Page 12 of Puck Me With Your Best Shot (Playing the Puck #13)
Five Years Later
“ W hich one of you has been a bad patient?” Kameron is wearing a short white doctor’s lab coat with nothing on underneath.
I know this because playing doctor with Kameron is our favorite role play. She reenacts the first day we met her when she gave us hernia checks. Only this time, she uses her mouth on us instead of her hands.
“Me!” The three of us raise our hands at the same time, causing her to giggle.
“Okay, gentleman, strip down and get ready for a thorough examination." She unbuttons her short, white coat and slips it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor as she kneels on it for a cushion.
The three of us are out of our clothes in record time, forming a circle around her for her inspection. “Very nice.” She takes her time stroking each one of us from root to tip, smearing our precum down our lengths, her mouth hovering over my cock.
We’ve been together for five years and have three children, and we still desire Kameron just as much today as we did five years ago. I’m glad the kids are staying with Aunt Kendall and her husbands for the weekend, because we have a marathon of love-making planned for our sweet doctor.
I place a hand on her cheek before she begins, “I love you, Kameron.”
“We love you, too.” Bryer and Colsen each gently caress her cheek, causing her eyes to fill with tears.
“And I love all of you.” She says, shifting her gaze between the three of us. “Now let me show you how much.”
She lowers her head and takes me deep into her mouth as I respond, “Puck me with your best shot, doc.”
-The End-
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Puck I Did It Again
Wynn
You’ve got this. You are a strong, independent woman who is more than capable of coaching a men's pro hockey team. You've coached in the minor leagues; this is no different.
I repeat the affirmations a few more times before allowing the acting head coach to lead me through the locker room to meet my new team, the Iowa Poseidon.
It's true I've coached in the minor leagues.
Four years ago, at twenty-five, I was the first woman to coach in the men's minor league.
Now, I'll be the second woman to coach in the men's major league.
It's an exciting time for women in pro sports, with Teagan Hayes playing for the formerly all-male pro hockey team, the Minnesota Norse. Opening the door for more women to compete at the highest skill level and, of course, for women to coach men's teams.
The locker room is filled with half-naked men eyeing me suspiciously.
Being introduced to my new team right after practice wasn't my idea, but Don, the acting coach, believed that the element of surprise would work best for the team since the shock of having a female coach might cause them to retreat to the locker room unless I made it clear that the locker room isn't off-limits to me because I am a woman.
Gentlemen, I want to introduce you to your new head coach, Wynn Flannery.
"Hello, everyone," I say in my most authoritative voice, the one that has been known to stop grown men cold in their tracks. It's not that I want them to fear me, but I can't have them trying to walk all over me, either. I'm their head coach—they need to respect the position, if not the person.
A smattering of "hi" and "hello" fills the air as each player eyes me with either a look of disdain at being female or curiosity for the same reason. I need to get a handle on this before it gets out of control.
"I look forward to meeting with each of you individually to assess your skills and commitment to the team.
I also have an open-door policy, meaning I'm available to talk in person or on the phone.
But I am not your babysitter. You should all have agents or managers that take care of that part of your professional and personal life.
I'm very active in all areas of coaching.
Like your last coaches, I will be in the locker room.
"The grumbling begins, so I say the first thing I can think of to squash the brewing storm, "So, gentlemen, I suggest you cover up what you don't want seen, and I'll see everyone bright and early tomorrow morning. "
A few of the players laugh. A few grumble louder before going back to their after-practice routines.
But one does the unexpected and drops his towel from his waist, leaving him completely and utterly naked—his skin still glistening from the shower.
A drop of water falls from his hair, making a trail down his chest and across his abs before falling onto a long, thick cock.
What I wouldn't give to lick that drop away.
"Eyes up here, Princess."
I snap my gaze from his now hardening length and stare into the deepest brown eyes I've ever seen—so rich and dark I could get lost in them for days.
That's when I realized I was standing before Maximus Martin, the three-time NHL Player of the Year. He's a hockey legend. Instead of fangirling, I school my features and run through his stats in my head.
He's had a rough year, but I think I can get him and this team back on track with the right offense.
The team was doing great until two months ago when the former head coach and his two assistant coaches, all brothers, switched teams to coach for the Minnesota Norse to be closer to their aging parents.
Don, the acting head coach, doesn't know what he's doing, but I'm here to change that. First, I need to show them who's in charge.
"Impressive," I say, slowly lowering my gaze down his body, watching as his cock twitches to life before meeting his eyes. "Now, if only your stats were as impressive."
The smirk falls from his face, replaced by a look of disbelief.
If he thinks I'm going to roll over and let him or his teammates walk all over me, he's sadly mistaken. His entire attitude is rubbing me wrong.
Hmm, but I bet he could rub me right. How long has it been since I've had anyone rub me? A year? Two?
A memory of a night on the beach, then later in my hotel room in Barbados from two years ago, pops into my head, reminding me it's been two years since I felt a lover's touch on my body instead of my own.
Maximus certainly looks like he could do some damage with that monster between his legs. Unconsciously, I lick my lips, imagining the feeling of that heft in my mouth.
Would he press my head tight against his balls, cutting off my oxygen until I gave in and tapped on his thigh? Or would he take his time entering deeply down my throat, then retreating, teasing me with his length?
A deep chuckle pulls me out of my lustful thoughts as I realize my eyes have dropped back down his body to his cock again.
Luckily, I'm saved from any further embarrassment as he reaches down, picks up his misplaced towel, straightens up, and places the corner of the towel to my lips.
"You have a little bit of drool right there.
" He swipes the towel across my lips before leaving me to stare after him in the middle of the locker room, his muscular ass tempting me with every step he takes away from me.
I shift my gaze away from his retreating, naked, and extremely sexy backside, suddenly noticing the color of the lockers and the locker room walls. "Pink?"
Why would anyone paint everything in a men's locker room pink?
"That was Coach Hayden Ford's idea back in the day." I blink at the handsome, smiling face that popped up in front of me, taking me off guard. "He took some psychology class in college that said pink is a relaxing color—very calm and soothing."
"If it's so relaxing, why would he paint his team's locker room a color that could sabotage their mood, ultimately causing them to lose?
" I've heard rumors about Coach Ford—he was a cutthroat coach who didn't believe in taking it easy on his opponent.
When he had them by the balls, he never let up.
"I'm Kingston Cane, by the way." He holds out this hand.
"But my friends call me King." I clap his hand with a firm shake, only to feel an odd sense of nervous energy at his touch.
The pink room is obviously not working on me.
Needing to regain my coach-player dynamic, I reply, "Nice to meet you, Kingston."
At his smirk, I wonder if I've done the opposite as his eyes twinkle in mischief.
"Maybe after you get to know me better, you'll scream King instead of Kingston.
" I jerk my hand out of his, opening my mouth to give him a piece of my mind about respecting his coach, but he adds, "On the ice—when you need to get my attention on the ice—King will be easier to say than Kingston. "
"Is everything a joke to this team?" I huff, pushing my way past another asshole on the team.
"Sorry, Coach." He places his hand on my shoulder before I get too far away. "I couldn't help myself." He turns me to look at him. "I'm known as the jokester of the team. If I didn't tease you, the rest of the players would make it hard on you." His eyes gleam with interest.
My traitorous eyes fall from his face to his bare chest, finally landing on the gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and the impressive bulge outline behind the fabric.
What has gotten into me? First, I'm lusting after Maximus, now King. I wonder who will be next.
I snap my gaze back to his face, but instead of the smirk Maximus had when he caught me staring at his junk, King has a look of longing, which he immediately hides with a shake of his head, replacing it with a friendly smile.
That's it. I need to get laid, and not by any of the team's players. The last thing I need is to lose my credibility by becoming the team puck bunny.
"It's okay. I appreciate the gesture. As the newbie to the team, I'm going to need all the support I can get."