Page 42 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

Fallon

M aggie and the rest of the girls invited me over to watch a livestream of the guys’ game at Coleridge, and though I love hanging out with them, I decided to stay in and watch from the comfort of my own couch.

Since Liza travels with the team and the guys are all obviously at the game, I’m home alone.

Blessedly alone. Don’t misunderstand me—living here has actually turned out better than I ever expected, and not just because there’s a ring on my finger and a man in my bed.

Living with half a hockey team is highly entertaining, as is watching Liza keep them all in line.

She’s got her hands full with this crew.

The freshmen are as in awe of her as they are terrified of her, Mickey and Dean worship the ground she walks on because she remembers everything they forget, and Wagner respects the hell out of her because she’s damn good at her job. Blue is the bane of her existence.

But since I’m on my own until everyone gets back tomorrow, I don’t have to deal with their bickering .

It’s nice having the place all to myself, but I have to admit, I miss Ollie.

As if he can read my thoughts, my phone flashes with an incoming text.

Ollie: So…

Ollie: Did you catch the game?

Fallon: Sorry. I didn’t watch the hockey game. I watched a horror show. The stuff of literal nightmares. Truly frightening.

Ollie: Oh, yeah? Tell me more.

Fallon: It was an absolute bloodbath disguised as a college hockey game. BU shut out Coleridge five to nothing.

Ollie: Ouch. Bet the Coleridge boys are crying now.

Fallon: And questioning all their life choices.

Ollie: What about you? Questioning any life choices?

Fallon: I mean…there was this really hot guy on the Bainbridge team. Number sixty-nine.

Ollie: Sounds like a good time. (And I mean that literally.)

Fallon: Oh, he’s guaranteed a good time. Do you think he’d mind the fact that there’s a ring on my left hand?

Ollie: I think he’d fucking love it.

The phone rings in my hand and I accept the video call. Ollie’s face comes into view and I watch as he quickly checks to see if my hearing aids are in. They are. I prefer signing when it’s just the two of us, but if all goes according to plan, I need my hands free for this call.

His hair is still damp from his post-game shower, but he’s back in his hotel room, shirtless, of course, and lying on the bed.

“I miss you,” he says, and I feel the weight of his words.

We haven’t made any declarations of love yet, which might seem strange, considering the fact that we’re married, but I get the impression that Ollie’s feelings run as deep as mine do.

I see it in all the ways he cares for me.

He pays attention to things that no one else notices.

Ollie is the kind of man who expresses his affection in a million little ways.

I walk into the bedroom, hop onto the bed, and prop my phone on a throw pillow, putting myself on full display for the camera. “I miss you, too, but you’ll be home tomorrow night, after you finish crushing the dreams of the Coleridge hockey team.”

“What are you wearing?” His voice is low and gravelly, and I feel like the conversation has taken a turn.

“I was cheering on the Wolves. I had to show my Bainbridge pride,” I say, gesturing to the soft, worn cotton tee I’ve got on.

Ollie’s eyes are so blue they’re almost navy.

He’s lying on a hotel bed, with his phone propped on a pillow, the same as I am.

But his posture is not relaxed. I can see the tension in his muscles, feel the heat rolling off him.

“You have no Bainbridge merch of your own? I mean, your brother played here for four years and your great-great-great-grandaddy founded the place, but you don’t have a stitch of Bainbridge gear, so you had to borrow mine? ”

“Oh, I’m not borrowing it,” I clarify. “This t-shirt is mine now. Besides, you probably don’t want it back anyway,” I tell him, gesturing to the front of the shirt that barely contains my boobs. “I’m pretty sure I’ve stretched it out.”

My husband growls. That’s the only word I can use to describe the sound emanating from his throat. “Lift up your shirt, Fallon,” he commands. “Show me what you’ve got on underneath.”

I shift until most of my body is visible in the frame and then I tug up the bottom left corner of the shirt an inch at a time. I don’t speak, because words aren’t always necessary. I pull the edge of the shirt up over my bare hip and then glance at my phone to see Ollie’s reaction.

It doesn’t disappoint. His full lips are parted, his eyes are trained on my body, and his reaction is exactly what I need to keep going.

My fingers move toward the center edge of the shirt, the part that drapes across the juncture of my thighs. I lift it in a motion so painfully slow that even I’m wishing I’d hurry the hell up. But watching Ollie watch me is just too good. I can’t help but draw out every moment.

His camera moves and now it’s my turn to watch him grip the edge of his t-shirt.

He’s not patient enough for a playful striptease, though.

He whips it over his head in one swift motion and leaves it to fall on the bed next to him.

He’s still wearing a pair of basketball shorts, but the material is thin and there’s no hiding the outline of his thick cock beneath the thin, silky fabric.

His strokes himself once, twice. Then his hand stills and his eyes find mine.

He doesn’t have to say the words. I know what he wants because it’s what I want, too.

My fingers lift the edge of my edge of my t-shirt the last remaining inch to reveal myself to him.

I’m wearing nothing but his shirt, nothing but the arousal that has pooled between my legs, nothing but the desire to watch his face on the screen as I touch myself.

Folding my legs so that my knees are in the air, I part my thighs and adjust my phone so that Ollie can see exactly what I do to myself when I think about him, and so that I can watch him, too.

I’m not hesitant or tentative. I’m not going to pretend I’ve never done this before.

Ollie owns his sexuality and so do I. It feels good to put my fingers between my legs, to rub my clit, to tease myself.

It makes me think of the way Ollie commands my body, the way he draws each orgasm out of me.

The way he knows what I need before my brain can even conjure the words.

I look for his reaction as I slide a finger inside myself, pump it a few times, and add another. His face is heated, his breathing a little labored. “Take good care of that pussy, Fallon,” he tells me. “Because I can’t wait to fuck it.”

A moan escapes my lips and instinct takes over. I’m not forming words, I’m just crying out as I tease myself and inch closer to release with every touch.

Ollie releases his cock from his shorts and takes himself in hand. The image is so erotic, so primal. Ollie and I are urging each other on, fueling our fantasies, and meeting our most basic needs together.

And it’s so damn hot.

My orgasm crashes over me and I cry out a few seconds before Ollie goes over.

As incredible as sex with Ollie is, I also love the quiet moments after we’ve found release, when we’re wrapped up in each other and coming back down to earth together.

Ollie is the first to break the silence. “Watching you touch yourself while wearing my shirt might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bainbridge’s second game against Coleridge went about the same as the first. It was a massacre that ended with a score of five- zero. Only this time, Bainbridge was on the losing end.

Ollie was also on the losing end because Coleridge came back with a vengeance and aimed a lot of their aggression at him.

Fighting is banned in college hockey, but that doesn’t mean it never happens, and it doesn’t mean there aren’t dirty hits.

When he arrived home an hour ago, I couldn’t hide my shock at the bruise already forming around his left eye and the nasty cut close to his temple.

Most of the guys are in bad moods, and that’s no surprise. They didn’t just lose, they were owned. It’s not a feeling they’re used to, so if they all need a night to be out of sorts or up in their feelings, I’m certainly not going to judge.

Besides, my only priority is helping Ollie feel better.

Although, since we skipped the dating portion and went straight to the altar, I’m not so sure what he needs right now.

Does he like to be left alone? Does he want to talk about the game and give me a play-by-play?

Would he rather I distract him with sex?

Or maybe he just wants to cuddle and watch a movie.

I really have no clue what to do, but when I see him sprawled out on our bed, I flop down next to him. He stops scrolling through his phone to turn his face toward me. “I'm not pretty anymore, Fallon,” he whines.

I can’t help but laugh. He’s still gorgeous, of course, and he knows it.

But I can’t resist playing along. “Your face is a mess, but the rest of you makes up for it,” I say, lazily trailing my fingers over his shirtless torso.

I think I’ve finally figured out why he’s always bare-chested.

The man is allergic to the chore of doing laundry.

It’s a problem we need to address, but it can wait.

“I mean, I’m not even paying attention to your face right now. Not when there’s so much else to look at.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what? Tell me where your attention is, wife.”

Wife. As a woman who vowed she’d never fall into the cage that is marriage, I should not like that word as much as I do. But when it falls from Ollie’s lips or his fingers, I find myself clenching my thighs. “Well,” I say, drawing out the word, “your muscles are pretty impressive.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks, his grin lascivious as his dick twitches underneath the soft, worn fabric of his gray sweatpants.

“Hmmm…that’s tough.” My eyes and hands roam over his body.

“I like these,” I say, letting my fingers drift lightly over his six-pack of abs.

But I don’t stop there. My pointer finger outlines the puckered fabric of his waistband.

His cock is practically begging for my attention, and it wouldn’t take much for my hand to reach down and stroke his hard, thick length.

“Fallon,” he breathes, his patience waning.

“You know what I think I like the best?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds half as sultry as I intend it to.

“What’s that?” he asks. His phone buzzes in his hand, but we both ignore it.

“Your calves,” I tell him.

“My what?”

“Your calves. Seriously. So toned, so sexy.”

Ollie laughs. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“I know you’ve had a crappy day, but I don’t know how to make it better. Maybe I could spend the next hour showing you how much I like your calves. And, you know, the rest of you. ”

Ollie’s phone buzzes and this time, he palms it and reads whatever is on the screen.

“I would love that,” he says, pulling me close so that we’re face-to-face again. “But we might have something else to do first.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Could you go for a cup of coffee?”

Half an hour later, we’re sitting at a diner in Murraystown. It’s much less crowded than Drip, but there’s a steady stream of customers seated in booths enjoying stacks of pancakes, platters of roasted chicken, and piping hot coffee..

This place is cute and charming, but it’s not where I thought I’d be tonight. But when the bell above the door jingles, and a tall man with wavy dark hair strides over to our booth, I realize that Ollie had the right idea.

I’ve known Aven Wallace for nearly two years, and the smile he gives me as he sits across from us is warm. He’s beautiful, there’s no question about that, but I prefer Ollie’s golden good looks to Aven’s fair skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. Still, there’s no denying he’s handsome.

There’s no doubt this isn’t just a casual conversation or a chance meeting, but I still look to Ollie for confirmation. “You set this up for me?” I ask.

He nods. “It’s on your list of fantasies,” he says. “So, I want to make it happen. But it’s not a foregone conclusion. You can say no at any time.”

“For any reason,” Aven adds.

“Make no mistake, Fallon,” Ollie says, “Aven will call the shots, and I’ll be guiding you, but you’re the one in charge. Always. ”

“I understand,” I tell them. “And I’m excited. So how does this all work?”

“You want me to watch, right?” Aven asks, and I nod.

“I want that, too,” he admits. “But first, we set some ground rules. We talk about anything we really want to do, and also any lines we’re not going to cross.

“For starters,” Ollie says, “I love the idea of Aven in our room, and he can look all he wants, but I’m the only one who gets to touch you.”

Aven offers a knowing smile. “Noted.”

We talk for a while longer, and I’m impressed by how thorough they are. That should probably serve as a reminder of how experienced Ollie is, but I don’t let it bother me. He shows me in a million ways—including the conversation we’re having right now—that he’s committed to me and to what I want.

I never would have thought that I’d be married at twenty-one. I never even thought I’d be married at all. And I definitely never could have imagined I’d be married to Ollie Jablonski. But the more time we spend together, I find it hard to picture any other future.