22. Stone
STONE
I’ve graduated to full-fledged stalker. Which, upon further examination, is probably not the best thing for Wren. She’s already been traumatized enough by sharing her secrets. But after last night, lying beside her in the dark without touching her, I realized enough was enough.
This house is quickly turning into a family, and family protects each other through whatever means necessary.
I follow her from campus to Shadow’s, waiting until she’s clocked in and tied her apron around her waist before I head inside.
The hostess immediately smiles at me.
“Wren’s section,” I tell her.
“Are you flying solo tonight, Stone?”
It’s kind of weird that she knows my name. Still, I nod at her and force a smile, then look over her shoulder and catch Wren’s eye. Her head snaps toward me, her brow furrowing.
Tough luck.
The hostess leads me to a booth, and only a moment after she’s gone, Wren is practically breathing down my neck.
“What are you doing here?” she whispers.
I glance around. “Why are you whispering?”
“Because—”
“Are you embarrassed?” I take the menu and tap it on the table. “I just wanted something to eat before practice…”
She glances at her watch, then back at me. “You’re not getting my discount.”
“Wouldn’t have wanted it.”
“And you have to tip me.”
I lean toward her. “If you want my tip, baby , all you’ve got to do is ask.”
Her lips part.
Goddamn, she’s so fucking pretty. She tucks her dark hair behind her ear and straightens, the shock fading to mock-outrage. Because she’s not really angry. She’s doing her best to hide a smile.
“If you need a little mid-shift stress relief, I know just the thing.”
“ Stone .” She clears her throat. “Do you want to order or…”
I roll my eyes and order a water and their spaghetti and meatballs. They’re not a true Italian place, but they manage to keep the noodles al dente. Which is fine enough for me.
She makes a face and wanders away, and I pull out my homework. I spread it out on the table and go through it until she returns with the water and silverware.
“How long is your shift?”
She shrugs. “On a Monday? I’ll probably get cut at seven.”
It’s dead quiet, and it’s almost five-thirty.
“Great, do that. You can come with me to practice.”
“No.”
I give her my best offended expression. Judging by the purse of her lips, though, she doesn’t fall for it.
“I think it would be in your best interest,” I say slowly.
“No need to talk down to me, Stone.”
“I could drag you there.” I sit up straighter, the wicked thoughts of exactly what I would do to make her stay there running through my mind. “Have you ever been fucked in the penalty box, Sticks?”
She groans. “Oh my God.”
“You mean, ‘ Oh my Stone .’ Better practice because that’s what you’ll be screaming later this evening…” I chuckle and grab her hand. “Get cut early and come to practice. Don’t make me say please.”
“Would you? Say please?”
I smirk. “Maybe…”
She sighs. “I’m going to check on my one other table.”
As soon as she’s gone, I slide out of the booth and approach the hostess. “Who’s in charge of cutting waitresses for the night?”
The girl is too…I don’t know, starstruck? She stares at me for a beat, and I’m reminded that I am into Wren because she doesn’t have this insane reaction. I’m human. Just because I play hockey well doesn’t mean girls need to throw themselves at my feet.
Garnering national attention for how I play is damaging to the ego enough as it is.
“Um, I do,” she finally answers.
“Great.” I flick through my wallet and pull out a fifty, pushing the bill into her hand. “Make sure Wren is off in the next hour.”
She glances from me to the money, then back up. “Oh, um…”
“Thanks!” I leave her standing there before she can change her mind. People generally react better that way—when they think you expect something of them, and they don’t have the chance to refute it.
Once my food is gone, my bill paid—and Wren tipped, as demanded—I catch the waitress’s gaze and raise my eyebrow.
She sighs, nearly audible from across the room, then heads in Wren’s direction.
They have a little chat, and Wren turns to glare at me. She tears off her apron and disappears into the kitchen, reemerging with her bag only a minute later.
“Ready?” I ask at the front entrance.
“You’re an ass.”
I shift my bag higher on my shoulder, then tug hers from her grip. “Look at it this way, Sticks. It’s just foreplay to see what I can do with one stick…”
She elbows me.
But almost two hours later, practice has concluded, and Wren Davis is still waiting for me.
Well, I hope she’s waiting for me. She definitely doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to Evan, who gives her a weird look before heading to the locker room.
“C’mere, Sticks,” I call.
She scoffs.
I plant my hands on my hips. “Get on the ice, Wren.”
She mouths something. It’s a toss-up between I can’t hear you and Fuck off .
“That won’t work.” I skate in a circle and come back. I point to the door that opens between the stands and penalty box. “Through there.”
She throws up her hands. A moment later, she’s moving down the rows toward the door. I meet her there, unlocking it from the inside and grabbing her hand, just to drag her through faster.
“Your coach literally just left the ice,” she breathes. Her hand presses against my chest. “What are you doing?”
I catch the back of her head and lean down. Our lips collide, and although it takes her a second, she’s suddenly just as in it as she was the other night.
Part of me thought it might be a fluke. That she was so out of her mind from the nightmare, from someone being in her room, from fear, that she just latched onto me because I was a willing distraction.
I pick her up and set her on the ledge next to the door for the ice. She spreads her legs, letting me step up closer. I nip her lower lip. She groans in my mouth.
The sound goes right to my dick trapped behind the fucking cup. I release her with one hand and yank it out, tossing it on the bench behind us. I shift forward and press my hard-on between her legs.
“Tell me you want me to touch your pretty little pussy, Sticks,” I say against her lips.
I drag my mouth down her jaw. She tilts her head, giving me more room to kiss and suck on her neck. The urge to leave a mark floods through me. Her hands skim along the waistband of my sweatpants.
It’s driving me absolutely fucking wild.
I grip her hair and force her head back farther, biting her skin.
“Fuck,” she groans. “We’re in public.”
“No one can see us,” I say against her pulse point.
She whimpers again. My hands are all over her. I cup her breasts through her shirt, then slide down and into her pants. She makes a noise when my fingers brush her clit, and farther still to curl inside her.
“Someone’s turned on.” I lean back just enough to smirk at her.
She grabs my face and kisses me again. Her tongue stokes a fire under my skin that I can’t fucking control. I undo the button of her pants and yank them down, dropping to my knees. I put her legs over my shoulders and wink at her.
“Stone—”
“Not now.” I push aside the strip of her panties hiding her cunt from me.
“ Stone —”
My mouth lands on her clit. I lick her, tasting her arousal, and my dick twitches. I’m going to come just from this alone.
Her hands thread through my hair, tugging like she has control. I ignore it and slide my finger inside her, pumping in and out in time with her ragged breaths. When I add a second finger, her hips jerk. One hand leaves my head to hold on to the ledge her ass is balanced on.
“Fuck me,” she whispers. “Someone’s going to see us.”
“I don’t fucking care. Do you?” I pull back and focus on her face. “Do you want me to stop before you’ve come?”
She growls.
I chuckle, still moving my fingers inside her. It’s enough to make her shake her head.
“Good girl,” I murmur.
She gets wetter.
“My girl likes praise?” I lick her slowly, from her slit to the top of her mound. “You taste so good, baby. I’m never going to need another meal again as long as you keep your cunt wet for me.”
“Oh, I hate you,” she says. Except, her eyes are closed, her head tipped back against the glass.
I avoid her clit and play with the rest of her pussy. Until her heels dig into my back and my scalp aches with how hard she’s gripping my hair. Only then do I latch on, flicking and sucking until she’s coming apart at the seams.
And when she does explode, clenching around my fingers and arching her back, she cries out my name. My blood sings.
My cock is throbbing so bad. I push my sweatpants down and rise, tilting her hips and sliding into her before she even seems to register what I’m doing. I hold her hair, keeping her head tipped back, and my gaze fixates on hers.
I pound into her with zero restraint. Her mouth is open, panting, and I lean down and claim her lips again. Our tongues dance together, while her nails scratch my back under my shirt. Forcing me closer.
Did I stop to even put on a freaking condom?
Nope .
Let’s hope she doesn’t kill me for that.
My balls tighten, and I pull out. I shove her shirt up and pump my length once, twice. It’s not the same as being inside her, but it does the trick. I come hard, spilling ropes across her abdomen and stomach.
“Damn,” she whispers. “Well…”
I tuck myself back in my sweatpants and watch as she rights her panties. We didn’t even take them off her. She looks down at the cum and wrinkles her nose, her shirt still shoved up to just under her tits.
“Do me a favor, Sticks.”
Her eyebrow rises.
I drag my finger through the cum on her skin. “Leave my mark on you.”
“You’re awful.”
“And you’re mine.” I shrug. “Fair’s fair.”
She adjusts her shirt, still seeming perturbed, and does up her pants.
I turn around, so my back faces her front, and squat a little. I grab the backs of her thighs.
“What are you doing?” she squeaks.
“Bringing you to the locker room,” I say. “Obviously. Get on my back.”
When she does, her arms wrapped around my chest, I step out onto the ice and glide across it toward the far opening. Her mouth touches the shell of my ear. Goosebumps rise along the backs of my arms.
“You can leave me alone for a moment, you know. And we’re not on the ice—”
I roll my eyes and push through the locker room door.
As expected, we’re alone.
She sighs and takes a seat while I get out of my skates. Something buzzes, and she pulls her phone out of her boot.
A neat trick.
I narrow my eyes as she answers it.
Silence.
Then—
“Why are you calling me from an unknown number, Brad?” Her brow is pinched.
I shoot to my feet, but she waves me off.
“No. I don’t care that you’re sorry. Don’t call me again.” She hits end and tosses her phone onto the bench beside her.
We stare at each other for a beat.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warns.
I raise my hands in surrender. “I wasn’t thinking anything .”
I definitely wasn’t thinking that fucking Brad just got moved to the top of my shit list.