Chapter 25
ELLIE
“Iliterally can’t,” I groan as I pull up on the car-lined street.
“There she is! There’s my favorite NHL coach!” my uncle booms drunkenly when Aunt Stacy throws the door open before I can get my keys out.
“Eggnog!” she yells. “Someone get this girl a drink!”
“No eggnog. Water. She needs to hydrate.” My dad’s cousin shoos her away.
“Can you”—my cousin waves a sports drink with a home-printed label on it in my face—“make the team drink this?”
“All sponsorships have to go through me!” Harlowe hollers.
“Protein! She needs protein!” someone exclaims.
“She’s not playing,” another uncle argues.
“She’s got to let the players run a train on her,” Dakota says drunkenly. “Isn’t that how you won the last time?”
“Which one has the biggest dick?” My cousin Bella giggles.
“Fletcher’s pretty hung.” Her mom cackles.
“Ooh, but Ren has all those tattoos.”
“Ren’s missing most of his teeth.”
“Oh my,” Mom cries, “I forgot about his poor teeth. I made candy canes for the boys for the game tomorrow.”
“Trina, they can’t eat candy.”
“It’s just one little candy cane.”
“Are you serious? These things”—Aunt Babs holds up one of the biggest candy canes I’ve ever seen—“look like elephant cocks.”
“Oh, do you think Ren’s hung like that?”
“Fletcher for sure is.”
My cousins all collapse in laughter while my face burns as I try not to think about how close I came to his, er, candy cane in my office.
“You need to stop chasing after men with a prison record! That’s why you’re thirty-four and not even married yet!” my aunt screams, chasing her daughter around the crowded living room.
Nate chokes on his merry meatballs—my mom’s specialty.
“She’s just joking.” My aunt slaps my dad on the back. “You got your panties stuffed so far up your ass, bro.”
“You’re not sleeping with them, are you?” Nate asks as my uncle hands him another beer. “I assured everyone at the NHL that it was just the press giving you a hard time—that you promised me.”
“No way, Dad,” I squeak, pretending to be very interested in the buffet spread of Christmas-themed appetizers and nibbles.
“She needs to be sleeping with one of the players!” Granny Murray demands, walking through the house with a band saw.
“Granny, what are you—”
“I had to pawn the band saw that was in the equipment closet at the stadium, and I know how sensitive my son-in-law is about his tools—which is rich, because I ain’t never seen him use one before. I need this to trim the sticks for the game tomorrow.” She hefts it.
“Is that what happened to the freezer?” Harlowe scrunches her nose.
“Just move those turkeys your mom bought out of the way and put the game-day pucks in the deep freezer,” my sister Angie tells her.
“You can use my makeup fridge,” my sister Maxie offers, “to take them to the rink.”
“That’s not—” Dad hisses out a breath. “That’s not regulation.”
“She knows how to keep pucks cold!” one of my mom’s cousins starts yelling at Dad.
He looks unimpressed. “It could affect the game if they aren’t the right temperature.”
“Um, my makeup fridge gets cold, thank you very much,” Maxie says.
Nate smiles wanly at me. “How was practice? Ready for your game tomorrow?”
“It was, you know, fine. They’re very excited about the surprise bag.”
“Genius idea.” My uncles pat me on the back.
My dad frowns. “Now, don’t be too down on yourself if you all don’t win. Sometimes good teams lose games—it doesn’t mean the Rhode Islanders are suddenly playoff contenders.”
“Boo!” Granny Murray waves the band saw at him threateningly. “You’re gonna win, Ellie. You got those guys on their knees eating—”
“Mom,” Trina begs, “can you help me in the kitchen?”
I busy myself with loading my plate up with my favorites: stocking-stuffer mushrooms, frosty flatbreads, Santa sliders.
It would be easier to obey this one simple rule of, like, not thinking about your players in a sexually gratifying way if Fletcher hadn’t left me hanging on a knife’s edge.
I need to get it together. We have a game tomorrow—a game Dana says we have to win.
It’s late by the time the last of my huge family leaves.
“Fine!” Granny Murray screams at my dad. “I will go buy a freezer even though this team can’t afford it because you all clearly don’t care about Ellie. You’re lucky I won all that money on the Orcas game.” The front door slams.
I pull off my shirt and my bra and flop down on my bed in my shared bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief now that the underwire is on the floor. I’m in my chemise and panties.
If Granny Murray is out, I have like half an hour. That’s enough time.
I’m feeling a little dizzy—for someone who’s supposed to convince twenty-five grown men to play their hearts out and win against a top-ranked team in our conference, I really overdid it on the wine.
I roll over on the bed, and a giant candy cane digs into my hip. I clamp down a giggle as I wonder: Is Fletcher that hard?
No. We will not go there, brain.
I roll back over on my back. It doesn’t help, because all I can think about is him crawling on the bed to straddle me, pushing me back into the pillows and the Christmas-themed comforter.
My fingers aren’t enough. The candy cane seems like a stupidly good idea. It’s hard and thick in my pussy as I rub it in my swollen cunt. Feels so good. My hips jerk as I think about Fletcher there, spreading me, asking me if I think I can take his cock.
“No, no, no,” I try to tell myself. Think about literally anyone else—think about Chris Evans or Henry Cavill—but all I can think about is Fletcher, the scar on his pec, the huge ass and meaty thighs, the rough hands, the iron grip of his fingers as they curl in my pussy.
I jump as my phone buzzes.
Fletcher: I know you’re up there thinking about me in your cunt.
Ellie: Go practice your puck handling.
Fletcher: I’d rather see you stick handle.
Ellie: I’m reviewing game tape, not doing… that.
Fletcher: You’re so full of it.
Fletcher: I know what you’re doing.
Fletcher: Close your eyes. I want to watch you touch yourself.
Wait, watch me?
Shit. I scramble upright. The window rattles. I stifle a scream. The last thing I need is for my dad to come running up here and see one of my players—that I just got done promising I wasn’t going to sleep with—in my bedroom window.
Go away, I mouth.
Fletcher ignores me, jimmying the window open and leaping inside more gracefully than a man his size should. His skin glows in the soft light of my Rudolph bedside lamp.
“Get out! You can’t be here! What if my dad sees you? Did anyone see you? Did you sneak into my house?”
“You didn’t lock your window.”
“I was thinking about the game tomorrow—”
One of those huge hands materializes between my tits, shoving me back on the bed, and I realize I’m not going to be able to concentrate until I know what he looks like when he comes.
“Oh my gosh, I told you,” I croak, wriggling under him, which only makes his nostrils flare and his eyes go dark. “I’m not sleeping with a player.”
He takes in the disheveled state of my clothes and the slickness on my fingers then grabs my hands, eyes still locked with mine, and twists my fingers in his mouth, closing his eyes while he licks them clean.
“You were thinking about me.” The soft, thin fabric of the chemise slides up easily over the mounds of my tits.
“No I wasn’t. I was thinking about Alexei Vidic.”
Wrong thing to say.
His mouth crushes to mine. “Fuck”—he bites my lower lip—“you.” One huge hand slaps my ass then tangles in the panties. The lace scrapes against my thighs as he pulls them down. “You aren’t going to be fucking him. I don’t want you bending over for him or even thinking about him.”
I shudder as his mouth moves down to my tits, teeth catching the soft underside of my breast as his fingers meanly push my legs apart. They brush the candy cane, slick with my pussy juices. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Dirty little slut.”
“I’m not! I don’t know how that got there!”
But Fletcher claps a hand over my mouth. “I knew you were a little cock slut. Candy Cane.”
He takes it out of my hand and lets it hang by the bow on the crook of his finger. He unwraps the cellophane with his teeth.
“You can’t—” I moan as he rubs it along the length of my slit, the peppermint tingling.
I grab at his hands. “That, uh—”
“I thought you wanted me to eat your pussy. You don’t want to make it nice and sweet for me?” The end of the candy cane teases the opening of my cunt. “You’re so fucking horny you’d fuck this instead of me.”
He twists his body, flipping over onto his back and bringing me with him. Hands dig into my hips and haul me up so I’m hovering over his face. “I’ve seen you on the ice. I know you have good core strength. Ride my face,” he orders.
I still have a child’s bedroom, and there’s no headboard to grip onto. He’s right—I spend a lot of time on the rink, and it’s nothing to sink down on his face.
I feel his mouth, his tongue, his lips. His fingers trail up to grip my tits as I ride his face. Then the candy cane is back. Sticky streaks of bright red are all over my chemise.
I suck on it as his tongue works in my pussy, licking up the sticky sugar until I’m coming hard, rocking against his rough jaw, riding the orgasm out.
He grabs my hips, rotates me quickly, and brings me back down as I squeal, slapping my ass when I make too much noise. Then his tongue is all over my pussy, dipping in my opening where I want his cock then up to flick at my asshole.
“Shit!” I try to scrabble away.
As I balance on the rock-hard plane of his abs, he has one leg propped up on the bed. If I had any wherewithal, I’d move—but it’s all I can do not to moan and freak out my parents as he eats my ass.
I bite down hard on the candy cane as his tongue plunges inside me, the crunch reverberating through my jaw. His thumb rubs my clit and pussy raw until he has me coming on his face again.
“Fuck me,” I whimper as the chills of pleasure leave me. “I need—”
“You need a cock,” he whispers, his mouth back, hot, on my pussy.
I fumble at the zipper of his ripped black jeans.
“You better suck on that candy cane.”
I moan as he shoves me off of him.
“Your pussy still wants it, doesn’t it?” His eyes are heavy lidded in the dim light. He looks at me—sugar spread all over my face, on my hands and knees on my bed. He leans in and kisses me, licking the sticky red off my mouth.
“You want me to fuck you like this with your daddy downstairs?”
“Uh-huh.”
Two fingers press on my swollen clit, rub fast like he handles the puck. Then I’m coming, knees trembling, while his teeth sink into my tender nipple.
“Fuck me. Stop teasing,” I slur.
“Spread your legs.”
I feel his fingers spread me. All I want is that cock.
He picks up the candy cane off the bed next to me. The candy cane plunges in my pussy. I groan as it slides in me.
“You really do want a cock, don’t you?”
He sucks my tits through the stained chemise as his fingers work in my pussy, my cunt clenching on the thick candy cane. He uses the curve of it to work inside of me, his other hand between my legs making me come again, my hips jerking against him. He pulls out the candy cane and licks it off.
“You taste”—he gives me one long lick—“like Christmas.” Then he kisses me, the sweet spice on his tongue making its way into my mouth, his fingers sticky in my hair.
“I should come all over your face, make you extra festive.”
“Yes, please,” I pant.
He slaps my ass. “Wear a skirt tomorrow. I’m gonna win this thing then fuck you.”
A loud knock thuds on the door. Fletcher kisses me then slips like a shadow out the window while I scramble under the covers.
“Ellie, are you alright? I thought I heard—” My dad’s eyes narrow. I know he picks up on the current of cold air Fletcher left in the room.
“Heard what?” I hope my face doesn’t look too red and sweaty, and I have to clench my hands to keep from reaching up to feel my hair to see if there’s candy stuck in it.
“Nothing. Just, uh… good luck at the game tomorrow, kiddo.”