18. Berkley
Good Boy
Despite my earlier reservations, I had to admit that flying first class to Vegas, being picked up at the airport by a professional car service—the driver bearing one of those signs with my and Lexie’s names on it—and checking into our massive suite almost had me thinking I could get used to it.
Almost.
I loved being here with Lexie, and I really did appreciate that Brent did all of this for us. But still…those intrusive thoughts had wriggled their way into my mind a long time ago, and it was difficult to shove them out, to change who I was at my core and really let myself enjoy the weekend.
While Lexie settled herself in her room, I went into mine and flopped onto the bed, my mind spinning.
A moment later, Lexie entered, as if sensing from across the suite that I was doom spiraling.
“You okay?” she asked, knowing full well I wasn’t.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “It’s just…well, you know. We’ve talked about this.” As for what this was, I raised my arms and swept them out toward the room.
“I do,” Lexie said, the bed dipping as she laid down next to me.
“And this isn’t even just about me anymore! Now he’s dragged you into it. It’s one thing for him to treat me to vacations and gifts and pay for literally everything, everywhere we go,” I said. “But I can’t even imagine how much this weekend cost him for just the two of us.”
“So why didn’t you tell him all of that and refuse to come?”
“Because you were right at dinner. This is his way of showing he cares, and I’m not going to make him feel guilty for that. When I went to his place that night, I told him I appreciated it, but from now on he had to consult me first. That seemed like the perfect compromise. But being here…it’s different. This is a lot, Lex.”
“Look, I get what you’re saying. But we’re already here, and you’ve talked to Brent about your misgivings. There’s really nothing more you can do except sit back and enjoy yourself.”
“I’m not sure I know how to relax anymore,” I said with a chuckle.
“Then this is the perfect weekend to rediscover that.”
I gave her a knowing smile. “And you’re the perfect person to help me.”
“Damn right I am,” she said, rising from the bed. “Now get up and get changed into something hot. I’m starving, and then we’re going out.”
I did as I was told.
The next morning, my body was deliciously sore, and for once, it wasn’t because Brent had fucked me into oblivion all night. In fact, I hadn’t even seen my boyfriend since we’d arrived in Vegas. Before Lexie and I left the room yesterday, he’d called to check in, but he was so busy with ASG media obligations that I knew he’d be tied up until late. Lexie and I had gone out to a nightclub, gotten drunk and danced our asses off before stumbling back into our suite in the wee hours of the morning.
In fact, I was only awake now thanks to the insistent buzzing of my phone on the nightstand, the sound like a jackhammer to my skull.
“Hello?” I said, voice hoarse from sleep and screaming the words to rap songs last night.
“Hi, baby,” Brent said. “You have a good night?”
With a groan, I rolled over onto my back, bringing my hand to my face to quell the pounding in my head. “Yeah, but I think I drank too much.”
“Based on the filthy texts you sent me, I’d say you did.”
“What?” I shot upright, face burning with embarrassment, head absolutely throbbing with the sudden movement. “Oh, my God. How bad are they?”
“Not bad at all,” he said with a laugh. “In fact, I’m looking forward to putting some of your suggestions to good use.”
“Shit,” I said. “Like what?”
“There’s a particularly enticing one involving chocolate syrup you want me to lick off your pu—”
“Oh my God, don’t finish that sentence. I get the point.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I fucking love the idea. I’ve been half hard since I woke up and read your messages, which is making these morning interviews really awkward.”
“Shit, what time is it?”
“Nearly noon,” Brent said. “Better get that sexy ass out of bed and get ready. See you later!”
With that, he hung up, and I padded out into the suite’s living room. Lexie was seated at the small breakfast table, a cup of coffee in front of her, pastries spread across the surface.
“Special delivery from your boy,” she said, gesturing to the food and another cup of coffee.
“Bless him,” I said reverently as I sat across from Lexie and lifted the mug to my lips.
“You look like I feel,” Lexie said with a chuckle.
“I don’t remember anything after that third round of shots,” I said, absently rubbing a temple with my free hand. “Apparently, I texted Brent telling him I wanted him to lick chocolate syrup off me.”
Lexie barked out a laugh. “That’s incredible,” she said. “Brent is good for you.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “He brings out a new side of you. More carefree.”
I didn’t respond, mostly because I knew she was right. Brent had unlocked something inside of me, bringing forth a girl who was more laid back and, dare I say, happy.
I loved that for me—and I think I loved him for it, too.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when we arrived at the arena a few hours later. The concourse was packed with men, women, and children from all walks of life wearing a kaleidoscope of jerseys repping professional teams from Los Angeles to Boston.
By the time we made it to our seats, I was uneasy. Maybe I’d imagined it, but there seemed to be an awful lot of people, especially women, wearing Brent Jean jerseys to match the ones Lexie and I wore.
When we found our seats, a group of college-aged girls sat nearby, all wearing tight white tank tops with Brent’s face ironed onto them. Each tank was cut low to reveal a healthy amount of cleavage, and one girl held a large sign that read: “Brent Jean, #22 on the ice, #1 in my heart!” Another said: “Hey Jean, meet me in the penalty box!”
I looked down at my own jersey and frowned, until Lexie reminded me that Brent was with me, not them.
Still, for the rest of the afternoon, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Brent having a girlfriend wouldn’t stop any of these girls from throwing themselves at him if given the chance. Brent and I were in a very serious, very committed relationship, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier to witness the obsession female fans showed for my boyfriend. I was painfully aware of how easy it would be for one of them to get close to him on the road somewhere, and how easy it would be for him to do something he couldn’t take back.
Our relationship ending in anything less than forever would destroy me.
I didn’t think Brent would hurt me, but being cheated on left me jaded, and I’d never fully mastered those thoughts that constantly questioned his intentions. Which wasn’t fair to him, because he’d be nothing but attentive and all in with me.
Vowing to shake it off, I focused my attention on the ice, on my man out there doing his thing. I loved seeing Brent like that, enjoying himself, laughing with his colleagues, participating in—and winning—a few skills competitions. He wasn’t stressed about where his next goal was going to come from, or whether or not the Warriors were going to win. He was just having fun, putting on a show for the fans.
It made me fall for him a little bit more.
That evening, Lexie and I got all fancied up and headed to the lobby to meet Brent. The league was hosting a fundraising gala in one of the hotel’s big banquet halls, and all the players and their guests were invited to attend.
My dress was long, black, backless, and threaded with silver sparkles that glittered under the hotel lights. I felt sexy, my long blonde hair hanging down my back in waves, the brightness a direct contrast to the dark fabric of my dress. I felt like a goddess, and when we stepped into the lobby, the way Brent’s eyes darkened and a grin stretched his lips told me he agreed.
Crossing the distance between us, he swept me into a hug and kissed me, his mouth lingering against mine as if he hadn’t seen me in weeks. Returning me to the ground, he grabbed a healthy handful of my ass and whispered, “You look amazing.”
Nearby, Lexie gagged.
I chuckled, but thanked Brent, stepping back to check him out. Brent was sexy in all states, whether naked and moving over me, or in jeans and a tee, meeting me after practice for a quick lunch or dinner, or lounging at home in sweats.
But Brent in a tux took my breath away.
And being able to run my hands up his chest and feel the heat of his body through his dress shirt, knowing that later, I was the one that got to strip him out of it and feel that warmth beneath my mouth and against my skin? That was a novelty that would never wear off.
Some of the other hockey players walking by whistled and catcalled as we remained locked in each other’s arms. Most of them chirped Brent and complimented me, and Brent flipped every one of them off.
When we entered the ballroom, I realized that, while I was comfortable around the Warriors, I wasn’t nearly as cool and collected when rubbing elbows with the league’s best. Finding myself suddenly surrounded by players I’d been watching for years—guys who, before Brent, I could’ve only dreamed of meeting—was unsettling, to say the least.
Shortly after arriving, Brent, Lexie, and I got separated, and I found myself chatting, about professional football of all things, with a rookie phenom. And when the goalie for the reigning Stanley Cup champions asked me what I did for a living, we had a half hour conversation about things he should look out for in his upcoming contract negotiations.
Brent came and went from my side, working the room, chatting with his Eastern Conference teammates and introducing me to a few guys on rival teams that he’d played with in college. Lexie was in her element, flitting about, turning heads everywhere she moved. Though I didn’t miss the fact that her phone was glued to her hand, presumably texting Mitch.
At one point, I excused myself from a group of WAGs to get another drink. I wandered around the room in search of a waiter with a tray of white wine and, upon finding one, paused to seek out my boyfriend.
“So you’re Brent Jean’s girlfriend,” a voice said from behind me, and I turned to a tall blond man eyeing me from five feet away.
“I am.”
The man approached, and I found myself looking into the cold blue gaze of Josef Bobal.
Bobal was notorious for dirty hits, including one on Brent during the first period of a Frozen Four semi-final game his senior season. Brent had needed stitches above his left eye, and he was knocked out for the rest of the game.
Bobal had gone on to score the game-winning goal.
“You’re shorter than I expected,” he said. “Typically, Jean goes for the leggy ones.”
I shrugged, refusing to let this guy get to me. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” he asked, stepping closer. I yielded ground until my lower back pressed against the edge of a table. Bobal reached for a lock of my hair, twirling it around a finger. “We could have a lot of fun together.”
“I think you’re a dirty player. You’re notorious for dangerous hits and getting away with them. And I wouldn’t ‘have fun’ with you if you paid me.”
His scornful laugh sent a chill down my spine. He moved fully into my personal space and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “I could show you dirty. Way better than pretty boy Brent Jean ever could. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
My skin crawled, and before I did something reckless like punch him or throw my drink in his face, Brent came to my rescue.
“I don’t think she would, actually,” he said, materializing from behind Bobal. Reaching me in two long strides, he shoved Bobal out of the way and drew me protectively into his side. Without looking at me, he continued, “Hi, baby. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
For the record, I needed to state that I could take care of myself. I wasn’t some damsel in distress that needed saving. But the look in Bobal’s eyes…I was thankful Brent had been my knight in black Armani.
“Aww, come on,” Bobal said to our retreating backs. “Things were just getting interesting.”
“Ignore him,” Brent said under his breath. I wasn’t sure if he was saying it for my benefit or his own.
As we moved through the crowd toward the exit, I said, “Do you see Lexie?”
Brent’s head swiveled left and right before he said, “No.”
My phone buzzed with a text.
Lexie: I’m back in the room! Gonna FaceTime Mitch, so don’t hurry back ??
“Oh, that was her,” I said. “She’s back in the room, and told me not to hurry back.”
“That’s perfect,” Brent said, reaching down to lace our fingers together, “because I wasn’t planning on letting you out of my sight for the rest of tonight.”
My skin tingled in anticipation. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
My phone buzzed again.
Lexie: Actually, stay with your boy tonight. Mitch is here
Me: Like…in Vegas?
Lexie: Yes in Vegas ?? he surprised me.
“I guess I was going to have to stay with you tonight anyway,” I said, holding my phone out for Brent’s inspection.
“Damn,” Brent said. “Showing up unannounced? He totally stole my move.”
I rolled my eyes, but a laugh escaped me anyway. “I think it’s sweet.”
“Sweet?” Brent said with a raised brow. “Those two are an explosion waiting to happen.”
“You really think so?”
Brent nodded. “I realize I don’t know Lexie that well, but from what I do know, and given that Mitch is my best friend, I can tell you that’ll end one of two ways.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.”
“An epic breakup the shockwaves of which will be felt by anyone close to them—us included—or they’ll fall ass over head in love and gross us all out forever with how obsessed they are with each other.”
“Well…” I said slowly, considering. “I realize I don’t know Mitch that well, but…you’re not wrong.”
“Of course I’m not,” he said with a smirk. Then Bobal shoved past us as we were about to exit the ballroom, and it quickly turned to a grimace.
“I fucking hate that guy. The shit he was saying about you last weekend. And then to have the gall to approach you and proposition you right in front of me and a bunch of our colleagues? Fuck him.”
I halted in the middle of the lobby, bristling with his words. “What do you mean, the shit he was saying about me last weekend?”
Brent’s eyes widened, then he dropped his gaze, reaching up to nervously grip the back of his neck. I’d seen him do it a thousand times in interviews when he didn’t like the question he’d been asked. “So…I may have lied about why I punched him during that game.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Can we talk about this upstairs? Please?” Eyes pleading, he glanced meaningfully around the lobby, and I noticed for the first time all the attention we were drawing.
I relented, but the moment we were safely ensconced in his room, I whirled on him.
“So you punched him because of me, not Grey.”
A statement, not a question. He’d said as much downstairs. Not in so many words, but I wasn’t stupid.
“Berk, you don’t even want to know. I just…I lost it.”
“I actually do want to know. I deserve to know.”
Brent sat at the foot of the bed and scrubbed his hands through his hair, another of his nervous tics. I secretly loved the gesture because it gave him that tousled, just-rolled-out-of-bed look. The dark strands stood up at odd angles, making him look freshly fucked.
And now I was thinking about fucking him.
Then again, when wasn’t I?
Focus, Daniels.
“He said that you’re hot, which you are. But he also said that you’re probably a freak in bed, and that you’re just like every other puck bunny out there. That you’re only with me for my money. He asked if I wouldn’t mind sharing you, and told me he was going to slide into your DMs the next time they were in Detroit so he could take a run at you. Not to mention, he made comments about how I’ve got a woman in every city, and he wondered what you’d do if you found out. None of that is true. You know it, and I know it. But it still made my blood boil. What else could I do but hit him?”
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had those exact thoughts—that he’s got women in other cities—myself. But giving myself to this man meant trusting him, so that’s what I was choosing to do. Without a word, I slipped my heels off and walked over to him, resting my hands on his shoulders as I fit myself between his thighs. He gripped my hips to steady me as I hiked my dress to climb onto his lap.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” I said, capturing his chin with my hand and forcing him to meet my eyes. I kissed him lightly before continuing. “I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’ll say it once more: this thing between us has never been about the money for me. I’m not even with you because you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m with you because you’re kind, sweet, loyal, and incredibly generous. You’re smart, funny, and treat me like a fucking queen. Nothing else matters.”
I was on my back in an instant, Brent’s grinning face hovering above my own. He bent and kissed me hard, his hands branding my body as his mouth consumed me.
“I love you,” he whispered against my skin as his kisses moved to my throat, chasing them with his tongue along my pulse. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”
I swallowed hard around the lump that lodged in my throat.
I wasn’t ready to say it back, not yet. So instead of offering him words, I imbued a long kiss with everything I could offer him right now—elation, comfort, safety, joy, and bone-deep infatuation.
And okay, definitely love. But telling someone you loved them was terrifying, and in this moment, I wasn’t as brave as Brent.
“You’re mine, Berkley Daniels,” he growled when he came up for air. “No one else’s but mine.”
I moaned in response.
“Say it, Berk.”
“Yours.”
Nothing had ever felt more right. As surely as I knew my own name, I knew nothing could ever tear me away from this man.
Brent pushed my dress up to expose my stomach, trailing kisses across my flesh. I sat up long enough to pull it over my head and toss it to the floor.
Our lips frantically clashed as we pawed at each other’s clothes. My bra flew in one direction, his tux jacket in another. Growing impatient with the buttons on his shirt, I ripped open the placket with one swift tug and pushed it off his shoulders.
“Greedy,” he said, a smug smile playing on his lips as he stood back to unzip and kick off his pants.
“For you? Always.”
In response, he grabbed my foot and pressed a kiss to the sole before working his way up my leg. When he reached my center, still covered by my panties, he pressed a kiss to my clit through the fabric. I whined in response, wanting his mouth on my skin. But instead of taking them off, he simply pushed them to the side to give me what I wanted—what he wanted. As he spread my pussy open with two fingers, I let my knees fall wide, giving him better access, squirming impatiently.
“You know, this”—he trailed a finger across my sensitive flesh—“is the same shade your cheeks turn when you blush. I love that blush. Almost as much as I love this pussy.” He flicked the tip of his tongue against my clit, and I gasped. “How you taste. How fucking warm and wet you are when I’m inside you. How perfectly we fit.”
“W-why?” I choked out.
“Because, Berk. When you blush? It’s the only time I know exactly what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours.”
“You wanna know what’s going on in it right now?”
“Of course.”
“I’m thinking,” I said, rising onto my elbows to glare down at him, “that my hot as fuck boyfriend should stop talking and put his mouth on me before I scream for reasons other than his incredible tongue.”
He huffed out a laugh, his warm breath hitting my clit, raising goosebumps over my entire body. I wanted him to do it again, to lick me and blow on me, to tease me and edge me before making me come hard enough to see stars.
And I knew he’d do it, too. If I asked, he’d do anything.
“Demanding, aren’t we?”
“Please, baby.”
He pulled my panties down my legs and stood at the foot of the bed, sliding his boxers off. Having his eyes on my body was almost as good as his hands. I’d never felt sexier or more powerful than when he looked at me like this—like he couldn’t believe he got to be here with me. Like I was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.
He pressed a knee onto the bed, ready to move over me again, but I halted him.
“Wait, don’t move.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said. Just…let me look at you. Do you have any idea how perfect you are?” I looked my fill, running my eyes over the perfectly shaped muscles of his chest, stomach, arms and thighs, before resting on that gorgeous cock, primed for me. “I don’t just mean physically. I mean all of it. You are perfection. And you know what?”
“What?”
“You are mine, Brent Jean. Do you understand?”
“I’ll never be anyone else’s,” he promised.
“Good boy,” I said. “Now get over here. I need you.”
“What happened to putting my mouth on you?”
With a smirk, I dropped my hand to my pussy, fingers coming away drenched.
“I’m far past needing foreplay.”
Brent brought my fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, grinning wickedly as he sank to his knees between my thighs and notched his cock at my entrance, coating his tip in my arousal and spreading it down the shaft.
“If you’re sure…”
I nodded emphatically, my moan turning into a groan of frustration when he pushed only as far as his head and stilled.
“Brent!”
“Ask nicely.”
This man and his desire for manners. It would piss me off if it didn’t get me off, every damn time he made me beg for it.
“Please, baby,” I breathed. “Please.”
With a dark chuckle, he drove home.