Pucking Them (Bay Rebels #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Freedom Mansion

Robyn

“Feed me.” I open my mouth like a baby bird.

The warm May sun plays across my cheeks.

I wrinkle my nose at the sweet scent of roses from the bushes that ring the wooded garden. The gentle breeze tugs at my long, flame-red hair.

I squirm, making my ass more comfortable on the tartan rug, which is laid on the lawn in front of Freedom Mansion. I live here with my three gorgeous lovers, D’Angelo and the Prince twins, Shay and Eden.

The huge, white mansion, which is shuttered with symmetrical columns, is owned by D’Angelo, the wealthy Captain of the Bay Rebels NHL hockey team.

Yet over the last three months since we moved in together it has felt like home.

Home.

It warms me that I have somewhere I can call that. I haven’t felt like I truly have since I was a kid with my brother, Cody, before Mom died.

I didn’t have anything like a real home either with my neglectful dad, the coach of the Bay Rebels, or with my narcissistic ex, Wilder, a pro hockey player.

I still can’t believe how much my life has changed over this season since I have returned to my small hometown of Freedom.

These three men now hold my heart and soul. And the things that they can do with my body are mind-blowing.

Also, possibly illegal in some countries.

I am dressed in a poppy sun dress, which is one of my favorites. I have toed off my sandals.

My head rests in D’Angelo’s lap. I stare pleadingly at the impossibly gorgeous but coldly dominant man who still hasn’t plopped one of the chocolate strawberries into my mouth.

D’Angelo is dressed in a designer navy suit but has stripped down to his shirtsleeves, which he has rolled back, revealing his strong forearms. He is tall with olive skin. His raven curls fall forward, framing his strong face.

He can’t resist my puppy dog eyes, right?

After all, this relaxed Sunday together is our reward for the Bay Rebels making it to the Conference Finals for the first time.

Next week everything will be decided, one way or another.

If the team wins, then they will be playing in the Stanley Cup Final.

Nobody could have dreamed that the newest team in the league would have a shot at that type of dream.

The press once named this team the Losers.

I’m going to help D’Angelo and Shay, the star player, make the press eat their fucking words.

I wish that I was eating a strawberry right now.

D’Angelo’s lips twitch. “Well, take my cock out then.”

My mouth falls even further open in shock. “Huh?”

“That’s right. Open wide for me, principessa.” D’Angelo’s icy blue eyes are twinkling.

I can tell how hard he’s trying not to laugh.

Asshole.

It’s my own fault for thinking that I could command a dom.

Still, banter is our love language.

I take my revenge by turning my head and nuzzling against D’Angelo’s clothed crotch.

He sucks in a shocked breath.

With extreme restraint, he pretends to ignore me.

He focuses instead on the arctic blue book, which he is clutching with whitening knuckles.

The book looks like a hockey strategy book in blue and white with lines, arrows, and arcs on the front, as well as a puck and hockey stick.

Once, a guide to avoid dating hockey players after my divorce from my cheating husband, it has transformed into a journal of my polyamorous relationship with the three men in my life.

D’Angelo is a trained pleasure dom who co-owns a club, On the RACK. He has helped us over the last nine months to negotiate contracts, boundaries, and limits.

I could live forever in D’Angelo’s aftercare.

For a man who acts like he is secretly Lucifer, enjoying a good cocktail or at least fucking over the piano in a cocktail bar, he also praises and snuggles like an angel after a scene.

Together, we use the Guide to safely explore our kinks and fantasies.

Also, our love.

Eden finds it hard to say in words what he can write in the Guide.

Just this morning, I found a message left for me when I woke up. Eden was already downstairs, cooking bacon sandwiches for us. But he’d written in the Guide:

I trust you. Before I met you, I never trusted anyone but my twin. I realized last night when we were reading in bed together that part of it is because you make me feel comfortable enough to share my interests with you. I can’t wait until Book Club.

Of course, Shay had added underneath:

P.S. I found your chocolate stash and ate it during my Candy Crush challenge evening with Code. Sorry, love. I’ll buy you more later. Do you want anything special?

I’m still sure that Shay thinks that the Guide acts like a grocery list.

D’Angelo is drawing with the scrunched brow intensity of an amateur Leonardo da Vinci.

His impression is ruined by the fact that he’s holding a glitter pen.

My pink one.

I’m pretty sure that he’s doodling.

Or drawing smutty stickmen.

I continue to slyly torment D’Angelo. My emerald eyes gleam with mischief.

I won’t break first.

Mouthing at his damp trousers, I kiss his inner thigh, while glancing up at him underneath my eyelashes.

D’Angelo’s expression tightens. His cheeks are flushed a pretty rose-red, even though he’s pretending to be unaffected.

I grin, redoubling my efforts.

D’Angelo’s fingers shake when he turns the page on the book with more force than necessary.

Satisfying.

His piercing gaze cuts to me.

“Brat.” D’Angelo’s voice becomes low and dangerous. “Luckily, I know exactly how to tame those.”

He unexpectedly drops the Guide and drags me up with his strong arms onto his lap.

I yelp, dizzy.

I blink, staring into his unamused gaze.

“Ehm, hello.” I loop my arms around D’Angelo’s neck. “Is it by dragging them onto your lap and handfeeding them delicious treats as a reward?”

D’Angelo’s lips curl into a wicked smile. “How did you guess? But then, can you guess what it includes when I carry you to our bedroom?”

I flush, licking my dry lips. “More rewards?”

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, before murmuring close enough for his lips to graze my sensitive skin and make me shiver (as I know he intended; gorgeous jerk), “Guess again, cara mia.”

Oh well, that’s a Future Robyn problem.

I simply arch my eyebrow and open my mouth.

D’Angleo gives me a fond look that makes me melt, before picking up a dark chocolate strawberry from a glass bowl beside him.

Eden made the dessert earlier, along with cooking Sunday lunch.

Eden does most of the cooking, cleaning, and laundry, as well as working as the PA to D’Angelo.

He’s the caretaker dom who looks after us all. Sometimes, however, I wish that he would look after himself as well.

Or at least, realize that we care for him as much as we do each other.

D’Angelo ghosts the chocolate tip of the fruit over my lips, and I boldly meet his eye before I lean forward and bite. Then I suck his fingers as well as the strawberry into my mouth. I lick his fingers clean, never looking away from him.

The sweet, juicy flavors burst on my tongue, and I chase them.

D’Angelo’s pupils dilate. He never looks away from me.

Finally, I release his fingers, giving them a final lick.

He grimaces, uncomfortable at the stickiness. He rubs his fingers clean on the rug, tapping his thigh three times.

I appreciate that he is facing his OCD to enjoy this moment with me. I know how tough it is for him.

Suddenly, a triumphant cry rises from across the lawn.

“Goal! The Prince of Rebels takes on Dee the Dom and scores!” Shay’s bright laugh lights up the day, as if a second sun has come out.

D’Angelo and I both look over at the far side of the garden.

Our expressions soften at the same time.

Our English twins are playing soccer on the small pitch that D’Angelo built for them as far from the mansion as he could to try and protect his windows from being smashed by balls.

Shay has somehow still managed to break three of them. Twice with overenthusiastic kicks from soccer balls, but once from the wild hit from a golf ball.

Shay claimed that he was trying to learn one of the boring sports that old rich guys like D’Angelo were into to be a better boyfriend.

It wasn’t the most successful defense.

Maybe he should have left out the old bit…?

After lunch, Shay nudged Eden. “How about we have a friendly, bro?”

There seems nothing friendly about this match.

Shay is too competitive when it comes to soccer.

Or is that just a men thing? An English obsession?

Shay is talented. He could have turned pro.

Now, under the sun, the twins look like Greek statues carved out of white marble sprung to life.

They’re spellbinding to watch together.

They are stripped down to only royal navy football shorts and bare feet. The sun glistens off their ice-white skin and golden hair.

Shay’s winter gray eyes gleam with joy.

He is six feet tall, which means that he is shorter than most hockey players. But he fought against his coaches to still turn pro.

Shay has faced so many fucking challenges. He’s worked his ass off. If he’d only believe it, he could achieve whatever he wants.

Shay bounces over to the goal, enthusiastically picking up the ball and claiming it as his own again. “Best of three?”

Eden nods.

Eden’s golden hair is more slicked back from his face than his brother’s, which makes his cheekbones look sharper. The sunshine glints on the piercings in his right eyebrow and nipples.

I bite my lip, remembering how sensitive Eden’s nipple piercings are. I love the sounds that I can draw from him, when I lick over them.

I also love how he has never been with anyone but me, and everything that we’re exploring together is both new and beautiful.

I don’t want to fuck this up.

This new, fragile relationship means everything to all of us like the beautiful robin tattoo, which nestles amongst the thorns of the black roses that wind up Eden’s muscled arms.

I was with Eden, for the first time in his life, while he had that tattoo added. It was like a wedding ceremony to represent his love.

Our love.

Eden’s ink is a way to symbolize him taking back control after the twins’ addict parents sold them as kids.