Pucking Dirty (Pucked Up Love #1)

Chapter Four

Nash

E milia is not a graceful woman in the mornings.

She isn't a quiet one, either.

I wake up far too early to the sound of her stumbling around, muttering under her breath. She knocks into walls, cracks her shin on the edge of the bed, and then nearly falls on her ass trying to pick her clothes up from the floor.

I watch her through slit lids, my lips twitching with amusement, as she huffs, throwing her hair up in a messy bun. Her full breasts lift and jiggle with every move she makes. The thickness of her waist and the roundness of her ass are captivating. Within seconds, my dick is standing at attention, begging for another round.

The little minx woke me up once with it down her throat. I woke her up three hours later with my tongue between her legs. Neither of us slept much. I'm certainly not complaining. Being inside her is, hands down, better than any championship.

"Did he have to throw my bra all the way to China?" she mumbles, searching around for it.

"It's not in China. It's hanging off the side of your desk chair."

She spins that way, a triumphant cry escaping her lips as she spots it. She darts that way to grab it before turning to look at me. "You're awake."

"Mmhmm. Come back to bed." I lick my lips, my hand wrapped around my shaft as my gaze rakes down her body. "I'm starving."

She ignores me, scooping my clothes up from the floor and tossing them on top of me. I glance at them and then at her, grinning. "Are you kicking me out, baby girl?"

"Yes." She meets my gaze, seeming frazzled. "My dad just texted. He's on his way over here."

"Fuck." I sit up, abandoning my plan to eat her for breakfast. If we're going to do this, we need to do it right. And Coach walking in on us with my tongue buried in his delicious daughter is not the right way to ease him into our relationship.

"I don't want him to know about us," Emilia blurts, pulling me up short.

I stare at her for a long moment, something grinding in my chest. I don't know what the fuck it is…but I know I don't like it. I don't like the thought of hiding her, either.

Frankly, it feels dirty, like we're doing something wrong. I'm not entirely sure what this is yet, but it damn sure isn't dirty. And it damn sure isn't wrong. She's got me all fucked up in the head over her, feeling shit I've never felt.

Is she still worried people will think she's sleeping her way to the top? Fuck, maybe. But anyone ignorant enough to say some dumb shit like that about her clearly hasn't spent five minutes with her. She may be playful and say a lot of wild shit, but there's no mistaking her intelligence or her authenticity. There isn't a manipulative bone in her body. She's all heart and fierce dedication.

People like her don't sleep their way to the top. They don't need to do it. They get there through their own merit…and they do it without stepping on people along the way. Anyone who says otherwise is a jealous fucking idiot who couldn't hack it.

"You nervous people are going to judge you, Emilia?" I ask, trying to get to the root of the problem so I can solve it.

"Yes. No." She huffs a breath, carefully avoiding my gaze. "I just think it's better that he doesn't know. That's all."

Yeah, that's bullshit. There's something she isn't telling me, some reason she wants to hide this that has nothing to do with her anxiety about being judged. This is something else, I'd stake my life on it.

I set my clothes aside and climb from the bed.

"What are you doing?" There's no mistaking the nervousness in her voice.

I don't answer as I stalk toward her.

She carefully backs away, eyeing me warily.

"Cute," I grunt.

"What?"

"You thinking you can get away from me. I move a helluva lot faster than you do, princess."

Her gaze flickers toward the bedroom door.

"Try to run if you're feeling brave," I say casually. "See how far you get before I have you over my knee, turning that perfect ass red."

Her gaze flies back to mine. "You wouldn't."

I smile, still stalking toward her as challenge wars with more immediate needs in her eyes. She's a hell of a drug. Even now, she's desperate to defy me, to rile me up just because she knows she can. Just because she can't fucking resist. Emilia Lariat wasn't born to behave. She wasn't created to meekly fall in line. This gorgeous little princess was made to defy kingdoms and bring me to my fucking knees.

I'm two steps from her when she darts toward the bedroom door.

I let her get within inches of it before hooking an arm around her waist. She moans as I gently shove her up against the wall beside it, crushing her tits to the cool plaster. My hand slides down the crevice of her ass.

"Nash," she moans.

I slap her right cheek. Hard.

Her head flies back, landing against my shoulder.

"Told you what would happen, princess," I rasp, raking my teeth down the tendon in her neck as I swat her other cheek. "You run; I chase. And you pay when I catch you."

"We d-don't have time!"

"Then I suggest you tell me the truth." I nip her ear, grinding my cock against her round ass. Christ, I want to haul her up to her toes, spread her legs apart and fuck her from behind just like this. "Why don't you want your father to know about us?"

"For reasons."

"Better share those reasons if you don't want him to catch me fucking you dirty against the wall, Emilia."

She sobs my name, pushing back against me in blatant invitation.

I slip my hand between her body and the wall, growling at how wet she is. She fucking loves this, as much as she wants to pretend otherwise. This right here is exactly where she wanted to end up. And I'm too goddamn hooked on her not to give her exactly what she wants.

What is she doing to me?

Ruining me. She's ruining me is what she's doing.

And not a single part of me cares one goddamn bit. Let her do it. She can have whatever pieces of the wreckage that she leaves behind. I'm pretty fucking certain they'll all belong to her anyway. Hell, I'm not entirely sure they don't already belong to her.

"Nash, please," she pleads. "Please."

"What do you want, Emilia? Tell me."

"Fuck me!" she cries.

And that right there? That tells me she's ruined too. She may not want her father to know about us, but she's too damn helpless to the storm raging between us to push me away. She wants me, just as badly as I want her. Enough to risk getting caught. Perhaps, enough to risk everything.

"Tell me what you're hiding," I growl against her ear as I press two fingers inside of her. The wet squelch of her cunt is sweeter than any music. So are her cries of ecstasy.

She writhes against me, babbling incoherently as I keep her pinned to the wall, fucking her with my fingers. My lips run down her neck, my dick against her ass.

"Tell me, Emilia. What are you so afraid of?"

"Losing this!" she cries, surrendering to me.

I press my lips to her throat, breathing her in. "You think I'm going anywhere, baby girl?" I grind my thumb against her clit. "You think anyone can stop this? Hell no."

"Nash," she whimpers.

"Come," I demand, giving her exactly what she's pleading for…exactly what we both want.

She throws her head back, her pussy clamping around my fingers as she shatters apart. My name rolls from her lips in a decadent moan that has my balls throbbing. Fuck. There's no better sound than her. There's no better sight than her. There's nothing better than her, period.

She falls limp against me, plastered to the wall.

"Nash, I–"

The doorbell rings cutting her off.

She immediately tenses in my arms, whipping her head toward the bedroom door. There's absolutely no mistaking the look of fear that crosses her face.

Motherfucker.

She's genuinely afraid for Coach to find out about us. I may be a lot of things, but capable of hurting her isn't one of them. If she isn't ready for this…I can't force her into it. I'd rather back off for now and have pieces of her than push her into something and end up with none of her.

I'm not giving up, though. Fuck that noise. There isn't any hiding what we are together. I'll give her this reprieve. But after that? All bets are off.

I press a soft kiss to her throat, slowly withdrawing my fingers from her body. "Get dressed," I murmur. "I'll slip out the back."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I tip her chin up, kissing her hard and deep before I step away. "But this isn't over. Don't think it is."

The overwhelming gratitude in her eyes damn near brings me to my knees. This fucking girl… Jesus Christ, she's going to own me exactly like she said she wanted.

And I'm going to let her do it.

"Whatley."

I glance up from lacing my skates to see Archer dropping onto the bench beside me, his expression somber. Fuck my life. I've only been on the team for a season, and I already know that look on sight.

He wants to talk.

"You got a minute?" he says right on cue, shaking his gloves off.

"Yep," I sigh, leaning back against the boards behind me. I look out at the ice to see Coach standing on the far side of the practice arena, reaming Logan and Diego for fucking around on the ice. "If you're here to tell me to keep my hands off Emilia…"

Archer glances at me, genuine surprise in his eyes. "Is that what you think?"

"Saw the way you were looking at us when we left the bar," I mutter. "Figured we'd be having this conversation sooner or later."

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. "You don't know me nearly as well as you think you do, Whatley. I don't give a fuck what the two of you do. It's your business. I'm just here to do my job as Captain and tell you to be careful." He nods at Coach. "There's a reason he guards info about her so closely. That girl is the center of his world. If things go badly between the two of you, it'll be you who suffers. And if you suffer, we all suffer."

I grit my teeth, resisting the instinctive urge to tell him to fuck off with his warnings and advice. It's not him I'm irritated with anyway. He's just doing what a good captain should do—looking out for his team. I'm not in the right headspace to think about shit ending badly between me and Emilia right now. Not after last night. Not after this morning.

All I've thought about since I climbed out her bedroom window was that look on her face and the way she said she was afraid of losing this, as if it's a foregone conclusion that it'll happen. Is that what she thinks? Clearly, it's what Archer thinks. That Coach will find out, and I'll be forced to choose between her and the team.

Like a good little team player, I'm supposed to choose the team. I'm supposed to choose hockey. That's what I've always done. Choose hockey, put it above everything else. Never let anyone close so I never had to split my focus. Except for after my parents were killed, I've always been all in on this sport.

It doesn't feel right this time. Emilia is in my head in a major way, shifting my priorities in a way that's foreign to me. Now that I've had her, I'm not letting her go. Not for Coach, not for the team, not for any goddamn reason. I'm all in on her, even knowing what I'm risking.

But I can't explain that shit to Archer when I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself. Falling in love wasn't ever on my agenda. My whole life has been hockey and taking care of Aspen. That's what I always wanted.

Until now. Until Emilia.

I'm falling. Like a fucking meteor crashing through the atmosphere.

The fact that she's Lariat's daughter should stop me. The fact that the team is counting on me should be all the deterrent I need to pull back and let it ride. Yet neither is doing the trick.

I want every piece of her, and I don't want to stop.

"It's not going to go badly between us," I mutter to Archer. "In fact, it isn't going to end at all."

His eyes widen before he shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So it's like that, huh?"

"Yeah. I think it's exactly like that."

He holds his fist out for me to bump, laughing quietly. "It's your funeral, brother. Just…be smart about it, will you? With you and Logan, we have a real shot at the Cup this year. Don't burn it all down."

"Don't plan on it." I haul myself to my feet, and then pause, glancing down at him. "You ready to hear my advice now?"

He glances up at me with furrowed brows. "Advice about what?"

"You can only pretend you don't feel it for so long," I say. "Eventually, you gotta deal with it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." I cut my eyes at Micah. "Everyone knows how you feel about his sister except him."

"Fuck." Archer goes rigid, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It's not like that, Whatley."

"Yeah, it is." I hop over the boards onto the ice, glancing back at him. "If you don't get off your ass and do something about it, it won't be him you gotta worry about. It'll be some other motherfucker swooping in and putting a ring on her finger when you know damn well it should be yours."

"Jesus Christ," he growls, his jaw clenching.

"Just saying. If it were me, there's no goddamn way I'd be cool watching some other man love her because I was too worried about what her brother would say." I glance across the ice at Coach. "Why the fuck do you think I'm willing to risk his wrath for his daughter?"

Archer doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to say it. He knows I'm right. I see it written all over his face. Micah may be his best friend…but Wren Erikson? Well, she could be his world.

The same fucking way Emilia Lariat is going to be mine. Doesn't matter what Coach thinks. Doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. The pretty little minx is mine.