36. Sydney
thirty-six
sydney
The thing about Penn’s kink…
I don’t usually wake up while he’s fucking me.
Several times this week, I’ve woken to cum between my legs and a new hickey somewhere on my body. Breast, collarbone… lower .
But now, with sunlight streaming in through my windows, there’s a distinct movement behind me. An arm slung over my waist, the hand cupping my breast. And the heat of arousal is impossible to deny.
“Good morning,” Penn breathes, kissing my neck.
He’s fucking me gently from behind, his hips rolling forward and sliding his dick deeper into me. He pinches at my breast, tugging my nipple, and I let out a long sigh. My hips automatically move to meet him, to help the angle…
To take him deeper.
“This is new,” I manage.
“This is round two.” He kisses higher, up behind my earlobe. “I wanted to wake up with you.”
Something stirs inside me, and I find myself smiling. “Oh. Good.”
Good .
I’m not starting the day off alone. Isn’t that something?
He rolls me onto my stomach, nudging my legs open wider. He never loses contact with my core, even when he grabs something from the floor and shoves it under my hips.
A fallen pillow?
“Don’t freak out,” he says in my ear. His weight presses down on me.
“About?”
“You started your period.”
My stomach twists, and I immediately try to rise. He grabs my wrists, pinning me to the bed.
“I said not to freak out.”
“You’re—”
“You feel good like this,” he argues, a sharp thrust punctuating his words.
Now that he says it, I feel it. The difference. The dull ache in my breasts that I just assumed was from them. But, no. Fucking hormones.
I close my eyes. His hand slides under me, and his fingers go straight to my clit. He seems to be an expert in how to work me up, twisting my insides and sculpting me like fucking clay.
“Carter will probably eat you out later if you ask him nicely,” Penn groans. “He likes blood, doesn’t he, princess?”
“Y-yeah.” I press my forehead to the bed. “Don’t stop.”
“Hmm.”
He does keep going. Thankfully. He fucks me and rubs my clit until my body is tense enough to shatter, and only once I’m riding my orgasm does he chase his own. Faster and harder. My headboard bangs against the wall, and my cheeks heat.
Until he jerks to a stop and comes.
He kisses my shoulder. “Perfect way to start the day.”
Bloody… and perfect.
FSU DAILY NEWS
FROM SNITCH TO SLUT
Big news today, Vipers! Our very own Hester Prynne (if you don’t understand that reference, ask the nearest English major), Sydney Windsor, was spotted yesterday looking cozy with hockey god and captain, Oliver Ruiz.
Some say the two kissed in the parking lot.
But isn’t Sydney dating Penn Walker? After all, she wears his sweatshirt and necklace. The two are frequently seen on campus together.
Sydney’s infamy, for those who are unaware, stems from her past as a snitch. She sold out FSU to St. James, costing our hockey team the glory and honor of competing in the playoffs.
Her unfortunate timing transferring to FSU notwithstanding, one must ask: is she opening her legs to stave off the indomitable loathing and vitriol of the Vipers?
After all, our bite is mighty, but our venom will kill.
And now it appears she’s transitioning from snitch to slut, moving up the ranks. From goalie to captain. Who’s next, the coach?
Oh, wait. That’s her father.
Talk about daddy issues!
Chime in with your thoughts, Vipers. How far will this girl go?
I. Am. Mortified.
There are pictures . Photos of Oliver and I on the back of his bike, of me and Penn walking together through campus. More of him and I running together—although luckily none from that day. There are shots of me on the front steps of my brownstone. A sneakily snapped pic of me in class, with Penn playing with my hair.
I hate it.
I hate everything.
Who the fuck has been taking creepy pictures of me?
I’m currently holed up in the library, seated at one of my regular desks on the second floor. There aren’t many people here mid-morning. I imagine the dining hall, by comparison, is packed with brunchers.
The guys have a game this afternoon, and when I emerged from my shower, I found Penn’s away jersey slung over my desk chair. He’d also gone to the trouble of changing my sheets, seeing as how there was a nice little blood smear on the ones we slept on.
My body aches, my breasts are sensitive, and the intermittent cramps are driving me crazy.
Sitting around doing nothing… Not today. It spurred me to head to the library instead. Fresh air is supposed to help. Exercise.
But now I wish I had just stayed in bed.
Is my father going to see that post? It’s written like a damn newspaper column, and it’s already getting attention. Likes and comments… shares. The more shares, the more viral it goes.
I trace the chain of Penn’s necklace. I don’t take it off, even to shower. I like to pretend that he went through with his threat of soldering the clasp. Since it hasn’t turned my skin green or tarnished in the slightest, I’ve come to the horrifying realization that this is real gold.
Which means it’s valuable.
It’s probably the most expensive thing I own.
My phone lights up, and I snatch it because I’m a glutton for punishment.
Carter
FSU library?
Second floor.
I’m not sure why I’m telling him where I am. Especially since he can’t just stroll onto campus… I drop my phone and bury my face in my hands. That gossip page gets a lot of traction, especially when it comes to me. Every post they make with my tag—yes, I have a personal hashtag—gets hundreds of comments and thousands of likes.
Blocking it out, I open my laptop again and get back to work.
I try to anyway. I’m still staring at the same paragraph ten minutes later when Carter drops into the chair next to me. His black cap is pulled low, and he has a black hoodie on under a thin jacket. There’s a dusting of snow on his shoulders and the brim of the hat.
He slowly closes my laptop.
I lean back in my chair and blow out a breath.
“What would they say if they knew we had sex before the FSU game?” he asks.
My lips flatten.
“What would they do to you?” He shakes his head. “They’d say everything, Syd, but they wouldn’t do anything.”
“Easy for you to say,” I snap. “You watch from afar. I was taped to a toilet at the first FSU game I tried to go to. I was there with my stepmom, the coach’s wife, and that did nothing .”
That humiliation still rattles me.
He stares at me in shock. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It was Oliver’s…” It wasn’t really his idea. I can’t say that. “He told the girl who orchestrated it that I was at the game.”
He stands. “I’m going to break his pretty face and you’re going to fucking watch me.”
My stomach flips.
“Sydney. Now .” His tone is dark.
I jump up and shove my stuff into my bag, following him out. He doesn’t so much as glance at the student worker behind the desk or the librarian shuffling papers behind him. We get outside, and he grabs my hand, dragging me down a shortcut to get off campus property.
“I thought you knew. I told you about the girl with the black eyes—” I’m in shape, but he’s moving fast . And I have too much stuff in my bag to be rushing.
He pauses, seeming to register it, and takes the backpack from me. His fingers thread through mine, and although we move at a slightly slower pace, his long strides eat up the sidewalk.
“You didn’t say anything about being taped to a toilet . That’s where those bruises came from?” He eyes me. “Fucking hell, Sydney. Why didn’t you say anything?”
I don’t have an answer except one: supreme embarrassment. Why would I ever admit something so… bad ?
“Did you play this weekend?” I ask, trying to divert attention away from me and my lingering humiliation.
He smirks. “Friday night, dream girl. We won.”
“Naturally.”
We arrive at the arena. Of course he’d know they would be here. And he doesn’t hesitate to go through the doors he’d enter through if it was SJU’s time on the ice.
I’m ninety-seven percent sure Oliver and Penn are on the ice right now. They must be. Or in the locker room with the rest of the team.
And Carter is about to make a spectacle.
Or should I say we’re about to, since he has a death grip on my hand.
Sure enough, he makes a beeline for the ice. We stop at the double doors where the Zamboni drives in, although they’re closed and secured from the outside—our side—while practice is in progress.
Penn is in the crease working with a coach I haven’t seen before. The other goalie stands by, watching.
Everyone else seems to be working through specific plays with my father on the other end of the rink.
Oliver spots us and does a double take. His brows hike behind his helmet cage, and his mouth guard pops out. He chews on the end of it, seeming to consider us.
Carter undoes the metal arm holding the doors shut and yanks it open. He storms out onto the ice, his gaze locked on Oliver. He makes walking across the ice seem easy. Easier than easy. And there’s a furious intent swirling around him.
The good news is that he let go of my hand to go confront Oliver. It leaves me as a bystander out in the open. I could back away, if I wanted, and pretend I was never here. Minus Oliver seeing me.
The bad news is that I can’t hang Carter out to dry like this.
I step out onto the ice carefully, picking my way across much slower.
“Sydney?” my dad calls.
A whistle blows.
Carter is almost to Oliver. And damn it, he’s going to be fucking jumped?—
It seems like the whole FSU team draws closer, surrounding Carter as he reaches Oliver. The latter removes his helmet, a strange gleam in his eye. Confused but seriously fucking ready to be hit. Which makes no sense.
College hockey players have to play in helmets with cages over their faces. It certainly adds an interesting dynamic when there’s a fight, because the helmet has to come off. But if Oliver’s removing it before Carter even reaches him…
The first punch is solid. Carter puts his whole body behind it, like he knows he’s only going to get the one hit. Which is true, because two of Oliver’s teammates grab him and haul him back before he can do damage.
More damage.
I reach the circle of guys. Chaos breaks out. Their backs are to me. I shove at them, but on their skates, they’re too tall. More resembling trees than men. My dad is on skates, too, although I’ve lost sight of him. I can’t see anything beyond the rows of shoulders.
“Stop,” I yell, finally squeaking between two players and making it into the tight circle they’ve created.
Oliver’s gaze flicks over me, seeming to check if I’m okay, then zeroes back in on Carter. His lip curls, and he makes a show of taking stock of Carter, too. He wipes at his bloody lip with the back of his hand.
“You got your one hit,” he says in a low voice, skating close enough to Carter that it could seem like a conversation just between them. Like his voice isn’t carrying to all of us right now.
Their height difference… if they were both on skates, or both off, Oliver would still have an inch or two on Carter. But the disproportion makes Oliver tower over both Carter and me.
“Let’s leave it at that.” Oliver spits onto the ice. It’s red-tinged.
“OUT OF THE WAY.”
I flinch. I’ve never heard Dad yell like that, his voice booming. But his players react immediately, the tight circle I had to struggle to break through dissipating.
Dad glares at the two still holding Carter’s arms. As soon as they release him, Carter shakes out his arms and balls his fists.
“Name,” Dad demands of Carter.
He remains silent, his jaw working.
“Carter Masters,” I say when Dad’s gaze flicks to me. “Captain of the Seawolves.”
“I’m familiar.” He looks at Oliver. “Ruiz, get her out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” Oliver skates to me and picks me up without warning. Not cradling, not kind—he tosses me over his shoulder like a bag of grain.
“You’re in so much fucking trouble,” he says under his breath.
That should worry me, but it turns me on instead. And that worries me.
He sets me on my feet at the door we stormed through, touching my chin. Lifting my face so I have to look at him. For only a second. A quick check that he’s not bleeding—he’s not, although his jaw is red—and then my gaze slides away again.
“You’re going to go into the stands and sit there until we’re done,” he says in a soft voice. “Alone. I want to feel your eyes on me the whole time, do you understand me?”
Chills break out across my body. I nod.
“Aloud.”
“I understand.”
“Good girl.” His hand drops, and he skates backward. “Go.”
Carter and my father are still in an intense discussion on the ice, although I have no idea what they could be saying. Either way, I don’t want to find out. I take the stairs up to the main level and pick a row with a good view of the whole rink. By the time I’m there, the doors are closed and Carter is gone.
I sit and glance toward Penn, who’s staring at me with his helmet off, a water bottle in his hand.
I wave.
He shakes his head, seeming to fight off a smile, and shoves his helmet back on. Dad and Oliver are now speaking by the bench, and Oliver seems pissed. Even from here. After a long moment, Dad makes a shooing motion. He blows his whistle and gathers the team, briefing them on whatever they’ll be doing next.
They break in half, going toward Penn in one goal and the second goalie in the other.
Oliver is on Penn’s side. My side. Which is good, because I want to keep an eye on both of them. Even though I have strict instructions otherwise. I sit there and watch, and it’s almost as bad as squirming with a butt plug.
Almost.
The anticipation climbs through me, and eventually… eventually, their practice ends. Dad skates out first, and I get the sense I’m going to have to deal with a phone call from him.
I wait and wait and wait. The lights go out, only the emergency lighting remaining. I’m shroud in semi-darkness, and it takes a long moment for my eyes to adjust.
Movement in my peripheral catches my attention, and I track it.
Someone stops at the end of my row, a mere ten feet away, if that. Wearing all black, it’s no wonder I didn’t immediately spot them. Their hood is pulled up over their head, but it’s the face that peeks out from the shadows that startles me.
They’re wearing the bloody clown mask.