Puck Me, I’m Yours (Hawthorne University Hockey #1)

22. Delaney

22

Delaney

I blink awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight draped across my body. But, reality slowly makes its way back in. Breck. My heart swells as I breathe in his familiar scent of lemon and cedarwood.

God, I missed this. Missed him. A week felt like an eternity.

I turn my head slightly, drinking in the sight of him. His hair is mussed from sleep, stubble darkening his jaw. My fingers itch to trace the lines of his face, to reacquaint myself with every plane and angle.

Instead, I press a soft kiss to his chin. His skin is warm beneath my lips. I trail kisses along his jawline, savoring the rasp of stubble. Breck hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest where it's pressed against mine. His eyelids flutter, then slowly open. Those warm brown eyes, still hazy with sleep, meet mine.

My breath catches. God, he's beautiful.

"Morning, gorgeous," he mumbles, voice deliciously rough.

I want to bottle this moment and keep it forever. "Hi," I whisper back, suddenly shy.

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. "Missed you," he murmurs into my hair.

I burrow deeper into his embrace, relishing his solid warmth. "Missed you too. More than I thought possible."

The admission slips out before I can stop it. I tense, waiting for the familiar panic to set in. But it doesn't come. Instead, I feel... safe. Cherished. Like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

It's terrifying. And exhilarating.

Breck's thumb traces gentle circles on my hip. "How was Poland?"

I groan, burying my face in his chest. "Cold. Lonely. The competition went well, but..." I trail off, not sure how to put my jumbled emotions into words.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "But?"

I take a deep breath, inhaling his comforting scent. "But I kept wishing you were there," I admit softly.

His breath hitches. I peek up to see a brilliant smile spreading across his face. "Yeah?"

I nod, heat rising to my cheeks. "Yeah. Turns out I kind of like having you around, Monroe."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "High praise from the princess herself."

I swat his arm playfully. "Jerk."

"Your jerk," he counters, capturing my lips in a tender kiss.

I melt into him, savoring the gentle press of his lips against mine. When we part, I'm breathless and a little dazed.

"Welcome home, Del," Breck murmurs, rubbing our noses together.

I press my forehead to his, letting my fingers tangle in his hair. After the Eastern Sectionals, I’d barely had time to breathe before flying halfway across the world. It’s been a week since I’ve seen him—seven long, sleepless nights of wishing for this.

We'd gotten in late and by the time I got to my door I was ready to just collapse. Breck was waiting for me. No sex, no expectations, just Breck wanting to hold me. Like that was all he needed. Like I was all he needed.

“Home,” I whisper, tasting the word on my tongue. It’s unfamiliar, but with him, it feels right.

The warmth in Breck's eyes makes my heart flutter. I could get lost in those deep brown pools forever. But reality crashes back as I remember what day it is.

He’s supposed to leave today—for Thanksgiving break. My chest tightens at the thought. Coach gave the team Tuesday and Wednesday off to visit their families, since they have a home game Friday. It makes sense. It’s fair. But the idea of him leaving, even for just two days, feels unbearable.

I just got him back.

My thoughts must be written all over my face, because Breck reaches up to rub the pad of his thumb over the furrow in my brow, smoothing it out.

“Come home with me,” he says, his voice soft but sure.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I just got you back, baby,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my forehead. “I don’t want to go another two days without you. Come home with me. Meet my family. Spend Thanksgiving with me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with promise. My heart pounds. Spend Thanksgiving with him? Meet his family?

I stutter, trying to form a coherent response. “Breck, I—”

“Please,” he says, cutting me off gently. His eyes search mine, earnest and full of something that feels a lot like hope. “Come home with me.”

I search his warm brown eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and affection. The way he looks at me, like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever had, unravels me. My throat tightens. My heart lurches. And before I can overthink it, the word slips out.

“Okay.”

The smile that spreads across his face is devastatingly beautiful. He pulls me tighter against him, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Two hours later, we're on the road. My hastily packed bag is in the backseat, and Breck hums along to the radio, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other on my thigh. I fidget with the hem of my sweater, my nerves growing sharper with each mile marker we pass.

“You okay over there?” Breck’s voice cuts through my thoughts, calm and steady as he glances at me before turning his attention back to the road.

I force a smile that feels flimsy even to me. "Yeah, just... thinking."

He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze. "Thinking about what?"

For a moment, I consider deflecting. I hesitate, biting my lip. There's no sense in lying. "I’m nervous," I admit. "I don’t really know how to act around family. My relationship with mine is... complicated. And I spent so much time training that I never really learned how to do the whole 'normal family' thing."

Breck doesn’t laugh or brush it off. His thumb traces soothing circles against my leg, the repetitive motion grounding me. "Hey," he says softly. "There’s no pressure. My family’s pretty laid back. Just be yourself."

I snort, a self-deprecating laugh slipping out. "Oh, sure. Myself. The neurotic figure skater with trust issues? That’ll go over great."

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifts my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles. “I happen to like that neurotic figure skater. In fact, I’m crazy about her.”

Before I can respond, he cranks up the radio, belting out the lyrics to a pop song with unabashed enthusiasm. His voice is terrible—flat and off-key—but it makes me laugh despite myself. The tension in my shoulders begins to melt away as I watch him, illuminated by the late morning sunlight, so at ease and completely unapologetic. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

But the moment we pull into the driveway of a cozy two-story house, my nerves return in full force. The front door flies open before Breck even cuts the engine.

“Breck! You’re here!” A petite woman with Breck’s warm brown eyes rushes toward him, enveloping him in a tight hug. She turns to me next, her face lighting up with a welcoming smile. “And you must be Delaney! We’ve heard so much about you.”

I return her smile, hoping it doesn’t look as shaky as it feels. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Monroe.”

“Oh, please, call me Lisa,” she says, pulling me into a hug that smells of cinnamon and vanilla, her apron dusted with flour. I stiffen for a moment before relaxing into her motherly embrace.

Before I can find my footing, we're swept inside. The house is warm and alive, filled with the sounds of laughter, clattering dishes, and the occasional bark of a dog in the backyard. Breck stays close, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as he guides me through the introductions.

“Del, this is my dad, Tom, my grandma, Nora, and my sisters, Becca and Emma,” he says, pointing out each member of the lively Monroe clan.

I offer smiles and greetings, trying to keep names and faces straight. The kitchen is a delightful chaos of flour-dusted counters, half-assembled pies, and bowls of brightly colored fillings.

"Breck, honey," Lisa says, wiping her hands on an apron. "We’re running out of space here. Can you head over to the bakery and finish up there?"

Breck nods easily, then turns to me with a grin that’s pure mischief. "Want to see where the magic happens?"

I nod, eager for an excuse to step away from the bustle. As we head upstairs to drop off our bags, doubt creeps back in. What if I ruin this? What if I’m too awkward or say the wrong thing?

Breck must sense my unease because he pulls me close, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. "You’re doing great," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. "They already love you."

I shake my head, skeptical. "How can you be so sure?"

His smirk is full of confidence. "Because I do."

My breath catches at the weight of his words, but before I can respond, he’s leading me back downstairs and out the door. We walk hand in hand through the crisp autumn air to a quaint storefront a few blocks away.

The scent of butter, sugar, and warm spices greets us as we step inside, the shop bustling with activity. A cheerful chorus of greetings erupts as Breck walks in, his easy charisma drawing people to him like a magnet.

“Everyone, this is Delaney,” he announces, his voice full of pride as he squeezes my hand.

This place, with its cozy chaos and friendly faces, feels like an extension of him—warm, inviting, and brimming with life.

"You okay?" Breck asks, leaning in close.

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... taking it all in."

He squeezes my hand, his eyes softening. "Come on."

We head through a swinging door into the kitchen, which is even busier than the front. He leads me through the organized chaos of the bakery, pointing out little details as we weave through the bustling space. Breck’s hand never leaves mine as he guides me to a small prep table tucked in a quiet corner of the bakery. Unlike the rest of the space, which is a flurry of motion, this spot feels cozy, intimate, and perfectly ours.

"Is this where the magic happens?" I ask, gesturing to the tidy station.

Breck nods, his grin boyish and excited. "Our own little baking nook. Mom always saves it for me when I’m home."

“So, what are we making?” I ask, eyeing the ingredients.

“Apple pie, pecan pie, and my famous lemon meringue cookies,” he says with a grin. “Secret family recipe. Think you’re up for it?”

I scoff, my competitive streak kicking in. “Please. I’ve mastered triple axels. How hard can pie be?”

Breck laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Alright, hotshot. Let’s see what you’ve got. First up—crust.”

Reaching for two aprons hanging nearby, he ties one around his waist before turning to me with a teasing glint in his eye.

"Your turn, Del." He holds the second apron up.

I lean forward, letting him slip it over my head. His fingers brush against my neck as he secures the ties at my back, sending a shiver down my spine. His hands linger for a moment, and when I glance up, his eyes are locked on mine.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice low and full of promise.

I swallow hard, nodding. "Let’s do this."

Breck flashes me a grin, then turns to the table, rolling up his sleeves. The kitchen bustles around us, leaving us to our own devices back here. As we mix ingredients, our hands brush occasionally, sending tingles of awareness up my arms.

Breck's easy banter and infectious laughter fill the space, making the task at hand feel more like a joyous dance than work. When he’s finally happy with our creation, he hands me a rolling pin and a ball of dough, his touch lingering on mine for a fraction longer than necessary.

He moves behind me, his chest pressing against my back as he reaches for the rolling pin. "First, we need to roll out the dough," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

I try to focus on his instructions, but it's becoming increasingly difficult with his body so close to mine. His hips align with my backside as he demonstrates the proper technique, and I can feel the heat radiating between us.

"Like this?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy as I attempt to mimic his movements.

"Almost," he says, his lips brushing against my neck. "Here, let me show you."

His hands cover mine on the rolling pin, guiding my movements. Each press of his lips against my skin sends sparks through my body, and I can feel myself getting more worked up with each passing second.

"Breck," I whisper, my head tilting to give him better access to my neck. "We're supposed to be baking."

He hums against my skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight to my core. "Multitasking," he murmurs.

I can feel him growing hard behind me, and the realization makes my breath catch. Part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and turn around in his arms, consequences be damned. But another part—the part that's spent years cultivating ironclad discipline—knows we can't, not here.

"We should probably focus on the pie," I manage to say, even as my body screams in protest.

Breck chuckles, pressing one last kiss to my neck before stepping back slightly. "You're right. Can't disappoint Grandma with a subpar crust."

I turn to face him, noting the flush on his cheeks and the darkened look in his eyes. "Later," I promise, surprising myself with my boldness.

His grin is positively wicked.

We roll through the rest of our work, as quickly as possible. Breck is a seasoned pro and watching him at work does nothing to help soothe the fire he started. My panties are ruined and I can’t blame it on the heat of the ovens because the rest of me is bone dry.

The oven door closes with a bang, startling me out of my pie-induced reverie. He sets a little digital timer and shoves it in his pocket. Before I can even react, Breck's hand is on mine, yanking me away from the counter.

"Breck, what—" I start, but he's already dragging me towards a door I hadn't noticed before.

"Trust me," he says, his voice low and gravelly in a way that makes my insides melt.

We stumble into what looks like a cramped office. The second the door clicks shut behind us, Breck spins me around, his eyes wild with desire.

"Legs spread, hands on the desk," he commands, and I feel a thrill rush through me at his authoritative tone.

I comply without hesitation, my heart racing as I hear him move behind me. His hands find my hips, and he presses himself against me, the hard length of him leaving no doubt about his intentions.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his fingers digging into my ass. "You drive me crazy."

I want to respond, to tell him how much I want him too, but all coherent thought flies out the window as he starts to peel down my leggings and panties.

Is this really happening? In his family's bakery? The responsible part of my brain tries to protest, but it's quickly silenced as Breck drops to his knees behind me.

"Breck," I gasp, my fingers curling against the desk as I feel his hot breath against my most sensitive area. "We can't—oh!"

His tongue finds my center, and suddenly, I couldn't care less about where we are or who might hear us. All that matters is Breck, and the incredible things he's doing with his mouth.

"Fuck, Delaney," he growls against me, his fingers teasing my entrance as his tongue swirls around me. "You taste so good, I could do this all day."

I can't help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes me as waves of pleasure crash over me. My legs tremble, threatening to give out as I climax embarrassingly quickly.

"Fuck," Breck groans, rising to his feet. I hear the rustle of clothing, then a frustrated curse. "I don't have a condom."

My brain is hazy with desire, but one thought crystallizes. "Don't care. Clean. Protected. Fuck me."

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice strained with need.

I turn my head, meeting his lust-darkened eyes. "Please, Breck. I need you."

He hesitates for only a second before lining himself up. As he slowly pushes in, the feeling of him with nothing between us is indescribable. We moan and gasp in unison. Every movement, every sensation is pure ecstasy.

"Del," he breathes, his chest pressed against my back. "You're perfect. You feel so damn good."

His words send a thrill through me. I've never felt so wanted, so cherished.

Breck starts to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first. But soon, the careful control gives way to raw passion. He cages me against the desk, his powerful body surrounding me as he picks up the pace.

"Oh god," I whimper, overwhelmed by the sensations.

His fingers find my most sensitive spot, rubbing in tight circles. "That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go for me."

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the loud moans threatening to escape. We're still in the bakery, after all. But as Breck's movements become more urgent, I find it harder and harder to stay quiet.

"Come for me, Del," Breck growls, his lips grazing my ear. "Cream my cock. Milk me dry, baby."

His words send a shockwave through me, igniting every nerve ending. Just when I think I can't take any more, he brings his hand down, smacking my clit with just the right amount of pressure.

The world explodes into a kaleidoscope of sensation. My body convulses, waves of pleasure so intense I can barely breathe. I'm vaguely aware of Breck's groan as he follows me over the edge, but everything's hazy, dreamlike.

For a moment, I think I might actually pass out.

As I come back to myself, I feel Breck pull away. He squats behind me, his warm hands on my ass. I should feel exposed, but with him, I only feel cherished.

"Fuck, Del," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. "Look at you, dripping with my cum."

I feel his fingers, gentle now, scooping his release and pressing it back inside my dripping pussy. It's oddly intimate, and I find myself melting into his touch.

He presses a soft kiss to my overheated skin, and I sigh contentedly. "You okay?" he asks, a hint of worry in his tone.

"Never better," I assure him, my voice a bit shaky.

Just then, a shrill beeping cuts through our bubble. The timer. Reality comes crashing back.

"Shit," Breck laughs, helping me stand. "Talk about perfect timing."

As we hurriedly clean up, I can't help but giggle. "Your family's going to wonder what took us so long with those pies."

"Worth it," he grins, stealing another quick kiss before we head back out to face the bustling bakery floor.