The Teammate’s Sister #3
His hands locked around my hips.
He pulled me back to meet every thrust, using the position to drive deeper than before.
The stretch returned, fuller and more intense.
I buried my face in the pillow.
He caught my hair again.
“Don’t hide.”
“I’m trying not to scream.”
“Let me hear you.”
He spanked me again.
I shouted his name.
“Better.”
His pace became ruthless.
The mattress shifted beneath my knees. My arms shook from holding myself up, but he kept me steady with one hand at my waist.
The other moved over the reddened skin he had marked, alternating soothing strokes with sharp impacts.
Each one made me tighten around him.
Each one pulled a rougher sound from his throat.
“You like when I do that,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
“I like it, Daddy.”
“Good girl.”
He bent over me, chest pressing to my back as his mouth found my shoulder.
The position trapped me beneath him, held firmly between his body and the mattress.
I loved the weight of him.
The strength.
The knowledge that he could overpower me but remained responsive to every breath and movement.
His hand slid beneath me and found my clit.
The touch found me already oversensitive.
I jerked.
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Color.”
“Green.”
He continued.
The second climax built differently, slower but deeper, fed by every rough thrust and sharp strike against my skin.
My legs began to shake.
He felt it.
“Again,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I’m too sensitive.”
“You’re going to give me another.”
The certainty in his voice sent me closer.
His fingers moved with more pressure.
His hips never lost their rhythm.
“Come on,” he murmured against my ear. “Be good for Daddy.”
That did it.
My body clenched around him so hard that his movement faltered.
Pleasure tore through me, leaving me shaking beneath him.
I cried into the pillow.
He held me through it while his own rhythm turned uneven.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
His body tensed.
He drove forward once more and came inside of me with his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, holding himself deep as the last of his control broke.
Then his weight settled carefully over me. His breathing warmed the back of my neck.
My entire body felt loose and exhausted, skin still burning where he had spanked me.
Eventually, he lifted himself and eased away.
The emptiness made me shiver.
He returned with a warm cloth and cleaned me gently.
The contrast nearly made me laugh.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re very polite all of a sudden.”
“You want another spanking?”
“Maybe.”
“Careful.”
I smiled into the pillow.
He smoothed his palm over the red marks he had left on my ass.
“Too hard?”
“No.”
“Going to bruise?”
“Probably.”
He sat beside me on the bed, one hand resting against my thigh.
For the first time that night, he looked uncertain.
“This can’t get back to him.”
“It won’t.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“He won’t.”
“He hit a teammate for looking at you at a Christmas party.”
“He was drunk.”
“Your brother wasn’t.”
I laughed.
The goalie did not.
I looked at the marks my nails had left across his shoulders. His thumb brushed my thigh.
“Can I see you again?”
“You see me every week.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes. But no more making eyes at me across the family lounge.”
“That’s how this started.”
“It’s also how we’ll get caught.”
He stood and pulled on his jeans.
“I’ll be subtle.”
I stood up and gathered my clothes strewn across the floor.
He approached and placed both hands on my waist.
The roughness was gone.
He kissed me softly.
“I’ll get you a car.”
“I can order one.”
“Let me.”
The request felt more intimate than anything else we had done.
I nodded.
He kissed me once more.
“Text me when you’re home.”
“You sound like my brother.”
He immediately stepped back.
“Never say that again.”
I laughed.
The goalie stopped looking at me in public.
Completely.
That should have been reassuring.
Instead, it annoyed me.
At the next home game, he stopped thirty-two of thirty-three shots. My brother scored twice. The team won, 3-1.
I waited in the family lounge afterward, talking to my brother’s wife while children ran between tables and arena staff began packing away the food.
My body still carried faint evidence of the night at the goalie’s apartment.
A bruise beneath my skirt.
Tenderness that returned whenever I shifted in the chair.
My phone buzzed.
You wore a skirt. Cruel.
I looked toward the entrance.
The goalie had just stepped into the lounge in his suit.
He did not look at me.
Not once.
He greeted two families and accepted a hug from a teammate’s young son.
My brother walked in behind him and spotted me immediately.
“There you are.”
“I’ve been here.”
He leaned down and kissed my cheek.
“Good game?”
“You played in it.”
“Did you watch?”
“Some of it.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You’re hilarious.”
The goalie stood ten feet away, speaking to one of the assistant coaches.
My phone buzzed again.
Your brother is looking at me.
I typed without looking down.
Because you’re standing in front of him.
My brother followed my gaze.
Then he smiled.
“Oh, right. You two haven’t officially met.”
My stomach dropped.
The goalie heard him.
I knew because his shoulders tightened.
My brother placed one hand at my back and guided me across the lounge.
“This is my sister.”
The goalie turned toward us.
His expression was perfectly composed.
Professional.
Almost blank.
As if he had not bent me over his bed less than forty-eight hours earlier and made me call him Daddy until I could barely speak.
He held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
I placed my hand in his.
His grip was firm and brief.
Completely appropriate.
“Nice to meet you too,” I said.
The goalie’s thumb brushed once across my knuckles before he released me.
The movement was tiny.
My brother noticed nothing.
“He’s the reason we won tonight,” my brother said.
“I watched.”
The goalie’s eyes held mine.
“Did you?”
“Most of it.”
“You should pay closer attention.”
My brother laughed.
“She knows nothing about goaltending.”
My brother clapped him on the shoulder.
“Anyway, stay away from her.”
He said it jokingly.
Mostly.
The goalie looked at him.
Then at me.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
The goalie’s phone appeared in his hand.
Mine buzzed a second later.
Good girl.
I looked up.
He was already walking away.
My brother picked up a bottle of water.
“Goalies are weird.”
Across the lounge, the goalie looked back.
I smiled.
“I can believe that.”