27. Tate
Idon’t fucking know how to be nice to this woman. She has me so tangled up in knots I’m like my grandmother’s balls of yarn once her cats got into the yarn basket.
Be nice to me, she says.
And who the fuck calls their pussy a Queendom?
Apparently, my girl.
I can’t really argue. She is a fucking queen. And what’s even better, she knows it. Having a woman who knows not only what she wants, but also what she deserves, is special. I don’t plan to fuck that up.
Three weeks to convince her I’m worthy of tasting her Queendom. Though if she makes me wait that long to fuck her I’m going to need a ball replacement, she has me so fucking turned on that they’re going to explode.
And it’s going to be messy as fuck.
Talking to Scott earlier didn’t magically fix me, nor did talking to Pitstop for a little while when she nixed any sex shit after she got here. She didn’t exactly force me to talk, but she did scowl at me and tell me that I needed to talk to someone.
By the time we were ready to sleep, we had booked an online appointment with a therapist her dad recommended, and Raffi had hooked me up with his and Tori’s personal trainer, Phil, over at the Fit Factory. I’m losing weight and haven’t worked out since the day of my accident, I need to get back into working out.
If I’m going to make a big comeback, I’m going to need to start working on not flaming out more than I already have.
Wasn’t sure I had it in me to scrape my way back from the depths of despair, but Penelope insists I do. And for some reason, I’m inclined to believe her.
For the past—I dunno how long—I’ve harbored a deep and rippling envy at the fact my teammates are finding their soulmates one by one. I didn’t realize just how much it bothered me until I reconnected with Pitstop.
Since my chat with Scott, I’ve been mulling it over. And I finally figured it out.
Each of my teammates who have found their better halves have all found people who believe in them more than they believe in themselves. Now it’s my turn, I’m not sure how to accept that. Not sure how to trust in Penelope’s words that she knows my fortitude, my strength, and that what she says will come to pass.
All I can do is give it my best shot. Beyond that, I’ll know I tried, even if I don’t get my shit together. I’ll have given it my all.
She says that’s all I can do.
Once the wiring in my mouth is out, Pitstop is going to help me through rehab. Turns out, having been smacked in the face with a puck while dating an in-training speech pathologist works in my favor.
She says I’ll need help learning to chew again—masticate, she said—I love it when she gets all medical on me. It’s hot.
That’s a lie, she’s always hot.
“You’re going to burn the pancakes.” Rico pushes me out of the way and rescues the pan from the stove before the smoke gets enough to piss off the detector, and by extension, the whole house.
It’s too early on a Sunday morning after a game for me to rouse the whole house. They’d set me on fire if I woke them up, even if most of them would probably sleep through the fucking thing.
“You were in a world of your own there.” Rico”s a freshman, quiet, hardworking, grinder, who patrols the blue line like he’s defending his fucking grandmother. The guy’s no Artemis, but when he hits, you feel it.
Ask me how I know.
“You okay?”
I nod at him, but my silence makes him narrow his eyes. “Are you, though?”
He’s not someone I know very well, so I’m not just going to unload on him in the kitchen over a smoking pan of death-cakes, but the genuineness on his face tells me I could.
“Is it girl trouble? She’s... feisty.”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong. And I kinda love that she’s scared the shit out of my teammates with her attitude. They all heard about the donuts, and even if they hadn’t, they’d have seen her handiwork on my fucking car.
“Just trying to figure out how to not fuck it up.” Being straight is the only way to go. He doesn’t need the history, but if I don’t give him something he’ll probably just hang around and stare at me until I cave.
“Can’t help you there.” He pats my shoulder. “All I do is fuck it up.” He gives me a sad smile that tells me he’s had his heart broken, and the look in his eye tells me he has no idea what he did to fuck it up, only that he thinks there’s no way back from it.
“But I can make sure you don’t wake the whole house. And I can make pancakes without them being charred, so sit down and let me make your girl breakfast. Girls love guys who can cook.”
I arch a brow at him. If he’s thinking of moving in on my girl, I’ll knock that thought right out of his mind with a frying pan to the head.
“Down boy.” Like he’s read my thoughts, he puts his hands up. “I meant I’d teach you how not to cremate your food so she actually enjoys it. Not that I’ll steal your girl by feeding her yummy food.”
The lion in my chest simmers from ready-to-pounce to lying back down in a heap, but he keeps an eye cracked in case Rico says anything else that might stir him up again.
He shakes his head like he knows the feral beast inside me is jonesing for a fight. “Pass me the chocolate chips please.”
A few short minutes later, I have a stack of pancakes fit for my queen. If I’d done this myself it would have taken another hour, and they’d have an acrid scent wafting from their black and crispy edges.
I’m going to have to take Rico up on teaching me how not to poison my girlfriend with breakfast. Sounds like a good plan for future Tate. Right now, I have a queen to present my offering to.
With any luck, she’ll let me give her an orgasm when she’s done masticating.
She’s sitting up in bed when I get into my room. Her long honey-gold hair is tousled and wild around her face, and she’s scrolling on her phone. “You cooked for me?”
I want to take credit. But if I do, she’ll expect me to cook more often, and when Rico has to be around for the entirety of our relationship, she’s going to have questions.
“Rico did. He was doing his community service—saving the team from an early morning evacuation. My pancakes were not going well.”
She eyes the stack on the plate. “They look amazing.”
She’s not wrong. He put sliced strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate drizzle on top of the pancake stack, and my mouth is watering at how good they look and smell.
She’s already plucking the fork out of my hand and carving out a bite before I hand her the plate. When her eyes flicker closed and her satisfied moan falls from her mouth, my cock wakes up.
“Good morning to you, too.” I can’t help smiling at her. She brings it out of me. No matter how bleak and hopeless things might have seemed in the past few weeks, my She Devil can always find a way to bring a smile to my broken face. Right now, it’s the simple enjoyment of a mouthful of fluffy, chocolate chip pancakes that look as though they have so much air in them they could float.
“These are amazing.” She points to the plate. “We need to keep Rico sweet so we can convince him to make some of these for you in a few weeks. You need to try them.”
I plonk on the bed, sitting facing her.
“You’re just going to watch me eat?”
I nod, but her eyes narrow.
“You sure you’re not a feeder?”
I nod again. “I’m jealous I can’t eat them. So I’m just watching you enjoy them because I can’t. Is that okay? I can go take a shower or something until you’re finished.”
She takes another bite, chewing slowly, swallowing and nodding. “It must be so hard for you.”
Shrugging, I drag my finger through the chocolate sauce on the plate. I need to at least taste it. “It’s not so bad. My girlfriend makes these baller smoothies and juices that all my friends are jealous of. If you decided you don’t want to be a kick ass speech pathologist, you could start your own juice and smoothie company. You’d have your first few dozen repeat customers from the Raccoons.”
“Could be a good side hustle.” She takes another bite, the noises she’s making should be criminal unless she’s naked and under my fingertips.
“That thrum you’re feeling in your spine is anticipation, Satan.”
I should hate how much she knows me, but it’s kind of hot that she can tell from staring at me that my body is reacting to her noises. I mean, my dick isn’t making it a secret. It’s literally telegraphing to her that it’s ready for action.
“How’d you guess?” I gesture to my crotch. “Did my raging hard on give it away?”
She swoops a fingertip of cream from the plate and into my mouth. “No. Dicks get hard all the time, over the most stupid of things, so it’s not a great barometer to be honest.” She gives me another taste of chocolate drizzled cream. “It’s the way your cheeks went red, the way your breathing shifted, and that saucy growl that catches at the back of your throat when you get all hot and bothered.”
“Saucy?”
She shrugs, but I don’t miss the heat creeping into her cheeks too.
“You think I’m saucy?” Why do I claw at compliments from this woman? Is it because she disliked me for so long? I’m sure there’s a psychological reason for that, but I’m not digging into it when she’s looking at me like I’m an idiot.
“How can someone so self-assured and arrogant have doubts about being saucy?” She rolls her eyes like she’s not going to feed me compliments just because I want them.
“Maybe I’m insecure.” Once the words are out, there’s probably something to them. Giving them voice, and space, lands harder than I anticipated.
“You?” She arches an eyebrow and takes another bite. The way she’s savoring these pancakes has me wound tight and ready to spring.
My turn to eye roll. “I know. I can see Tabitha’s headline now. Future NHL superstar vulnerable about his feelings.”
“Don’t give up your day job. Or at least leave the headline to Tabitha. That was kinda weak.”
“I’m opening up here.” I smack her calf. “Can I ask you something?”
She nods, taking another bite.
“Your dad, Oliver, and now me...”
She waves her fork like she’s not sure where I’m going with this.
“I dunno, I feel like you might have feelings about Oliver following in your dad’s footsteps, and me following in mine. Especially after...” He points to his face.
She sighs. “After Dad’s accident, I was afraid. Every time Oli—and you—step out on the ice I’m scared. But nothing I do or don’t do, say or don’t say will make either of you change your mind. You’ve found your passion, your calling, and it’s not up to me to try to talk you out of it. And I know I’d hate it if I found something I loved to do and anyone tried to convince me it was the wrong thing for me to do.”
Shrugging, she carves off another bite. “All I can do is support your choices as best I can, and hope and pray the worst of the injuries are behind us all.”
The air is heavy with her confession, and I don’t really know how to answer what she’s said so I just stare at her like an idiot.
“I’m sharing now, too.” She bumps my arm.
“I know. Does it help to know I’m afraid too? I have nightmares sometimes about my accident. And the thought of playing again... makes my stomach ache. But I’m even more afraid that I’m not good enough to go back. Like they’ll realize I’m not as good as we all thought I was, and I’ll lose my place on the team. Or worse, they won’t even like me anymore.”
Another silence hangs between us before she speaks again.
“I’m not sure what to say. I’m afraid if I let you get too deep into your feelings you’ll freak out, realize you’re telling me how you feel, and bolt. If I keep poking fun at you, you won’t realize something’s changed.” She grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me up the bed toward her. “I like you.”
Her face is so close to mine the tips of our noses are touching. “A lot. I care about you. A lot. And I think you’re attractive, and funny, and smart, and many other things that I probably should tell you more often. And I’m not the only one. All the guys out there,” She gestures at the door with her chin. “They all think the sun shines out your ass, Tate Myers. But more importantly, I wouldn’t grace you with my presence if I didn’t think good things about you. Don’t you know who I am?” She brushes her nose against mine.
A contented hum rumbles in my mouth. “I do know who you are. And I’m grateful you grace me with your presence. Even if you do say those things sarcastically.”
Her cheeks burn brighter. “I know my worth.”
“I know your worth too.”
“If you’re trying to get in my pants it’s working. But this was about you knowing your worth, not me knowing mine.”
I take her plate and put it on the nightstand, leaning so close to her our chests touch. “I’m trying to tell you that I see you.” I slide her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. “All of you. And I like what I see.”
The flutter in my chest tells me it’s more than just ‘like’. It’s been more than like for a little while. Insta-love, isn’t that what the guys babble on about when they’re chatting about their books? It explains why I was so heartbroken when she ghosted me, why I was so angry when she hated me, and why I want to protect her from the worst of me.
“And you haven’t even seen me naked yet.”
From the tone in her voice she means that I’m in for a treat. And I know I am. But from the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, for the briefest of moments, she shows me a flash of her own insecurities. And my heart splinters.
She comes across as strong, and brave, and confident, and fearless, and unflappable, but here and now, staring into her gorgeous eyes, there’s an undercurrent of vulnerability I didn’t know was inside her.
She’s showing me hers because I’m showing her mine.
“You want to talk about that?” Giving her the chance to talk it out is all I can think to do. I don’t want to pretend like I didn’t see it. I don’t want to dismiss her insecurity. I don’t want her to feel like she can’t talk to me about things, even if she harbors them deep inside.
“No.” Her voice is a whisper, her chin trembles, and her eyes glisten with tears.
Fuck.
I can handle a lot of things, mustard in my donuts, scathing retorts, razor-sharp sarcasm, acerbic wit, even my car furniture-wrapped to a fucking pole, but when this emotion wells up in her, I want to do whatever it takes to make her smile.
“You sure?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” If my teeth weren’t already gritted together, I’d grit my teeth to show my resolve. “There’s nothing you can’t talk to me about that I won’t work on understanding.”
She closes her eyes, setting the tears free. When she opens them again, there’s a world of hurt behind her eyelids I suspect she keeps from the world. And she’s letting me see it.
“I don’t know that you’ll ever understand because you look the way you look, and I look the way I look.” On some level, she’s probably not wrong.
“Will you let me try?”
“I’m not sure it’s something I can explain in a single conversation. It’s just really hard to be a fat person in the world. Everyone is both subconsciously and consciously conditioned to loathe everything I am, and everything I need. I try not to let it bother me, I try to love myself without regret or apology, but it’s hard to maintain.”
“We don’t have to do anything if you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not sure if I feel uncomfortable, or I’m concerned you’ll feel uncomfortable. I’m scared of what you’ll be thinking when you see me naked. Knowing that you’re not infallible, that you have insecurities too, that helps.” She pauses, tilting her head a little. “Your confidence is impressive, but knowing you’re human just like the rest of us is reassuring.”
I caress her cheek. “You want me to bring out the big guns?”
She nods.
“I don’t know who I am without hockey. And more than that, I’m afraid to find out. Because what if...?” I swallow, a lump swelling in my throat. “What if hockey is all I am?”
She cups the damaged side of my mouth. “You’re not, but I know telling you won’t make a difference to you believing it. And I can relate to that too, but in a weird, roundabout way. From my side, people assume that fat is all that I am. Few people really take the time to learn that it’s not.”
I’ve never exposed myself like this to another person before, not even my parents have heard these inner thoughts. The closest I got was with Scott on the landing outside my room. From how she shifts her weight in the bed and flicks her gaze to the floor, I’m starting to think Pitstop is in a similar space.
“I hate making anything about my weight. I hate it. Sure, it impacts things I can do, even simple things like tying my shoes, or wiping my ass.”
I love her candor and how frank she’s being.
“Sure, added weight on your frame can lead to all kinds of medical complications and leave you susceptible to a slew of conditions. Yes, I’ve tried to lose weight, but it’s never taken. I’ve tried every diet on the market, I’ve worked out, and nothing’s changed. And the assumption from everyone is that someone my size is my size because they’re lazy, and they eat like shit.”
It’s not the conversation I expected to have with her when I came upstairs, but the urge to worship her, to tell her I already love her even if she thinks it’s crazy, is overwhelming.
There are too many words in my mouth to know which to pick, so I kiss her. It’s slow, and surface-level because I can’t open my mouth to let my tongue explore hers, but I hope she tastes the urgency on my lips.
She might, because she hums, and softens.
When I pull back enough to speak, I make sure she’s looking into my eyes. “I like you mostly for who you are, not what you look like.”
She hisses out a slow breath before nodding. “I know. I might not always believe it, and I might need the occasional reminder, but right now, I believe you.”
“I’ll tell you as often as you need to hear it.” I brush my lips against hers again. “But also? For the record? I think you’re fucking gorgeous, Pitstop.”
She presses her palm onto my chest. “Hold up, Bunny Lover. You’re starting to sound like you’re in this for the long haul.”
Chuckling, I move her hand onto my cock. “Was that unclear? If so, let me clear that up for you. I have no intentions of ever sleeping with another bunny for the rest of my days.” I pull back a little further. “Unless you feel like dressing up as a bunny for Halloween, in which case, we’ll be fucking like rabbits. You’re the only bunny for me.”
She laughs and shakes her head, squeezing my shaft at the same time. “Always about the D with you, isn’t it.”
“Not always. But sometimes.”
She squeezes again, drawing her hand along my length and back down, through my shorts. Pulling me back to her, she sighs as our lips connect. Knowing I affect her in some way, even if it’s not the same level as she affects me, is consuming.
“Can I enter the queendom?” I mumble into her ear.
Her giggle stokes my fire.
“Please, your Majesty.” I skim my hand down the front of her body, her nipples are already hard, poking into my palm as I travel south. “Can I touch you?”
She slides down the headboard so she’s flat on her back. “Proceed.”
I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much in bed. “Thank you, Milady.”
She laughs again, but it stalls out when her breath hitches as my hand meets the top of her thighs.
“There she is.” Her panties are growing damper by the second.
The sound that comes out of her is close to a purr. It’s one of my favorite noises, but when she picks up my hand and shoves it inside her underwear, I die and go to heaven.
“Hands on the headboard, Pitstop.”
She complies.
“I don’t want you helping, or hindering. It’s my way, or no way. You hear?”
“Blah, blah, blah. Just make me come already, Satan.”
Her pussy is sopping wet, soft, slick, and the deeper I slide my fingers into it, the hotter, tighter, and wetter she gets. By the time I curl my fingers into her g-spot, her hips are already rolling.
As much as I want to fuck her senseless, as much as I want to pull my fingers out and plunge my cock in, I need to make her cum first. At least once. I’d love a hat trick, but with my mouth out of commission, I’m not sure my fingers will last that long.
Or my patience.
As I press the soft spot inside her, I rub my thumb across her clit. When I squeeze both of them together, she groans. “Don’t say it.” She sucks in a heavy gasp when I squeeze harder.
“Screenshot.”
“Adolescent.”
I plunge my fingers deeper inside her, harder, making a squelching sound as she covers my hand with her arousal. “Squirter.”
She groans, more liquid lubricates my fingers as she writhes under me. With my free hand, I shove her shirt up her body before pinching her nipple.
She hisses, in pain, or pleasure, I can’t quite tell, but she whimpers. “H-harder. Squeeze harder.”
Does she mean her g-spot or her nipple? Or both? Should I ask? Should I test? I need more information, but I don’t want to ruin the moment.
“Harder, Tate. Please.”
Ooooh, nothing sounds prettier to my ears than my girl asking me nicely. Wonder if I can make her beg. My balls tighten, aching for release, but I shift my weight, not ready to give in to the desire to let go, to give in to the release.
I squeeze her nipple harder, leaning over her body, I suck her other nipple into my mouth, frustration growing in my bones that I can’t open my mouth to lick and bite down on her sensitive peak.
I want to pry open the metal holding my teeth together and leave marks on my girl’s ample tits.
“Harder.” She grunts. When I press her g-spot harder, she pants, short, sharp gasps of air exploding from her body. Her pussy is so slick I struggle to stay on target with my thumb on her clit.
The ache to taste her makes my chest expand with need. Having one of my senses restricted is making me angrier than I anticipated. I want to taste her. Need to. I want to drag my tongue over her salty-slick skin, those beads of sweat prickling across her face as she rides closer to orgasm.
Her mouth tastes of pancakes, strawberries, and chocolate. I want to enjoy it, and when I’m done exploring every single piece of her mouth, I want to suck her clit between my lips, flutter my tongue against it, and then explore every inch of her pussy with my tongue.
Slurping at her core while she soaks me, savoring the salty-sweet tang of her arousal... fuck.
I need it.
I. Need. It.
When her nails bite into my shoulder as she grips me, I grin. I fucking love how responsive she is to me. Trying to distract myself from the fact I can’t taste her, I focus on my other senses.
How her chest and neck have splotches of red that spread across her pale body, her cheeks are flushed, the sheen of slick sweat appearing on her skin.
The smell of strawberries lingering in the air, her coconut shampoo, or lotion... I take my hand out of her and put it under my nose. I’m getting swept into the robust, earthy-sweet scent of her pussy when she shunts me hard.
“The fuck are you doing? You can’t just... You can’t get me all worked up and then just st?—”
I shove my fingers into her mouth. “Suck.”
She scowls, but sucks on my fingers anyway. I’m not sure if it’s the way her tongue laps at my digits, or the fact she did what I asked her to, but my cock’s twitching like a flag in the fucking wind, demanding attention.
“Do you taste sweet, Pitstop? Do you taste Majestic?”
When I pull out my fingers, she sits up and kisses me, leaving the faintest taste of her arousal lingering on my lips.
It drives me madder.
She flops back onto the bed, and as she says “make me come,” I’m already feeling her body, the hard, pebbled nipples, the sticky-damp skin, the smoothness of her thighs, the velvety feel of her walls as they clench my fingers.
I don’t hold back this time, I push, harder and harder, tweaking her nipple with my fingertips, circling her clit faster and faster as I press her g-spot.
Her panting gets sharper, the space between her breaths shorter as she strides up the side of the cliff, ready to jump, fall, or be pushed.
Her nails bite into my skin all over again, she’s going to leave marks, and when her fingers slide into my hair, she scrapes across my scalp leaving a burning trail as she scratches the tender skin.
Her body freezes, muscles tensing, head thrown back as her hair sticks to her face and fans out across the pillow.
When her mouth opens, a melodic, shrill scream bursts from her body as she comes apart on my hand.
“There she is. Keep coming, She Devil. I’m not done with you yet.”
She squirts again, this time it shoots a bit further than simply a trickle on my hand as I’m coaxing her to release. It’s a delightful spray that seeps into my sheets, leaving a blissful satisfaction spreading in my chest like the liquid spreading on the bed underneath her.
Before I stop, she tears off her shirt, leaving her completely naked in my bed. My fingers stumble as I take her in, her pale skin, her more-than-a-handful tits, her curves... my mouth dries up like I’m a man in the desert, and my only salvation is drinking this woman in.
“Get naked.” Her demand is charged with the same need coursing through my veins. “Get inside me.”
Huh. Well. I guess we’re done with the foreplay.