Tricky Puck: a Fake Fiancee Hockey Rom-Com (Portsmouth Whalers Hockey Romance)

Chapter 6

I’m not sure what that means about not wanting to wait—until he tugs on my hand and leads me to the corridor lined with private unisex restrooms, and we walk to the end.

“You’ve been to this place before, haven’t you?” I don’t know why I say such an inane thing, except it bubbles up with my nerves from nowhere. Because now I know exactly what he meant by not wanting to wait.

Those nerves explode and trip around my body, ricocheting off my bones and setting my blood on fire. I look up at him, and his eyes scream, I want you now. My eyes scream the same right back at him.

With a hand on the door handle and one arm around me, he stops, and the intensity of his green eyes makes my heart fly into my throat like a caged bird, fluttering and trying to escape the fire before I get burned. But I’m past caring.

“How drunk are you?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. I have a mild buzz.” Not a lie. More like an opinion.

He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes like he’s looking through me, and I tighten up on my bravado. But I can’t pull it off. His eyes somehow pierce my armor, and my words tumble out on the breath I’ve been holding.

“Okay. Maybe a medium buzz. Nothing I can’t handle. It’s not like I’m not going to remember everything tomorrow.” No. In fact, I’m committing every last detail of this night to memory. A memorable night—the only night of our doomed match.

He stares for a few blinks of my eyes longer and then pushes the handle down, opening the door to a vacant room-sized bathroom. I mentally note that I could do a cartwheel in here, and I look up at him on the threshold. He’s staring at me with the pirate face, dark and intense and hungry and so fucking manly that my knees buckle, and I clutch at his shirt to hold myself up.

He mistakes my desperation to remain standing for something more and pulls me inside—or maybe he’s not mistaken—because when he slams the door behind us, bolting the lock with a loud snick. I clench my thighs and literally cream my panties.

Then he backs me up against the door and kisses—no, ravages my mouth, owning it, dominating it, plunging his tongue and measuring his lips against mine, tasting them, exploring and enjoying every part of my mouth. And I enjoy the hell out of his hot, sensual mouth right back.

The pressure of his body against mine holds me up because my legs turned to rags the instant his lips hit mine and his tongue pressed inside. My hands wrap around his back and hold on while I try to breathe and refuse to separate my mouth from his to take in air, not caring if I’m turning red or blue or getting dizzy. The dizziness is the lack of blood in my head because I can feel where it’s all gone—right between my thighs.

The throb of my core roars and pulses like it wants to swallow him and the bulge in his pants whole—trousers and all.

“You ready to lose your mind, Delaney?” He rasps the words into my mouth as he clamps his hands on my ass cheek and lifts me against him, carrying me without a struggle like I’m a paper doll. I know where this is going, and I moan into his ear as he positions me on the vanity, pushing up my skirt and pulling down my panties in one motion.

“You’ve done this before.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud, as the coolness of the porcelain permeates my hot skin, and I try not to slide into the sink. He presses his forehead to mine as his big, strong hands slide up my back in a scorching trail, holding me against him as he stands between my legs.

“I have.” His green eyes are dark, exciting, and excited, while I’m holding my breath because I know he has more to say with that deep, raspy voice—his pirate voice. He finally adds, “You won’t hold that against me.”

“No,” I say without thought. Then, to salvage my eagerness, I add, “It means you should be pretty good at it.”

He raises his eyebrows and then lets his smirk pop. God, he’s so confident, and God help me because he has every reason to be.

“Should be pretty good at what?” he says, teasing, so sure I’m going to back down and gloss over my comment, but boldness cuts through my desperate need.

“You’re going to lick me off and make me come with your tongue, eat me, and drink me up until I think I’m going to die a glorious death.” My words sound so dreamy I’m almost surprised they’re coming from me. But I go on to convince myself I’m not bluffing. “Right now, we’re wasting time talking while I’m dripping wet?—”

He shuts me up with his mouth, clamping his down on mine so hard it takes my breath away. When his hands move down my back to cup my ass, lifting me from the porcelain, my legs automatically widen, and I whimper in anticipation, my heart pounding too fast—or not fast enough to keep up with my excitement.

Letting go of him as he lifts my legs, tipping me back, I lean on my hands behind me. He lowers his head after one more intense green-eyed pirate glance at me, sending a fresh round of sparks from my soul to my pussy.

“Hold on, baby.” His eyes spark like some kind of devil monster, and I obey, bringing one hand up to clutch his shoulder.

His smile is slow as his mesmerizing Adam’s apple bobs, making me squirm and my legs twitch, nudging him shamelessly, desperately. There’s something about his ropey neck and the power and strength of the involuntary movement of that ball rolling up and down that kills me, slays my insides, makes me salivate.

Then his hands take hold of my thighs, he lowers his head, and everything flies from my mind. The rough feel of his stubbled face against my thighs has me shuddering, and I almost let out a moan as his hot breath fans my pussy.

“You’re glistening wet for me, beautiful.” His gravelly voice sends shivers through me, and I can almost feel my pussy pumping more juice.

“Now you start talking?” I whimper. “What happened to the man of few words?”

He rasps a chuckle, then his mouth is on me, hot and perfect, pressing a kiss to my clit. I let the moan loose before I bite my lip.

“That’s right, baby, let yourself go. Enjoy the moment.” His low rough voice pours his warm breath over me, and I feel the heat rise from my pussy through my center all the way to my head until I’m dizzy. And he hasn’t even licked me yet.

“Aren’t you going to?—”

His tongue connects with my clit before I can finish my sentence, and some kind of animal noise escapes me. Or maybe it’s him because a growling sound penetrates my dizzy sex haze.

And then all hell breaks loose as he licks his broad, wet tongue along my sensitive folds from top to bottom and up again while he makes noises like a man eating a feast, and I shiver. I mean, my entire body shivers and quakes, with my nerve endings all sparking to life like Times Square under his tongue.

“You taste too good to be real,” he whispers as he circles his tongue around my swollen nub, and his hands clench down on my thighs.

“Please…” I’m delirious and bucking under him, pushing my pussy into him and pulling at his hair to drag him closer though that would be impossible unless he sticks his tongue down my vagina. The thought jolts me, and I bite down on a loud moan.

“I’m so close…” My legs vibrate with it. “Please…”

He stops and lifts his head to look at me, and our eyes meet. His are dilated and glassy, his mouth is slick with my juices and puffy, and his chest heaves. I scream inside my head, telling him not to stop, but he’s too gorgeous and sexy to look at, and I can’t stop staring.

“Please what, baby? Tell me. Say it.”

“Please make me come.” I tug on his hair and open my legs wider, wrapping them around his back to force him closer, but he’s a strong boy.

“I want to hear you scream my name when you come.”

I stare at him and nod.

“Promise me.”

“I promise you I will scream your fucking name, just?—”

His move is so quick I stop breathing when his tongue flicks my weeping clit, hard and fast, and he doesn’t stop until my quivering muscles clench, and I swear even my heart stops beating while I spiral out of control and burst apart, my clit feeling exactly like an exploding plum.

“Oh my god. Link…” I bite my lip, clenching every muscle as I dissolve.

He doesn’t stop licking and flicking, draining me, drinking me, and taking everything I have while wave after wave of orgasms churn out a never-ending supply of sex honey for him to lap up.

All my nerves are strung at their highest pitch in concert, and I swear if there was a glass in the room, it would break apart. Like me, writhing and clenching around him until the waves of nearly painful pleasure leave me, and I realize I might be strangling Lincoln Milano with my thighs if I don’t let up.

Opening my eyes—though I didn’t realize I’d closed them, I see his eyes, intense and dark, but still green and staring at me. Like a pirate. Hungry.

My power of speech returns between my ragged breaths, and I sigh, then reach out to take his face in my hands as he stands. I plant a deep, heartfelt kiss on his mouth while my heart thuds and emotions and feelings rise and flood whatever good sense I have left.

I must still be high from the massive orgasm and grateful naturally. That’s all it is. Except my heart should be slowing down, not drumming this way, not feeling like butterflies are chasing it up my throat.

“Whoa, baby,” he says into my mouth, still breathing heavily. “I guess this means you enjoyed dessert as much as I did.”

Leaving his mouth, I’m afraid to look into his eyes again and pepper kisses on his scratchy jawline. I love his chin and the squareness of his manly jaw, the rough, unshaven stubble scraping the sensitive nerve endings everywhere it touches.

“I didn’t have dessert yet.” I reach down and find the satisfyingly hard bulge in his jeans, and as I slide down off the vanity, reaching lower, I discover how big he is.

Did I say big? I mean massive. My already overstimulated heart lurches up and down like it’s jumping for joy, and my previously sated lady parts start working up an appetite all over again.

He rasps in my ear. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

“Who said I can’t finish?”

“We’ve been in here a while, and we haven’t exactly been quiet.” He takes control of me, holding me in his arms and retrieving my panties from the sink. I had no idea where they were.

Dangling them on his middle finger between us, he takes a deep breath of that unmistakable scent. “I’ll remember how you smell and taste until I’m a very old man, and then the memory will still give me a hard-on.”

“I can take care of that monumental hard-on you’re packing.” I start to unzip him, but he stops me.

“I have a better idea. Let’s get out of here.” He hands me my panties, and I take them, letting out a sigh as I pull them back on. He’s right. I’m too hot and bothered for my own good.

When we finally emerge fromthe false privacy of our bathroom, several people are in line waiting, and they stare at us. They know. They whisper and smile as we walk past them. Except for one lady who scowls at us. One guy mock claps with a smirk and a nod in Link’s direction as if he’s congratulating him for his score.

His score? What about mine? I should feel proud. I stand straight and tall and take Link’s arm, shamelessly smiling back at everyone in line and winking at the scowling gray helmet-haired lady, shocking her.

It’s been a minute since I played the bold hussy, but it’s empowering and fun to embrace my rebellious streak in a public display.

We stop at our booth briefly to pick up our food and coats. Link stuffs more money into the leatherette bill folder and turns to me with eyes that mean business—the kind of business that makes my pussy clench automatically, like a whole new take on Pavlov’s experiment.

“I’m not sending you home tonight.” He wraps an arm around me and pauses as if expecting an argument from me. I don’t have one. The only thing I have is a stray butterfly loose in my chest like a damn overexcited teenager. He walks me to the door with powerful strides like he’s in a rush to score—or whatever—get a goal…?

My butterfly multiplies, and my thighs practically quiver as he pushes the door open, freeing us into the New York City night air filled with fumes, noise, and lights.

“Neither of us are going home,” he says. “Call whoever you need to call to let them know. I’ll get you back first thing in the morning, whatever time you need to be there.”

We stand in front of the restaurant with a misty rain falling. He surrounds me with his body, protecting me with his leather jacket shared over our shoulders so that there’s not a breath of air between us as I press against his solidness.

Lifting an arm, he hails a cab. In Manhattan, getting a taxi is quicker than getting a rideshare, and I don’t suppose he cares about the cost.

“Are we going to your grandma’s house?” I ask because it hits me that if neither of us is going home, where the hell are we going? Maybe I should be afraid, but all I can muster is more of the same lusty butterfly excitement, like I’ve neglected my need for excitement and kept it jailed up for too long. Now, I’m in the grips of it, and those butterflies are not about to fly back into their cage—not tonight.

He leans in so his rough jawline scrapes against my cheek. “As much as I’d love to show you my boyhood room at Grandma’s house, the walls aren’t soundproof enough in that house for how loud I want to make you scream my name.”

A taxi stops in front of us, and he pulls me inside—needlessly because I’m all in for this adventure and would happily chase him wherever he goes. As he pulls the door shut, I find myself sitting on his lap.

He whispers with his mouth touching my ear so that the heat of his breath gives me a logic-defying chill. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure a wall exists that will contain your screams tonight.”

I shudder hard and deep, feeling his whiskey-laced words on my neck, sending a fresh pool of lust honey to my drenched and pulsing pussy.

“I wonder if the taxi driver would mind if I screamed now?”

He chuckles as his hand slides under my skirt to the inside of my thigh, unerringly finding the edge of my useless panties. “I say we find out.”

He touches me like a branding iron sliding over my slick folds, scorching my nerve endings and making me dizzy, and even when I open my mouth, I’m mute. My hips buck, and he presses his thumb on my swollen nub, holding me in place as I vibrate. When a delirious moan of pleasure finally escapes me, he covers my mouth with his, swallowing my scream as his name tries to escape my mouth, sending it down his throat.

He answers with a deep vibrating groan that sends me past the point of thought to an explosion of nerve endings so that all I can do is feel. Waves of euphoric pleasure shudder through me, outrageous and wonderful, as I grip his arms, kissing his lips, licking his teeth, sending my tongue as far as it’ll go to explore and taste every intimate part of his mouth. Words I don’t know fall from my mind as I fly so high I can’t see or hear.

But I can feel, and in my super heightened sensual state, the abrupt removal of his hand from my panties and the stopping of the car jolts me back to reality. He slips his hand from under my skirt and holds onto me with his arm wrapped around my shoulders, staring at me.

I stare back, unblinking and filled with awe and horror and far too much needy warmth, missing his touch and feeling the intimacy between us like it’s a sledgehammer destroying all my barriers, making me more vulnerable than I’ve ever been my life and scaring the shit out of me.

“We’re here—at the hotel. You still with me, hot pants?”

“Hot—” I can’t believe he just called me hot pants. Worse, I can’t believe my mouth turns up in a smile.

I nod because even as scared as I am, he’s right. My pants are very hot, and I need more of that, please. More of him. He pushes open his door and pulls me out of his side of the car with him as if I’m an invalid. I suppose I am because when I stand, my legs are wobbly. I’d be embarrassed at my compromised state, but it’s all his fault.

And I enjoyed every last second of my undoing. Shit. Am I in trouble, or is this the beginning of one fucking memorable night to look back on someday to sigh with pleasure?

He hands the driver a couple of bills, large ones. I note he likes paying with cash and overtipping by an obscene amount. He takes my hand as the taxi pulls away, squeezing it as he leads me through the hotel doors to a gathering of chairs in the lobby.

“Wait here, and I’ll check us in.” He has one arm around me, and I look up at him. “You okay? You haven’t said much?—”

“I must be speechless. Proud of yourself?”

He smirks, then softens his eyes and brings his mouth close to my lips, without touching. “I’m looking forward to seeing who wins the contest of most proud.”

I shake my head. “Of course. You’re making this a competition.”

“Don’t worry, hot pants. There won’t be any losers in this game.” With that, he lets me go and lightly presses me back into one of the chairs. Then he walks off to take care of business.

I notice his swagger belatedly because if I’d seen that swagger in another place or time, out somewhere, at a bar or a party or on the street, I would have told myself he’s one to avoid, the kind of guy I’d never want to get involved with. A pirate.

Now? I’m way past that red line and well into the danger zone. I’m practically walking the plank.

On the way upto the hotel room, he slips out his phone, and I try blocking my disappointment, bordering on resentment and ebbing toward the jealous zone. Who could he be texting now, as we’re on our way to a hotel room for a night of wild hockey-boy sex? I’m not sure what that is or why I’d think of it that way, but I’m looking forward to finding out since my imagination draws a blank on the details, though I have no trouble imagining the resulting multitude of delirious orgasms. But it’s not too crazy to expect his attention to be on me, right?

He thumbs a text and slides a look at me. “I’m letting Gram know I won’t be home tonight.” He slips the phone back into his pocket and gathers me in so close and tight that I wonder how those butterflies in my chest can still fly around so wildly. They should be crushed or smothered by now.

“When I left, I told her I’d be home early. But that was before…”

My eyes widen for a blink. “Before…?”

“Before you intrigued the hell out of me and drove my cock wild.”

“Is it still wild? I think I’d like to see that.”

He grins with too much wickedness and yanks my hand to his crotch, placing it directly over the mighty bulge—not that I hadn’t noticed and felt it earlier, but a girl can hardly get enough of that kind of magnificence, so can you blame me? Through his dress trousers, his cock jumps and sears my hand with its scorching sting.

“Oh. My. God.” I’m looking down at his pants, and he chuckles.

He removes my hand from his cock as the elevator dings and the doors glide open. A deep blush of pleasure-shame—or is it shameful pleasure?—heats my face, and I stumble after him down the hallway, my knees watery with all my strength taken up by my sex nerves—although the whiskey could be playing a part.

He stops at a door, and I run into him, but it doesn’t matter because he’s so solid and strong he absorbs me into him, and his arm wraps around me as he taps the card on the lock and shoves the door open. Kicking it wide, he hauls me through and slams it behind me.

“I hope you’re not too attached to those clothes.” His voice rumbles as his hands slide under my blouse.

“Ditto,” I manage to say as I slide my hands under his shirt. Not that I’m all about copycatting, but a good idea is a good idea.

We manage to get all our clothes off, tossing them carelessly as he backs me up to the bed.

Surprising me, he sweeps me into his arms and pulls me on top of him as we land in the pillowy bedclothes.

“How did you manage to land my pussy directly on top of your manhood?”

“My manhood?” His eyes sparkle as he tries to suppress his laugh.

I roll my eyes and squirm around, which calms his need to laugh. “Your boner, cock, dick, penis, or whatever pet name you have for him. Do you have a name for your dick?” I lean forward, liking the idea, and press myself against him, feeling him swell against me and feeling the power and pleasure in one heady gulp.

“I’m not the name my dick type of guy. I’m straightforward. You might have noticed.”

“You called me hot pants.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

I laugh as I watch his eyes darken, his pupils almost drowning out the green sparks, but not quite. I have the feeling those green sparks in his eyes never go out, that he always retains some control deep down, no matter what.

The idea latches hold of me that making him lose everything, every ounce of control—to make him relinquish it all—would be the most amazing accomplishment and would make me feel all-powerful, giddy with excitement, and on top of the world, a woman to be reckoned with.

“My mission tonight is to make you lose it, Milano. I want to own your body and soul tonight.”

“Funny,” he says, licking his lips and not looking the least bit intimidated, “but I’m on the exact same mission. I’m going to own you tonight, hot pants, and you’re going to love every minute of it.”

He punctuates his words with a flip of our bodies, and I end up on my back with him over me. Damn.

His words shake me, and I believe him.

“We’ll see.” I can’t let on that I feel doomed because I want to win our game.

But his words come back to me, and I can’t help shuddering. Don’t worry, hot pants. There won’t be any losers in this game.

I clamp my hand down on the enticing length of his magnificent cock, standing and wavering over my belly, and hold it with both hands as he hisses out a breath. The satiny feel doesn’t hide the granite-hard power of him, and the sheer size and weightiness should be intimidating, except it’s so mouthwateringly sexy.

Dragging my thumb to the tip, I run it along the seam where a drop of pre-cum escapes, and he twitches. I sit up then, pushing myself up on one elbow and then pushing him back on his heels. He doesn’t stop me, and although he could, it doesn’t diminish my sense of power because he’s letting me, and taking control when he could stop me gives me a rush of adrenaline and heady excitement.

Lowering my mouth, I keep my eyes on him and the tick in his jaw; the tension on his face and the intensity of his silent stare telling me, yes, ignites a rush in my blood, heating me and moving me to wrap my mouth around his tip and suck with everything I have.

“Jesus… Delaney,” he croaks out, laying a hand on my shoulder. I feel the tremor and understand the effort he’s making to maintain control.

Taking more of him in, I hold his shaft with two hands and slide my tongue and mouth down as low as I can until my eyes water, and I almost gag. Then I release him, and I realize how much I want to take all of him, how sexy he makes me feel, how powerful as I lick his tip, taking in more of him, spreading the beads of pre-cum down the silky hot surface, and I wonder how it could possibly feel even bigger in my hands and in my mouth.

Driving faster up and down, I lose myself in the rhythm I need to finish him, to make him give me all he has.

He tangles his hand in my hair and holds on. “Delaney.” The tight strain in his voice, almost a whisper, nearly reverent, drives me harder, and my blood hums as I feel like I’m reaching for the gold, so close to winning the most treasured prize. When I feel his muscles tighten and his grip on my hair shake, I become aware of my own excitement, the pulsing and need in my pussy.

“Delaney… I’m going to come.” The stark tautness of his words, the tremor in his voice make me suck as hard as I’ve ever sucked, and I take him down my throat all the way until I gag and choke, and he surges a stream of cum into my mouth while I hold on.

“Oh my God. Delaney, your mouth feels so fucking good.” He pulls on my hair to lift me off him as his cum spills from my mouth. He’s still shooting in waves from his cock, and I watch in fascination as I release him. Holding onto him with my hands, I squeeze every last drop from him as he holds onto me, leaning on me, helpless…and fuck—under my control, completely undone and vulnerable.

As his cock empties and I let go, my arms go around him, and he squeezes me tightly, holding on, kissing my hair, my eyes, my face, and whispering how sexy I am, how good I am.

My heart beats hard and fast, and my moment of would-be triumph isn’t what I expected. I don’t feel the power or elation of winning a game or besting an opponent. I feel pleasure and joy, a sense of accomplishment maybe, but most of all, I feel warm and full and satisfied and connected more than ever.

The circle of our intimacy, our naked embrace, both of us covered with his cum, the scent of sex in the air, the dim light, and soft raspy whispers. His breath in my ear and the hard beating of our hearts against each other has some kind of effect, sends some kind of new and different pleasure through me that I don’t quite understand.

And that makes me afraid. But only for a blink.

Then he takes control.