Puck Me, Baby (San Diego Seals Hockey #2)

1. Carina – Now

one

Carina – Now

L ight pierced my skull through my closed eyelids. My brain was being carved out by icepicks, an incessant throb like the second hand ticking around a clock, except with blunt force trauma involved. It was as if someone was using a sledgehammer to drive the icepick into my head.

I was flushed and freezing at the same time. The air-conditioning blew cold air over my naked body, but the heat source wrapped around me was at inferno levels. No, wait. There were two heat sources.

What the fuck?

I blinked open my eyes and immediately slammed them shut again. The only thing I’d seen during the millisecond I’d managed to keep my eyes open was a bright blue sky through the window. The drapes were clearly wide open because not even sheer curtains muted the light.

I tried to put the pieces together, but my memory was hazy. I remembered being at my best friend Sophia’s house. She got the call that her father had fallen and broken his hip. It had signaled the end of our plans for a girls’ trip to Vegas. I remembered Sophia telephoning her son, Jacques, to update him. He’d insisted that I go to Vegas, and he’d join me. We could see the shows and get the massages I’d planned with his mother. I remembered flying in, meeting Jacques and his roommate, Travis, who’d come with him.

Then… nothing.

Why was I naked? Who was I lying between? It had to be Jacques and Travis. Surely it wasn’t anyone else.

Jacques had booked the hotel. When we’d arrived and seen the room, I’d immediately offered to book another one. At least no one would be sleeping on the floor, or the sofa. Jacques had waved off my concern, telling me we’d only be there to sleep. Apparently, he was okay with the three of us sharing the one bed.

Maybe with the three of us in the bed, I’d gotten hot… and completely stripped off in my sleep. That was too farfetched for even my hungover brain to believe.

But that’s what it had to be.

I couldn’t possibly have slept with them. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for me to have done that—not because they weren’t gorgeous. They totally were.

But friends didn’t sleep with their friends’ sons.

At least I better not have.

I catalogued my body. I had one hand tucked under my pillow, the other tangled in short, spiky hair. I cracked my eyelids open just enough that I could see and looked down. Travis. His face was buried in my boobs—it was a wonder my double-H’s hadn’t suffocated him. His arm was wrapped around my waist. His shoulders were broad, tattoos decorated his chest and arm, and his narrow waist framed a sexy-as-hell, tight, round ass that was currently on full display to my wandering eyes.

I was horrified but relieved at the same time—at least I knew who I was with. But it also meant that Jacques was behind me. I didn’t dare check whether he was naked too.

I inhaled slowly, and the smell of sex permeated my senses. Fuck. This was not good.

Jacques had his hand on my hip, and he was pressed up against me, every inch of his long, lean body tucked into my back.

Maybe we’d all been hot. Maybe the air-conditioning wasn’t working, and we’d all stripped off. Maybe it rained and we all got wet.

Shiiit. Panic filled me. God, surely I wasn’t so stupid. Please let me not have been that imbecilic.

If we’d had sex, I wouldn’t be sore. There had never been one occasion in my twenty-year marriage that I’d been sore after sex.

But I was. Every inch of me ached.

Thank goodness.

It had to be just a hangover.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. I’d never been so grateful to be suffering self-inflicted pain in my life. From my hair follicles right down to my toenails and everything in between, it all ached. My hands and arms were tired and heavy, as if I’d done a hundred pushups—heck, even ten would probably break me—but it definitely wasn’t from sex.

It’d never been like that before.

It definitely wouldn’t be like that with them.

My legs and hips were sore too. A memory flashed in my mind’s eye of walking the Strip, the three of us loaded up with shopping bags.

I could have cried. I had no rational explanation for my nakedness, but the ache in my muscles was easily explainable. Exercise—punishment disguised as healthiness. It ranked equally with kale, wheatgrass, and coriander on a scale of bleh.

I’d only been this sore once before—the time David suggested that I try yoga. My instructor had me bent like a pretzel. I hadn’t been able to touch my toes since I was a kid, and my flexibility had nothing to do with it. My belly and boobs were, purely and simply, in the way. Thanks to his cluelessness, I couldn’t move the next day.

Another flash of something lit up my memory bank. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but I remembered awed stares and the stretch of muscles that had been long neglected. It was like waiting for dense fog to lift, but snatches of memories were coming back to me. Laughter, desire, hands roaming my body, and my legs being lifted.

My breath caught.

“Fuck, so sexy,” Jacques murmured, watching my boobs bounce as Travis leaned forward and thrust into me. My knees were pressed to my shoulders, my feet as close to my ears as they’d ever been. Travis held his weight above me, his arms hooked under my legs to keep me open to him. His muscles bulged as he gave me what I was begging for—harder, faster. The bedhead slammed against the wall every time he drove his cock deep into me over and over. He never slowed his pace. He was so thick, so long. He stretched me tight around his girth. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from where our bodies connected. His eight-pack rippled each time he thrust into me. That delicious V at the base of his cock rubbed against my clit every time he rolled his hips and pushed deep inside. I gasped as he hit my G-spot again, making my toes curl and my body tingle.

It was sensation overload.

“That’s it. Make her come. Travis,” Jacques ordered. “Then we’ll share her.”

Two men wanted me. The proof of their desire was right there in front of me. It was undeniable. Travis was inside me, praising me with every whispered breath against my throat. Jacques was kneeling by my shoulders. He was hard and leaking, a drop of precum forming every time his fist shuttled up and down his length. His grip was tight, and his sac was drawn up to his body. I couldn’t decide whether he looked like he was staving off an orgasm or racing toward it. He was cut—they both were. Another first for me.

A bead of precum pooled at his slit. I needed a taste. I was desperate for it. Acting purely on impulse, I reached for him to touch my thumb to his cockhead and wipe it away. He moaned on an exhale, his hips stuttering. I licked his essence off my finger, and Jacques’s salty flavor burst on my tongue. I moaned, then reached for him again. I wanted to suck on him.

But instead of coming closer, he shifted backward out of my reach. He brushed his free hand down to my ass and circled my rim with those long, strong fingers. I cried out, desperate for more.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck!

I really did sleep with them.

My head throbbed harder, and I pressed my fingers to my temples in a vain attempt to block out the light and the stress-induced migraine that was going to hit me.

I was sore from sex. I remembered everything. Travis rolling us so I was straddling him, Jacques prepping me, stretching my hole, and entering me. I remembered crying out over and over as they brought me to orgasm more times than I could count. I remembered laughing and being greedy. They’d encouraged me, both of them getting it up again and again and changing positions every time so they could figure out which way made me scream the loudest.

That was why my pussy and my ass were feeling it. I’d been insatiable, and they were young and fit enough to act out every one of my fantasies. It was the most well used I’d been in… well, ever. My ex-husband had preferred me on my hands and knees. He often said that it was easier access to my pussy. Apparently, my belly didn’t get in the way like that, and my ass didn’t crush him. But Trav and Jacques had proven him wrong. Multiple times.

I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth and tried to lick my lips. But my mouth was as dry as the Sahara and tasted like I’d licked a dumpster.

I needed a drink. But I also didn’t want to move. It was the strangest mix of wanting to bask in the memories, and maybe even relive them, and guilt. Soul-crushing guilt. If I feigned sleep, I could ignore the fact that I was lying between not one, but two men, one of whom was my best friend’s son. To top it off, they were practically half my age. I should be disgusted with myself, and I was. But I was also kind of proud of the wild side of me that came out to play. I hadn’t even known I had it in me.

Jacques shifted, inhaling slowly and gripping my hip tighter. He pulled me closer to him, and his hardening cock slid between my ass cheeks, prodding my hole. We’d collapsed after that final time together, and I don’t think we’d moved all night. I was sure I was still lubed up. A shiver passed over me. He could literally slide right back inside me.

Shame pulsed through me, but desire overwhelmed it. My nipples tightened and my pussy throbbed. I was going to hell. It was a foregone conclusion. I wanted them inside me again. I wanted Travis to drive Jacques wild with the way he teased my G-spot, his hard cock rubbing against Jacques’s through my thin walls like he had last night. They’d unleashed on me, each trying to outdo each other, holding out while I shattered in their arms over and over.

Jacques mumbled something and ground his hips against my ass, his cockhead slipping forward and sliding between my legs. Oh God, he was almost inside me again. I angled my hips, opening myself to him. He hissed as his cock throbbed, half his cockhead inside me.

Fuck, I was a terrible person. A horny, horrible best friend. A breathless moan whispered from my lips.

Travis nuzzled deeper against my breasts, his stubble scratching between them and lighting every nerve ending on fire. He shifted his hand down my belly to slide his fingers through my folds to my channel.

Shit, I couldn’t do this. I needed to move. I wanted them. Fuck, did I want them. But I couldn’t. Not in the cold light of day. Not without the influence of a fuckton of alcohol that pickled my brain and all my good sense with it. My friendship with Sophia meant everything to me. I couldn’t take advantage of her son and his friend. I was older and should have been sensible enough to have never gotten into this situation. I should have insisted on the separate room. I should never have drunk as much. I shouldn’t want them to seduce me right now.

Right, leaving.

I sat up, jostling both of them as I moved, half flopping, half sliding off the end of the bed.

I dashed to the attached bathroom without daring to glance behind me and pushed the door closed, the click echoing in the silence of the room. I used the toilet and then stood up.

Dizziness chose that moment to assault me, so I leaned against the vanity and closed my eyes. When I opened them a few moments later, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. I blinked. Then I did it again. There was no way what I was seeing was me.

My thighs and breasts were red, beard burn all over them. Hickeys dotted my throat and chest. I angled my leg and saw the one Travis had given me right up near my pussy. I knew I had more on my butt, both Travis and Jacques having gone to town on me. The skin on my leg pulled, and I touched my fingers to it. I was covered in a mix of smeared lube and dried cum.

I really had no idea how many times we’d had sex last night. They’d each come inside me at least three or four times. But flashes of cum splashing onto my breasts and belly were breaking through the fog too. I’d joked about snow angels, and they’d jacked off over me after making me moan endlessly as I came from their mouths and fingers.

But with each memory that hit me, with every pulse of ecstasy they’d given me, razor blades sliced open my heart. This was the end of my friendship with Sophia.

This couldn’t be happening. She was my oldest friend. I’d known Pierre, her husband, for almost as long as I did her. I’d met Jacques when he was just a little boy. There was nothing little about him now, nothing boyish except for his grin.

But that didn’t excuse the fact that I’d had sex with him. Sophia and Pierre’s son. And let’s not forget Jacques’s roommate. It wasn’t bad enough that I’d slept with my best friend’s son. I had to go and corrupt him by having a threesome with his roommate.

I needed a shower, a coffee, and a time machine, and not necessarily in that order.

What had I done?

My stomach rolled, and I pressed my hand down low, willing myself not to be sick. I breathed through the queasiness, washed my hands, then downed some paracetamol. I brushed my teeth and cleaned yesterday’s makeup from my face and felt marginally more human. But the temptation to say fuck it and go right back in there and have them repeat everything we’d done last night was still too strong. I needed to cool the hell off.

The knock on the door stopped me in my tracks. I watched as it opened and Jacques slipped in, not waiting for me to speak.