22. Penelope
What the fuck was that?
I was giving them an out from having to defend my honor every time someone makes a snide comment, explaining it’s something I’ve lived with forever, and they just... erupted.
We’ve just made it upstairs back into Tate’s room, and if I’m not mistaken, the fucker’s smirking at me.
“What?”
He shrugs. Not sure if he’s trying to drive me to smack him or whether his mouth hurts, and he doesn’t want to speak, but he’s medicated so it shouldn’t be the latter.
“They like you.” His speech is still slurred, but I can still make it out.
“I like them too.” I stare around Tate’s sparsely decorated, temporary bedroom. Navy walls, navy carpet, navy bedding, it’s dark, and moody, and the only decor around the room is the bedside lamp.
Maybe I should bring him a giant, cardboard cut-out of my face to cheer up this blue room. That said, I’ve seen his dorm room, it’s not much better, either.
“They have something of an aggressive love.” Maybe I should introduce them to Karlya, she has an aggressive kinda love, too.
His chuckle is like warm cocoa. “They do. They’re good people.”
I pick up my bag and set it on the end of the bed to take out my pjs and toothbrush. “You still want me to stay?”
He nods, his eyes already closing as he slides into bed and pulls open the covers on my side. “Don’t go.”
He’s still fighting sleep when I get done in the bathroom like he’s afraid I’ll slip out when he’s asleep. “I like your pjs.”
It’s a Care Bears nightgown. I’m not sure what Eloise was thinking when she picked this thing, but we both know it’s going to ride up my body overnight, and I’ll wake up with it around my neck like a scarf.
I do a little twirl. “Thanks. Not sure it’s the best night wear for a sleepover, but we’ll make it work.”
When I climb into bed, it takes a fraction of a second for me to feel his hard length pressing against me as he pulls me toward him. “Just ignore it,” he mumbles. “It’ll go away. Can’t help it. You’re so pretty.”
I can’t ignore it, though. Lying here, in Tate’s bed, my whole body is running hot. When I look at him, his eyes are waiting for me. “I can turn over.”
“Or I can take care of it for you.”
His eyebrow twitches, but he says nothing.
“Do you not want me to take care of it for you?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“It’s not that.” He grunts as he shifts his weight. “I’ll fall asleep as soon as I’m done, and then you’ll be left unsatisfied. I don’t want that.” His speech is slow. It must be so hard to grind out words around the hardware in his mouth. And I’ve already wanted to kiss him three thousand times since I got here.
So I do. It’s just a chaste, soft kiss on his lips, and my whole body is clenched in terror in case I hurt him somehow by accident, but I kiss him until his body softens next to me.
“Let me take care of you. If it makes you feel better, you can keep score so when you’re up to it you can get your own back on me.” I wink at him, but my palm’s already splayed over his rock-hard dick.
There’s nothing I love more than this heady feeling of power that comes with having a guy’s dick in your hand. It’s like as soon as the blood rushes south, their brains switch off, and they’re completely guided by their gear sticks. And knowing I can control his reactions, his breathing, his whole body, from this one piece of him sends heat straight to my pussy.
He groans next to me as I stroke him through his boxers. “I’ll blow my load in my boxers if you’re not careful, Pitstop.”
I’ve never done that before. Made a guy come in his underwear just from stroking, but now I want to make it a reality.
“It’s been so long.” The needy sounds he’s making as my hand slides up and down the fabric make me want to sit on his dick and ride him like a fucking rodeo bull.
I snort. “Yeah, like, what? A week since you’ve had a bunny?”
His face falls, and he looks truly injured by my words. “Not since you moved in next door, Pitstop.”
“What about all the screaming?”
He smirks. “Callum.”
My body heats even more. Lucky Callum. But also the relief seeping through my body tells me I’ve been jealous of Tate’s vocal bedfellows for longer than I realized.
“Y-you haven’t been with a girl since I moved in next door?”
He shakes his head, his eyes fluttering closed on a grumble. “So good.” He moves his hips, lifting them up, grinding his cock against my hand as I stroke him. “Were you jealous, Pitstop? Of all the women I wasn’t making scream?”
“Yes.” My admission is heavy in the darkness. “I was so mad at you for being with all those women.”
He grunts. The fabric of his boxers is getting damp in places, and as much as I want to make him blow his load in his undies, I need to get my whole hand around his cock. I need to feel it. I need to really blow his fucking mind.
“Why?”
“Why, what?” He still doesn’t open his eyes, but he does move his hips again as I tug down his shorts and curl my fingers around his whole cock.
“Why haven’t you slept with anyone?” I pump my hand slowly, once, twice, and on the third time he makes that groan-y noise that has me aching to sink my fingers into my pussy.
“Didn’t want anyone but you, She Devil.” His words are slower, more strained. He hisses out a whoosh of air. “You’re going to make me come.”
“That’s the goal.” I scooch down the bed and take his tip in my mouth to lube him up just a little. Tonight’s just about my hand, but the urge to suck him off into the back of my throat is overwhelming.
Maybe tomorrow.
I keep pace with my hand. My grip is tight but not too restrictive, my movements smooth, and the closer he gets to the goal line the harder his cock gets in my hand.
Thankfully, it’s not a monster cock. I’ve seen those, I’ve sat on those, and I almost got sutures from those. This one’s a nice, normal sized cock. It’s chunky, but not too chunky, long but not too long.
If I was Goldilocks, this cock would be ‘my just’ right cock.
Another hiss, another buck of his hips. “Going to come, Pitstop.”
I pump harder, his cock twitches in my hand. I don’t want him to have to get out of bed to clean up so I put his head in my mouth and suck him through his release. When the jets of cum hit my tongue, his fingers bite into my shoulder as he grips me.
“Fuck, Penelope. Fuck.”
There’s a lot of cum. Like, a lot. I don’t know if it’s cumulative, and he’s been saving it all up, or if he just has a lot of cum every time.
He goes soft almost instantly, so I let my grip loosen around his shaft as I tickle his tip with my tongue to collect every drop.
I don’t generally like to swallow, but I don’t want to move either, so I do.
Tate’s breathing’s already settling, becoming deeper with each inhale. “Thank you.” At least I think that’s what he says. He pulls me onto his chest, and it takes all of thirty seconds for him to pass out.
I knew what I was signing up for, not getting my own orgasm, and I’m okay with that. That’s not to say my nipples couldn’t cut glass right now, or that my panties aren”t soaked under my nightgown, but maybe when he’s been asleep for a while I’ll slip into the bathroom and finish myself off to take away some of this pressure. Because lord knows, I can’t last until morning.
When his soft snores level out into a rhythm, I check my phone. There’s messages from both Oliver and Karlya on the screen.
Spare Parts: Dad says he saw you at the hospital visiting Tate Myers. Is it true? Has a hockey player stolen your heart? Am I the last to know? Come on, Sissy. Tell me everything. I promise I won’t make fun of you.
Spare Parts: *much fun of you.
I shake my head, fighting a grin. I hate him.
Karlya’s message is equally eye-roll-worthy, it’s not checking up on Tate, or me, it’s asking if we’ve fucked yet.
She has such a way with words.
Me: No, darling cousin of mine, we haven’t gone to pound town yet. But I have spent some time with his teammates. I think you’d like them.
Karlya: Are they single?
Me: Actually, I don’t think they are. Maybe Artemis? They’re good guys though. You’d like them.
I don’t need her to know I’ve already slept with Tate, not yet at least.
And I haven’t been around them all that long, but even I’ve been able to work out that Scott is holding a candle for the oldest de la Pe?a sibling. I have no idea if everyone knows, like, is it the worst kept secret in the Raccoon’s world? I haven’t even mentioned it to Eloise, because if no one’s noticed, I’m not going to be the one to spill the tea.
Me: Hey Copycat, how’s Wisconsin? I see you’ve won your last three games. Not bad at all.
Spare Parts: Firstly, I was born first, so that makes you the copycat.
Spare Parts: Secondly, are you just going to avoid the whole Tate thing?
The man himself sighs in bed beside me like he doesn’t like the idea of me avoiding him.
Me: It’s new. I’ve avoided him like the plague because of... well, you know why.
Spare Parts: But you tripped and fell over something and your tongue fell into his mouth?
Spare Parts: Ew. Never mind. I don’t need details.
Spare Parts: Ew.
Me: LOL! No. We became kind of frenemies I guess? And then he got hurt. He’s in rough shape.
Spare Parts: Need to talk?
Me: Can’t, he’s asleep next to me, and I don’t want to wake him up.
Spare Parts: That’s a mental image I need bleach for.
Spare Parts: Reminding you of Dad’s injury?
Me: Yeah. He’s sinking into the darkness.
Spare Parts: And you’re cheering him up with your ass...ets?
Spare Parts: Again, ew.
Me: You’re doing this all yourself you know.
Spare Parts: I regret this whole conversation. It’s damaging me more than you.
Me: Yes, I’m dating him. He’s a surprisingly nice guy. Even more surprisingly, Dad’s okay with it.
Spare Parts: Tate isn’t Zack, Peppy.
Me: I know. It still felt like betrayal though.
Spare Parts: I get it, but don’t let shit with Dad stop you from falling... yadda yadda yadda.
Me: You give such good pep-talks.
Spare Parts: Don’t you forget it. It’s late, get some sleep.
Me: You’re not the boss of me.
Spare Parts: I’m glad he has you, you know. This shit isn’t easy, and if anyone’s going to get him through this, it’s you, Sissy.
Me: I love you too, Copycat.
At some point, I pass out on Tate’s chest. But when I wake up, my back is to him, and I’m pretty sure that thing digging into my back is his cock. Again. It’s still dark, I’m not sure that means anything considering it’s basically winter outside, but an awareness prickles on my skin that he’s awake. He presses his cock against me. Or maybe I just wish he did, and his cock is really just there, but either way it makes me moan.
“Did I wake you?”
“With your raging hard on? Yes. You did.”
“I can’t help it. I rolled over and found a beautiful woman in my bed. My dick woke up before I did.”
I giggle. “How’s your face? Do you need more meds?”
“No.” His voice is quiet, husky, and there’s something intimate about being awake at whatever middle-of-the-night time it is. “Not yet.”
“Water? A smoothie? I can go get you a smoothie.” I move the covers to sit up but he puts his hand on me. Not sure whether or not it’s intentional but his hand lands right on my boob and we both freeze.
“That was an accident. Should I remove it?”
“If you take your hand off my boob I’ll break your fingers.”
He chuckles and squeezes my breast in his hand before thrumming his thumb over the hard tip of my nipple making me purr.
“Who knew that was how to make you less murderous? All I had to do was stroke your nipple? This whole time?”
He might keep talking, I have no idea. I’m lost in the feather-light sweeps of the pad of his thumb against the sensitive skin making my body turn to jelly.
When I reach behind me to get his cock, he smacks away my hand.
“Don’t you want it?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then let me.”
“No.”
“Why?” I’m genuinely confused why he won’t let me touch the steel rod poking into me.
“Because it won’t help. He won’t simmer down and rest until you come for me, Pitstop.”
“Hmmmm.”
He squeezes the tip of my nipple before palming the rest of my breast. “She likes it.”
I roll to lie flat on my back, giving him access to the whole front of my body, and he wastes no time hiking up the front of my nightgown.
Grinding the heel of his hand against my pussy makes him moan. “Fuck. You’ve soaked through your panties.”
I’m not embarrassed at how wet I am. It’s hard not to be when you wake up to a hard cock trying to impale you, and a gorgeous guy who plays your nipples like they’re strings on his favorite guitar.
He doesn’t stay outside my panties for long, he pulls them to one side and sinks his fingers straight between my soaking wet lips.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” It’s an almost pained exclamation. His fingers slide around my clit with ease, then move around like he’s exploring the space. When he slips his fingers inside me, he leaves his thumb circling my clit. He presses down on my g-spot and my clit and hisses “Screenshot,” in my ear.
If I wasn’t so insanely turned on I’d consider elbowing him. But that would make him stop, and I don’t want him to stop.
He chuckles then hums against my skin as he dots careful kisses on my face. It’s so hard not to turn and cup his cheek. Every piece of me wants to pull his face to mine and kiss him like it’s his last night on earth.
He’s such a good kisser, and I can’t fucking wait for his face to heal so we can kiss properly. But for now, I’ll be patient, and let him strum my clit.
As my hips roll, his fingers pick up speed. When my back arches he murmurs along the column of my neck. “So beautiful when you let go for me, Pitstop. So sweet when you stop fighting.”
A growl gurgles at the back of my throat but it comes out more like a feral whimper. My breaths fall in shallow pants, and my eyes roll back in my head as I speed closer and closer to release.
When my orgasm hits, my whole body tenses, muscles freezing as my insides explode. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“That’s it, pretty girl. Just let it out.” He doesn’t slow down as my body jerks through its release. Instead, he picks up speed, his fingers slipping and sliding with ease over my clit as he whispers more praise in my ear. “I’m not done with you, Pitstop. I need more. Come again for me. Don’t hold back.”
Gritting my teeth doesn’t stop the swell building inside me. My grunts and pants fall on deaf ears as he commands my body with his fingers and demands.
“Stop fighting me.”
“Never.”
He smiles as much as he can which just makes me wetter.
“I feel how wet you are for me, pretty girl.” He drags his fingers through my slick arousal, the sopping wet mess making all kinds of noises I should probably be ashamed of but he seems to like it because he groans. “I fucking love it.”
He doesn’t let up, his fingers swirling and circling, he’s playing me like an instrument. “Come for me.” His voice is stern, charged with need. “Just fucking come.”
The bubbling blood inside my body lights up as he shoves me over the edge.
“Yes. There it is. Come on, Pitstop.”
My body bucks and bows, my muscles clench then vibrate as my orgasm crashes into me like waves on a rocky shore.
The scream he rips from my body is unhinged, raw, and so loud there’s no way his teammates can’t hear me. But I can’t stop, I can’t fight it, I can’t fight him, my body is putty in his hands and sheer willpower alone can’t hold back the wild noises coming from deep inside me.
When I collapse onto the bed, he’s smirking down at me, trailing his fingers up and down the inside of my thigh, dragging my arousal with him as he moves. I’m soaking, a complete mess, boneless, soft, hoarse, and trembling.
He strokes my face with a tenderness that hits me square in the chest. “Thank you.” His voice is so quiet I almost miss it over the gasping sound of my own labored breaths.
“What for?” My voice is gritty, caught in the back of my swollen, still-aching throat from all my wailing.
“I feel like a well of deep rage since my accident, Pitstop. And the only thing that quells the inferno is you.”
My heart threatens to burst, rattling against my ribcage as it grows. “Even though I drive you crazy?”
“Especially because you drive me crazy. The headache you give me distracts me from the throbbing in my face.” He grunts softly like he finds it amusing. “I took a puck to the face, shattered my jaw, had surgery, and your grousing at me still hurts more.” He winks.
“Thanks... I think. Who says romance is dead?”
“Now that you’ve stopped fighting your attraction to me, Pitstop, I’m gonna swoop you off your size ten feet with all the romance I’m about to rain down on you.” The sheets crinkle as he shifts his weight.
There are a lot of thoughts that come to mind, but the first is about the shoes. “How do you know how big my feet are?”
“I know lots about you.”
Oh god.
He laughs at my groan.
“Dare I ask?”
“I thought about pouring itching powder in your shoes.”
I snort, tracing my fingers along his bicep. “What stopped you?”
“You wear pretty shoes.” He shrugs like that’s all the information that’s needed. “And I didn’t want them inserted in my ass.”
“You’re a strange man, Tate Myers.”
“Yeah.” He agrees. “But I’m yours.”
I poke him in his toned, firm man-chest. “True. But just remember that consent can be revoked at any time, hot shot. Wanna do something for me?”
He wiggles his brows. “Again? What my Pitstop wants...”
I laugh and intercept his hand as it approaches the apex of my thighs. “Not yet. I was going to ask you to play your guitar for me.” I shake my head. “I know it’s the middle of the night, and your housemates might get cranky, but I spied your guitar in the corner of the room, still in its case...”
“I could blast rock music next to each of their sleeping heads, and I bet most of them would sleep through it. Hockey players can sleep damn near anywhere.”
Now he says it, I remember Dad and Oliver saying something similar over the years.
I slip out of bed, open the guitar, and hand it to him before settling onto the mattress next to him.
“What do you want to hear?”
“Everything. Anything.” I shrug. “Hearing you strum your guitar in the dorm room next to me while I was trying my best to hate you was all kinds of torture.”
He chuckles. “I won you over with my fingers before I got to finger you, eh?”
“You’re such a pig.” I shove him playfully.
He starts playing the intro to Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, and the rest of the world melts away.