2. CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
2
Whoever said to keep your friends close and your enemies closer probably never envisioned this scenario.
Here I am, Rory Sellers—beloved daughter of Dylan Sellers, the head coach of the Montreal Blizzard and sizzling rival by association—pressed up against Judson "Killer" Wells, the defenseman everyone in my dad's orbit loves to hate.
And God, if good ‘ole Dad knew what I was doing right now—against a wall with Judson’s lips lashing at my neck while he has me pinned up against his rock-hard body—he'd probably have a coronary and order me to my room.
It’d definitely be forbidden.
It doesn’t matter that the whole thing started innocently enough—if you can call me planning to run into him and any interaction between a Wolverine and a Blizzard innocent. I spotted Judson the second he swaggered into the bar, looking every bit the hockey god he's celebrated as.
Except, in my world, he's more devil than deity. He was clearly on a mission to stir up trouble with Charles Gagnon, our team's most notorious hothead and asshole.
Charles would’ve deserved whatever he had coming to him.
After the shit he pulled tonight, I should have allowed Judson one play with his fists to set it right. However, like a moth to a flame, I couldn't help but intervene. I told myself it was to prevent a brawl, but deep down, a part of me was drawn to the danger he represented.
Judson is off-limits.
The ice cream proposition should have been a red flag—but it wasn’t. Judson Wells’ well-documented history of fleeting romances and whispered promises seems like the epitome of a cautionary tale.
Yet, here I am, not as a na?ve damsel hoping to be the one who changes him, but as someone fully aware of the game and surprisingly at peace with playing it, even if just for tonight.
The truth is Judson's allure isn't lost on me; it's as palpable as the heat between us. There's something thrilling about being with someone who knows exactly what they're doing, who brings to the bedroom the same confidence and skill that make him a star on the ice.
Perhaps his reputation as a womanizer makes this simpler and cleaner. There's no need for pretenses of forever or declarations of undying love. We're just two people seeking a moment of connection in a world that's too often cold and lonely.
That’s all I want.
A boyfriend is the last thing I need because I’m too busy focusing on other people’s lives and indulging in their problems. As a social media content creator and a journalist at an up-and-coming online magazine in New York, I’d take other people’s problems over my own any day.
No one offers ice cream as a peace offering or a way out of a bar, not in this universe. But sure enough, he took me to get cookie dough ice cream, which led to us making out in his car like a couple of teenagers.
The next thing I knew, we were stumbling into his hotel room, hands roaming, lips locked, in a dance where we were perfectly in sync.
I hope he knows where a woman’s G-spot is and makes me come like my life depends on it.
If not, this is about to be highly disappointing.
“You sure about this?” he mutters through what sounds like a groan. His hard cock is pressed against my core, and he must be insane to think I’d turn down a night of, hopefully, good sex.
However, it’s endearing and slightly out of character—I think—to ask me if I’m sure I’m about to have sex with him.
“More than sure,” I reply as he licks at my throat and follows it up with his lips. “Keep doing that.”
“Baby, this isn’t shit until you lift this dress and give me what I really want.”
Done.
I grapple at my Chanel dress, heaving the fabric over my head and silently begging for him to take this a step further.
I'm not the kind of girl people picture when they think of a hockey fanatic. With my penchant for dresses and manicures that are always in pristine condition, I've spent my life being underestimated and overlooked.
But beneath the surface, I bleed my father’s team colors as fiercely as any player on the ice.
Judson didn't recognize me, not that I can blame him. My father's obsession with the game has always pushed me to the margins of his world. Tonight, though, I'm center ice, and the only game being played is the one where every touch from Judson sends shivers down my spine.
“Aurora,” Judson whispers against my neck, his breath hot, sending a jolt of electricity through me. His use of my name feels like a secret that binds us together in this bubble, away from the rivalry, expectations, and inevitable fallout. “Last chance.”
"Judson," I manage to gasp out, my voice a mixture of desire and lust. His name is a betrayal of everything my father stands for, yet here I am, unable to deny my magnetic pull toward him, and we’re not enemies.
We’re nothing but a night. One night.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. “Are you a screamer?”
The intensity of his stare pins me more effectively than his lips. It's a fair question. This isn't just a fling; it's a line crossed, a point of no return.
But he doesn’t know that.
And I’m not about to mention it either.
I find the part of me that's always been rebellious, the part that doesn't want to be defined by my father's career or my family's expectations and go with it. “I have a feeling you’re going to make me one.”
He smiles and doesn’t need any more encouragement. He captures my lips with his, and any remaining thoughts of rivalry, of right and wrong, evaporate in the heat between us.
I feel him fumble around with his pants, and I kiss him harder, coaxing out that inner ice god I know he has in him.
I’d be lying if I said I’ve never seen Judson play. The man is the sexiest human being when he’s on skates. I know I’m about to be one of many women he’s slept with, hundreds even, but I can’t bring myself to care.
We’re never going to see each other again.
And I like that.
Judson enters me with no warning, causing me to seize up from how thick he is, and he groans in pleasure at that.
“Fuck, Aurora,” he moans out, chin tucked into his chest as he watches himself enter me again. “I hope you didn’t have plans early tomorrow because you and I…I can’t wait to see how you taste next.”
My pussy clenches even though I do have plans—work—but that just gets me out of here faster and not coming up with a reason to stay.
But with Judson treating me like an animal rather than a fragile female in heels, I might pull an all-nighter to experience that because I won’t be able to again.
“You already promising me round two?”
“At least three,” he retorts simply as he picks up his pace. “Goddamn…”
Holy shit, he feels so good.
I don’t stop my own whimpers from forming or fleeing because they can boost his ego for all I care. I want him to give me everything he has.
“Don’t stop,” I beg shamelessly, arching my back to take him deeper. “Oh my God…”
“If you don’t stop being so fuckin’ sexy,” he grounds out. “I’m going to embarrass myself.”
I start to laugh—but it turns into another moan because Judson unleashes how athletic he really is on my body.
One of his hands slides between us, and he finds my aching clit with ease, showing his way around a woman’s body like he mapped it out.
An expert on and off the ice, apparently.
He wouldn’t be a known womanizer if he didn’t know how to score. His laundry list includes celebrities and random girls at bars, and I guess that rumor is true.
Except I have a secret—whoo hoo—being the head coach’s daughter of the team he hates the most.
I wonder if he’d hate me.
I’d have to care, I guess, to put too much thought into that. My type is bad boy, and I’ve learned to handle disappointment and heartbreak.
But Judson Wells is anything but a disappointment.
My body hums in pleasure with every stroke of his cock, and I’m already teeter-tottering on the brink of coming. Doing so will only allude that I haven’t had sex in forever, but that judgment won’t mean a lick to me because all we have is tonight.
And tomorrow, when I see him at the game, he won’t see me.
I’ll blend in with the crowd. I’ll be another fan screaming and waving my hands around.
I’ll need to be careful.
Games like this are vital to my father, and any mishap will send him over the edge of half-stroke, half out of his mind. There isn’t anything my father loves more than hockey.
Not even me.
And I’ve thrown myself into the pond just to find some affection somewhere because Daddy Dearest doesn’t have any to spare.
“I can feel you, Aurora,” Judson coaxes, his voice deep and deliciously seductive. “You’re so wet.”
I bob my head again, all out of words. I don't want to distract or disrupt anything happening right now.
He is a silent killer.
One that deprives me of rational thoughts or all thoughts, only leaving one in its wake.
I want both of us to come so hard that we forget our names.
“You’re so goddamn perfect,” he drawls, pushing me more into the wall and squeezing his hand between us. “How am I ever gonna let you go?”
“I think you’ll manage.”
“What if I don’t?” He nestles his face into the crook of my neck and goes in for the kill again. “What if you’ve ruined me for other women?”
My lips coil into a smile because he’s officially lost his shit, and maybe my pussy is magic, after all. “We’ll talk about it after you’re not in a lust-filled state, Killer.”
He pulls his face away from me, and it’s then that I know I messed up.
Killer.
His nickname in the NHL.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“What did you say?”
I try my best to keep a straight face—or one that is still sex-crazed, even though he’s stopped fucking me—and rearrange my words a bit. “I said we’ll talk about it when you’re not in a lust-filled state.” I force a playful chuckle. “Calm down, killer.”
His face relaxes, and it’s then that I realize he’s trying to hide from himself—from who he is. Maybe he’s tired of the limelight and fame. He introduced himself to me by his first name, Judson, and not Wells, as everyone else in the league calls him.
There could be more to him than it seems.
However, this isn't about changing or saving anyone. It's not about futures intertwined or paths forever joined. It's about the thrill of the moment, the rush of connection, the sheer joy of being with someone who ignites a spark. Judson, for all his complexities and contradictions, offers a night of adventure with no strings attached.
That’s all I can handle right now.
“You know you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Okay, now we’re back.
I roll my eyes because I’m sure that’s not the first time he’s said that to a girl, nor will it be the last.
“I mean it,” he quips. “You’re fuckin’ impeccable.”
“Thank you.” Then I lift a brow. “Did you finish?”
He narrowed his eyes and fuck me; he commands attention with a presence that's as striking as it is magnetic.
Standing tall and lean, his frame suggests athleticism and power, honed through countless hours on the ice. His broad shoulders and sculpted physique hint at the strength beneath the surface, a testament to his dedication to his craft as a defenseman for the New Brunswick Wolverines.
But his face truly captivates, framed by tousled blonde hair styled in a trendy fade that adds an edge to his rugged good looks. His jawline is strong and chiseled, hinting at determination and resolve, while a hint of stubble only adds to his rugged charm.
The most arresting feature, however, is undoubtedly his eyes—piercing emerald green orbs that seem to shimmer with an intensity all their own. They're the kind of eyes that demand attention, hold your gaze captive, and refuse to let go. They're windows to a soul that's seen its share of victories and defeats, a soul that's as complex and possibly multifaceted as the man himself.
Because this man doesn’t talk like a womanizer, he’s cloaked himself as human and not the ice god I’ve seen him to be.
“Did you seriously just ask if I was finished? That’s cute,” he conveys with a look of challenge. “Wrap your arms tighter around my neck.” I do, and he removes his hand from my clit and grabs my ass with both hands, spreading my cheeks open before sinking deep into me.
My whole body bows forward a bit with a whimper as Judson demands my body to yield to him, and, holy shit, that’s all I want to do.
It takes one of his sexy grunts and a mumbled fuck, yes, and I’m breaking apart into a million and one stars. My orgasm rips a scream through my throat, and Judson doesn’t bother covering it. He only pumps into me harder and harder until he’s found his own release.
I swear, even after he’s done, he’s still thrusting himself in my body, and when I think I can’t take anymore from how sensitive my pussy feels, he stops. His soft lips press gingerly into my forehead and linger there for a sweet kiss that’s equally confusing and sweet all in one beat.
“You’ve just become my favorite thing to do.”
A broken chuckle escapes my lips because what the hell? I don’t know if I should feel used or if he’s too loopy to think straight, but I’ll take it anyway.
“Thank you. I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Please do,” he mutters. “It’s only meant to be one.”
A comfortable silence falls between us as we catch our breath.
He’s still inside me, and I’m still latched onto him like I don’t want to let go.
“You hungry?”
I rock my head back and forth. “Nope.”
“Thirsty.”
“I’m good.”
“Tired?”
“Not really.”
“Good.” He peels me off the wall and pivots toward the middle of the room. “Because I’m everything but the latter, and I’m going to eat you alive until you’re writhing and filled with me again.”