up to help, and she took my cock in her hand, giving it a few cursory strokes before angling it into her mouth.

Fuck, she was good at giving head. The woman had zero gag reflex it seemed, and knew just when to add a little scrape of her teeth, or suck at the top to drive me mental.

She used her hand as well, but made sure to deep throat often, letting my swollen crown get well acquainted with her tonsils.

I made a ponytail with her hair in my fist and gently guided her up and down.

With her free hand, she softly cupped my balls and rolled them around in her hand.

I was close in no time. Just the view of her, on her knees in front of me looking as sexy as she did, with her head in my lap, lips wrapped around my shaft, was better than any porno I’d ever watched, any fantasy I’d ever conjured while alone in my hotel room as my teammates banged puck bunnies.

A warm tingle grew in my lower belly as the pressure and pleasure built. I always tapped the woman’s head just to give her a warning. Some preferred not to catch, while others seemed not to care. Gabrielle was one who didn’t seem to care, and just kept going after I tapped her head.

That heat and pressure in my lower stomach reached a boiling point, everything in my body went rigid and I exploded.

And like a good girl, just as I let go, she deep throated and held me right at the back, contracting her throat in swallows to squeeze and milk my cock like a goddamn goddess.

All I could do was groan and repeat, “Holy fuck,” over and over again, until everything inside of me went limp and my soul—which had momentarily left my body—floated back to reclaim its rightful place within.

I released her hair, and she lifted her head, pulling off with a wet pop before daintily wiping the corner of her mouth with her hand.

I hauled her up under her arms into my lap and immediately took her mouth with mine, tasting my release on her tongue as I’m sure she could taste hers on mine.

It was erotic and messy, and so fucking hot.

She straddled me and rocked her wet pussy against my limp cock, but it didn’t remain limp for long.

“Maverick,” she whimpered, her clit rubbing against my swelling cockhead.

“On all fours,” I growled, gathering her hair into a haphazard ponytail again and pulling hard enough to make her moan.

She scrambled onto all fours on the couch, resting on her forearms rather than her hands, ass in the air. She knew what I wanted, and I could tell by the way she trembled a little, that she wanted it to.

Positioned behind her, I reached beneath and dragged some of her slippery arousal upward toward her ass, circling the tight hole with my thumb.

She moaned again and gave her ass a little wiggle.

My cock was already hard again, but it’d have to wait.

Spreading her ass cheeks with my hands, I probed her hole with my tongue, swirling and flicking.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

My hand wandered to her clit and two fingers ran rough circles while my tongue continued to circle and tease.

Her hips started to move and her taut ass cheeks clenched against my face.

I fucking loved it. She was so fit, so fucking sexy, that I could get her to relax and come undone this way was the biggest compliment and turn on.

Gabrielle Campbell was naked, on my couch, and letting me eat her ass—and enjoying it to boot. I never would have imagined this in even my wildest teenage fantasies. If eighteen-year-old Maverick could see me now, he probably wouldn’t believe it.

Her moans grew more fervent and her hips movements more frantic. She was close again. Drops of her arousal fell on my wrist and I ached to lick them off, but I didn’t want to move my hand and take any attention away from her clit for even a second. So I kept going.

In a matter of seconds, she was coming undone all over again, crying out as her clit swelled once more beneath my fingers and more of her release dripped onto my wrist. When she was done, I removed my hand and claimed my reward, licking that sweet honey off my arm.

I quickly retreated to the bathroom to go wash my mouth and face, then returned to find her right where I left her on the couch. Face down, ass up.

I grinned like a kid on Christmas morning as I yanked my boxers back down, grabbed a condom off the coffee table, and sheathed myself. She eyed me playfully over her shoulder when I gripped her hips and slid home, both of us sighing as I bottomed out.

We took it slow and steady this time. There was no rush. We switched positioned a few times, finishing in the spoon position with me behind her, playing with her clit as we found our release together.

I kissed her shoulder, well aware of the bite mark I had left there a moment ago. “You’re going to have to wear shirts with sleeves for a few days,” I murmured.

I didn’t have to see her to know she was smiling. “Worth it.”

Moving my hand up to her breast, I gave her a gentle, loving squeeze. “Have a shower with me?”

She nodded, and turned around a bit so I could take her mouth. “Okay.”

We didn’t make it to the shower just then. I ended up grabbing another condom and taking her one more time, bringing her to orgasm beneath me as her thighs shook and sobs of pleasure fled her throat. She raked her nails down my back, holding my full weight against her.

I buried my face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her. Cherry and almonds, just like I remembered. “This is getting really real, Maverick,” she whispered, almost too quiet for me to hear if her mouth wasn’t right next to my ear.

I lifted up and looked directly into her eyes. “I know.”

Swallowing hard, she blinked at me. “Come for dinner tomorrow night.”

I leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then I picked her up and carried her to the shower where I washed her from head to toe, and made her come with my mouth one more time before seeing her safely to her car.

I fell into bed exhausted and happy. She was right though.

This was getting really real, and fast. What started out just two days ago as nothing more than sex was quickly becoming not only an obsession, but a tangled matter of the heart.

I adored her kids. I knew I was falling in love with Gabrielle, and I’d never been more at peace or felt healthier than since arriving on the island.

I had an appointment with my doctor back in Portland in a few weeks to see where I was with my rehab, and whether I could return to the game or not. A part of me was itching to get back on the ice, while another part of me—a fairly big part of me—kept asking, why?

I was at a crossroads, but the weird thing about this intersection was that no matter which direction I looked, the person sitting beside me in the passenger seat was Gabrielle.

What did that mean?

And did she feel the same?