Pucking Dirty (Pucked Up Love #1)

Chapter Five

Emilia

" J esus, this place is packed tighter than a jock strap," I mutter to Alice Madison, the team publicist, as we head toward the row of seats reserved for VIPs and staff behind the team box before the game is set to start.

She leans close to me, her soft laugh spilling out. "It's always like this during game nights!"

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around the sheer number of people here. It's been a long time since I attended a game. I think I was fifteen or sixteen, and my dad wasn't the head coach back then. He was an assistant. I do not remember it being this packed.

Between the music, the laughter, and the shouting, the wall of noise is honestly overwhelming. But…I kind of like it. It's exciting.

We squeeze past a row of wives and girlfriends before falling into our seats directly behind the box. A few of the women in our row shoot me assessing looks, but I choose to ignore them, instead scanning the ice.

The whole team is out there, warming up.

My eyes immediately pick out Nash, my heart leaping into my throat. God, he looks good.

It's been two days since I kicked him out of my bed. Two days since we saw each other. Well…technically. I saw him briefly this morning when my dad introduced me to the team as their new therapist.

It wasn't a surprise to anyone. Word traveled fast. I'm not entirely sure how they feel about it yet considering I've seen them naked—and accused them of masturbating together—but they didn't seem like they hate the idea of having me on staff. So it's a start.

What was a surprise were the flowers and the jersey with Nash's name and number waiting on my desk when I got to my office after the introductions were done. He left a note telling me to wear it tonight. I feel like a jerk for not having the nerve to follow through…but I did not have the nerve to follow through.

I'm wearing a T-shirt with the team mascot instead. It felt like the safer option. And that's what has me so messed up in the head. I've never been the girl who does the safe, sane thing. I've never been the one afraid to take flying leaps.

And yet, that's precisely what I'm doing now. I'm playing it safe. I'm trying desperately to keep my father from finding out that I'm falling fast for one of his players—one who looks at me like I'm the only thing he sees. I can tell myself all day long that this is about protecting my reputation, but it's a lie. It was a lie before I ever told it the first time.

The only thing I'm truly afraid of…is Nash being sent down to the minor leagues. Of us imploding in a way that ruins everything for him. He didn't work as hard as he did to have it ripped away. That isn't fair to him.

But giving him up doesn't seem fair to either of us. I'm a grown ass woman. Why can't I have this one thing? Why can't he have it? No matter how many times my mind spits those defiant questions, it circles back to the same complicated answer.

This isn't just about us. It's about every man on the ice with him. A rift between him and my father over me creates a rift for the whole team. They have to be on the same page. It's the only way they win games. That has to come first right now.

I want to be selfish, though. God, do I ever.

Nash glances up from his conversation with Jordan. Even from halfway across the ice, his eyes lock with mine. My heart clenches in a vise, heat blasting through me.

He abandons the conversation, skating toward me.

I hold my breath until he's in the team box, pressed up against the Plexiglas between the bench and our row. He does not look happy.

"Hi," I squeak, fully aware that everyone in the vicinity is staring at us. I can feel Alice's eyes boring into the side of my head.

"Where's your jersey, princess?" he growls.

"Oh. Um…" I glance down at my shirt and then shrug helplessly. "I'm in team regalia."

"You need a jersey."

"This is fine, Nash."

He shakes his head, something unholy possessive in his eyes.

"Oh my," Alice whispers as he reaches over his shoulder, hauling his jersey up over his pads.

"Nash!" I hiss, fully aware that everyone in the vicinity is blatantly staring now. I hear them whispering. "You can't take your jersey off in the freaking box!"

He completely ignores me as he strips it off over his head and then straightens, crooking a finger at me.

I briefly consider ignoring him, but the look in his eyes tells me I'll pay for it if I do. I leap from my seat like the damn thing is on fire, stepping up against the Plexiglass off to the side so we have the semblance of privacy.

He skates over and tosses the jersey over the top to me. "Put it on, baby girl."

"You're out of control, do you know that?" I grumble, snatching the jersey as it falls over this side of the glass. "You're risking a frigging penalty just to get me in your jersey."

He smirks, the devil in his eyes. "Wouldn't be an issue if you'd worn the jersey I sent you. You going to put it on?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'll burn it to keep myself warm." I shrug, scowling at him. "Undecided."

His smirk grows. "You're cute when you're pissed, Emilia."

"And you're not cute when you're being ridiculous."

"Really? Is that why you're staring at me like you want to climb over here and climb me right now?"

"Am not," I lie.

"Yeah, you are." He places his palm against the glass between us, sighing. "You going to wait for me after the game?"

"Maybe. Maybe my dad will strangle you before it ends and I'll be attending your funeral instead." That's a very real possibility right now. There's no way he's not going to find out about this.

"Maybe I should climb over there and climb you." Nash arches a brow, glancing behind me. "Think there are any reporters in the audience right now willing to document the show, princess?"

"Probably. I bet you could even make a few dollars off it. I mean, since you'll need a job after you've finished destroying your career and everything," I say sweetly, batting my lashes. "But go ahead. Do your thing, big guy."

"Do not tempt me right now, Emilia," he growls, his gaze tangling with mine. "I haven't seen you in two days. I'm ready to snap."

I soften like melted freaking butter when I see the look in his eyes. He missed me.

"I'll wait for you, Nash," I say softly, unable to resist him. As if I ever stood a freaking chance. "Will you please go put a jersey on now before my dad sees you and there is bloodshed before the horn even sounds?"

"Fine." He smirks at me. "But just so you know…I like it a helluva lot better when you're trying to get me out of my clothes. You trying to get me back into them is not working for me."

"We can't all have what we want, Whatley."

"Oh, we can." He sends me a look hot enough to scorch the freaking earth. "All you gotta do is say the words." He winks and then turns and skates toward the tunnel, leaving me standing there, reeling.

"I should have brought extra panties to this game," I mumble, yanking his jersey on over my head before I turn to scurry back to my seat. I already need them.

The wives and girlfriends are completely silent as I squeeze past. Alice is not. As soon as I drop into my seat beside her, she turns to me, her grin reflecting in her hazel eyes.

"Girl," she says, drawing the word out.

"I know," I groan, scrubbing my hands down my face. "I am so screwed."

"By Nash Whatley from the looks of it." Her wicked laugh spills out around us…and I can't help but smile. She has no clue just how right she is.

"My dad is going to murder him when he ends up in the box for this."

"I'm already all over it."

I blink at her.

"I told everyone that you're the newest staff member, and this is your first game. The guys are trying to make sure you feel welcome, same as they do with everyone else." She shrugs, smiling brightly. "Can't do anything about him ending up in the box, but if you mix in enough truth while stretching it, it usually works for avoiding gossip."

I stare at her in awe. "You're an evil genius."

"Thanks." She pretends to buff her nails, smirking. And then she sobers. "Seriously, work with them for long enough, and you learn how to manage them and the furor around them. Nash is easy. He has a good head on his shoulders and doesn't make waves. People like him. They trust him. If I tell them that he did X for Y reason, they believe it because, nine times out of ten, it's true."

"And the tenth time?"

"You're the tenth time, Emilia." She laughs when I gape at her. "Like I said, he doesn't make waves."

Until now. Until me.

I glance back out at the ice to see him vanishing through the tunnel, a ref hot on his heels.

Maybe I'm not the only one falling.

Crap.

The game is intense. I spend most of it on my feet, screaming at the top of my lungs. Jordan and Diego spend more than their fair share of time in the Sin Bin.

Surprisingly, Nash doesn't get sent in for removing his jersey, but he does spend a few minutes in for aggressive play. Officials are all over him the entire game thanks to his little show before the horn even sounded. But we still manage to pull out a win, sending the entire arena into chaos.

By some miracle, my dad doesn't notice my jersey. If he knows what happened, he's too preoccupied with the game to mention it. Between the action on the ice, discussions with the coaching staff, and discussions with the guys on the bench, he barely has time to breathe.

Alice and I hug it out as the guys celebrate on the ice. But I feel Nash's eyes on me the entire time. When we break away, my suspicion is confirmed. He's staring right at me, looking like he wants to climb the boards and devour me.

I gulp, shooting him a congratulatory smile.

He winks back before he's swept up by his teammates.

"I need to get down to the Press Pool," Alice says. "Do you want to come with me?"

"I actually think I'm going to go down to my office for a little while," I murmur. The Press Pool is the last place I want to be right now.

"Come on," she murmurs, looping her arm through mine. We join the throng spilling into the aisle, but instead of heading toward the exits, we head toward a door leading onto the ice near the players' tunnel. A member of security lets us through.

"How in the hell do you strut across the ice in those shoes?" I mumble, impressed as Alice sashays on her stilettos like she was born on the ice. Meanwhile, every step I take has me worried I'm going to faceplant in front of the entire arena.

"Do something long enough and you become a pro."

"Tell that to every adult on the planet still trying to fold a fitted sheet."

"That isn't a job, Emilia. That's torture. Different concept," she says, tossing her head. "Fitted sheets weren't meant to be folded. They were designed to annoy the hell out of us."

I laugh quietly. The more time I spend with her, the more I like her. She's gorgeous, with big hazel eyes and flawless ebony skin. She's also sassy as hell, which I fully support. And it's obvious she loves this team and this sport. She is as protective of the guys and their reputations as she is the team and its reputation. She knows her shit.

"Ugh." Her grip tightens on my arm suddenly. "Charles Montaque is heading this way."

My stomach quivers with anxiety. Charles Montaque is one of the biggest investigative sports reporters in DC. My dad hates him because he's a snake. He says he'll smile in your face and then stab you in the back without hesitation. Not exactly the guy I want to see right now, especially not when I'm in the jersey Nash literally took off his own back to give me.

I glance up, confirming that he's heading toward us, dressed in a dark suit and tie. He's in his mid-forties with carefully gelled hair and blue eyes. I suppose people probably think he's handsome, but he just looks like a problem to me.

"Just let me do the talking," Alice instructs as he quickly closes the distance between us. "I know how to deal with him."

"Alice! Just the publicist I was hoping to see." Charles grins, his blue eyes flickering from her to me and then back. "And who is this?"

"Charles," Alice says, her tone cool. "This is our new staff psychologist, Emilia. Emilia, this is Charles Montaque."

"Hello," I murmur politely.

"Emilia," he says, cocking his head to the side. "Lariat's daughter?"

"Yes, and?" Alice asks, her tone acerbic.

"Hey, now." He laughs easily. "I was just making a connection, not implying anything."

"Good to know. I'd hate for yet another woman in this field to be accused of not deserving the job she earned." Alice looks at him pointedly. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?"

"Right." He looks mildly uncomfortable. Interesting. "I was coming to see you about a rumor."

I tense, holding my breath. If he got wind of Nash's little display, there will be no stopping my dad from finding out.

"What rumor?"

"It involves Logan Moreno's sister," he says. "I tried to set up a meeting with him to discuss it, but he was…less than enthusiastic."

The fact that he isn't here about Nash should be relieving, but this is honestly just as bad. I read through the former psychologist's notes on Logan this morning. He has a sister who has been involuntarily committed multiple times for schizophrenia. He's fiercely protective, going out of his way to keep any information about her from leaking.

"What about his sister?" Alice asks.

"The rumor is that she's in an insane asylum."

I stiffen, narrowing my eyes at him.

"An insane asylum? Really, Charles?" Alice scoffs at him, disgust heavy in her voice. "You're going to stand in front of a trained mental health professional and insult people with mental health conditions?"

"I didn't mean it that way. Jesus, Alice."

"You said it," she points out. "At least have the balls to own it."

"Fair enough." He holds his hands up in surrender. "I apologize. It's a shitty term. But the question remains."

"And it's a ridiculous question unworthy of an answer." Alice steps around him, gently dragging me along with her. "When you have something worth discussing, I'll be happy to talk it over with you. But this isn't it."

Whether Logan's sister is currently committed or not, I don't know. But I'm guessing Alice does. And she absolutely doesn't want this man to know. My respect for her grows. She is a bulldog for this team. That's exactly what they need, especially guys Logan and Micah, with family members to protect.

"I cannot stand that man," she mutters when we're out of earshot.

"I didn't notice," I murmur dryly.

"He's a misogynistic rat. He wrote a hit piece a couple years ago, heavily insinuating that women who work in sports are only hired to meet diversity quotas. Never mind the fact that most of us have as much, if not more, education and experience than men in comparable positions in the field." She scowls. "I want to punch him in the face every time I see him."

"I'll help," I volunteer cheerfully, glancing over my shoulder to see him staring after us, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He does not look happy.

Crap. He's going to be a problem. I feel it in my bones.

I just hope he isn't a freaking problem for Logan…or for me and Nash.

A little over two hours later, Nash appears in the doorway to my office, leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face. Heat waves through me at the sight of him in his suit. Lord, he makes it look good.

"Damn," he murmurs, looking me up and down. "You look good wearing my name."

"Charles Montaque thinks so too."

He blanches, a dangerous growl rumbling from his lips. His body tenses as he pushes away from the doorframe, striding toward me. "Did that prick say something to you?"

"I'm just teasing, Nash." I tip my head back, staring up at him. "I met him after the game. I felt like I had a freaking target on my back."

"Because of me," he says, his gaze flickering across my face.

"Because you stripped your jersey off in an arena full of people and demanded I put it on."

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad." I sigh, pushing my way into his arms. I don't think it's possible to be mad at him when I want him as much as I do. He's like a drug—potent, dangerous, wildly addictive. And, as I'm quickly coming to realize, there isn't much I'm not willing to do to get another hit of him.

He tips my head back, his lips brushing mine. "You know I'm not going to let anything happen to you, right? You're safe with me."

My heart squeezes in a vise. "Maybe it's not me that I'm worried about, Nash. You have more to lose than I do. That game could have started with you in the box or on the bench tonight, and you know it."

His lips brush mine again, starting an inferno in my womb. "Maybe you should let me worry about me and my decisions. I'm a big boy, Emilia. I can handle myself."

"You think so, huh?" I bite his bottom lip, frustrated. "You've never gone up against my dad when he's pissed, then."

"I'm not afraid of Lariat." He thrusts his hand in my hair, craning my head back. His lips slide down the side of my throat, making me whimper. "He can't stop what's happening between us."

"W-what's happening between us?"

His eyes lock with mine, his expression deadly serious. "I'm convincing you to fall in love with me."

"I…"

"Fuck it," he groans, seaming his lips to mine. He kisses me like he's trying to brand me again, setting entire sections of my soul on fire. Hell, he sets me on fire, sending me up in an inferno of quivering need.

"Nash," I moan into his mouth, my fingers tangled in the damp strands of his hair as he kisses me again and again, leaving me drunk on his taste. It isn't nearly enough to satisfy me. It's been two days since I felt this man inside me. I need him to fuck me.

"You want me, princess?"

"Yes."

"How bad?" He drags my bottom lip through his teeth, tugging me so close I feel his erection against my stomach. "How many rules are you willing to break to get what you want, Emilia?"

That's not even a question, and I think he knows it. There isn't a rule I'm not willing to break for him. That's the power he has over me. That's the danger he presents. And that's part of why I can't imagine not having him just like this. He's consuming me, turning me inside out, upside down, and changing me into something new. Someone willing to risk everything just for a taste of the forbidden, just for one more kiss, one more touch, one more second just like this.

He doesn't have to convince me to fall. I've been falling all along, crashing to earth like a falling star. And God help us both, but I don't want to stop.

"Every rule, Nash," I whisper. "I'll break every rule for you."

The smile he gives me is worth the confession. So is the way he kisses me like I just handed him the entire damn world.

"Come on," he growls, breaking from my lips with his hands on my ass. "Let's go see how brave you really are."

I gulp…but I don't tell him no. Instead, I place my hand in his, allowing him to pull me from my office. We hurry down the empty hall, neither of us speaking.

We don't say a word until we reach the mouth of the tunnel and step out onto the ice. It's been smoothed over, every groove from their skates wiped away in the hours since the game ended. The silence of the arena is almost eerie after so much noise earlier.

"What are we doing?"

"You'll see." He shoots me a devilish smirk, holding onto me as he strides out onto the ice with all the confidence of one who's spent his life on it. He heads toward the boards, pulling me along with him.

"You owe me five minutes in the box, princess."

"For what?"

"Showing up out of uniform. Keeping my cock hard all night. Driving me fucking crazy." He shrugs. "Take your pick."

I turn wide eyes on him.

"Think I can make you come all over me before your time is up?"

"Nash," I hiss, my gaze darting around. "There are still people here." I mean, there's no one out here except the two of us. But janitors and support staff are probably still crawling all over the building.

He lifts me into the penalty box with his hands on my hips and the devil in his eyes. "Guess you should be real quiet then, Emilia."

The door slams behind us.

I gulp, scurrying backwards.

"What'd I tell you about running from me?"

"Something, something, you're a madman?"

"Yeah, that was definitely it." His lips quirk as he stalks me across the narrow box, heat in his eyes. "Your five minutes starts as soon as I get my hands on you."

He's deadly serious…and God help me, but I don't hate this nearly as much as I probably should. I want him. Here, now, against the freaking wall. It doesn't even matter that someone might see us. I don't care that we're playing with fire. I want to burn.

And I want him to burn, too.

I back up against the wall beside the bench, shivering when he immediately presses his body to mine, caging me in. His hand lands against my shoulder, gliding down until his fingers tangle with mine.

I whimper, my knees trembling as he lifts my hand up over my head, pinning it to the Plexiglas above me.

"Damn," he breathes, his eyes glittering with lust. "I'd spend a whole lot more time in here if you were here."

"Guess it's a good thing I'm not then. You can't skate with your dick in me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Definitely not." He probably can skate with his dick in me. He's crazy talented like that.

His free hand rakes down my body, those talented fingers finding my hard nipples. He plucks and pulls and pinches, sending lava into my veins.

I moan, arching into his touch.

"I love how sweet you sound when you're moaning for me," he murmurs, sliding his hand down the center of my chest. "That sound makes my cock so fucking hard."

"I want to see," I blurt immediately.

"Nah. Not until you come. That's my rule."

"Fuck your rule, Nash."

He growls, leaning forward to bite my lip.

I bite his in return, not willing to play fair if he isn't.

He growls again, shoving his hand in my pants. His fingers are cold against my skin, but the dichotomy is too damn good to resist. I sob his name, my eyes locked on his face.

"I like that sound too, Emilia." He flicks my panties aside, his thumb teasing along my slit. "I've spent the last two nights dreaming about you begging for my cock."

"Funny," I gasp. "I spent them dreaming about you begging for another taste."

His eyes drop to half-mast, his tongue flicking his bottom lip. "You're definitely on the menu tonight. Just as soon as your five minutes are up."

"Clock is ticking, Whatl… Fuck!" I cry, rising up on my toes as he thrusts two fingers inside me without warning. His thumb settles against my clit, a ragged groan escaping his lips.

"Christ, I love breaking your rules, Emilia," he murmurs, his gaze riveted to my face as he finger fucks me against the glass. "You're so damn beautiful when you're going wild for me."

"Nash, please." I writhe in the sweetest torment, caught in a maelstrom of his making, one threatening to drag me under and drown me in bliss.

"Please what, baby girl?"

"Let me come," I whimper, not above begging if that's what he needs to hear to send me toppling off the ledge. When he has his hands on me, I'm willing to give him anything just to keep them there. Just to keep feeling like this. "Please."

He growls my name, his lips sliding toward my ear. "You don't have to beg for anything, Emilia," he breathes, his teeth closing around the shell. "Anything you want, I'll give you. You own me."

I cry out, falling to pieces around his fingers, sobbing his name. He holds me through it, strokes me through it, crooning praise in my ear. I'm surrounded by him, completely annihilated by him. And God help us both, but I'm not going to do a damn thing to stop what's happening.

"Spend the night with me," he whispers against my skin. "I want you in my bed tonight."

I don't tell him no. Of course I don't.

Instead, I drop to my knees, reaching for his zipper.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes dark.

"It's time for your five minutes in the box, Whatley," I murmur, looking up at him as I inch his zipper down. "Be a good boy and don't let anyone hear you."

If there's anyone left in the arena but us…they definitely hear him.