Chapter 3 – Brianna
Seth is wide, long, and thick, and frankly, I’m a little impressed with myself for making such a drunk, reckless decision and somehow having it work out in my favor.
Because sleeping with a player on my dad’s new hockey team isn’t just about my frustration over moving to New York City, interning for his team as a condition of employment, and finishing my degree—it’s fun.
Completely out of character. A little wild.
And when he pushes into me, bottoming out with a groan like he needed this just as badly as I did, the only thing I feel is the faintest flicker of remorse.
Not for using him as my own personal plaything, but for not doing this much sooner. Because for most of high school and my undergraduate years I was in a monogamous relationship. I never experienced the thrill of a one-night stand with a stranger I’ll never see again. And this makes me feel alive.
I press my face down, arching my back harder as his fingers tighten around my hips in a grip so punishing that I already know I’ll be wearing his fingerprints in the morning.
Bruises stamped into my skin like a brand from a man with a cock that has tears forming in the corners of my eyes it’s that good.
It’s been a while. Okay, a long fucking time since I’ve been properly fucked.
When I moved to New York City just two weeks ago, I left everything behind including my safe, predictable, midwestern boyfriend.
The one I’d been with for years, through college and beyond.
The guy who was kind and patient, who never raised his voice, never made me feel anything other than safe and cherished.
The guy who thought “wild” meant keeping the lights on during sex now and then.
Yes, we had sex. And when we did, it was slow. Gentle. Respectful. Romantic. And I thought I liked that. I thought I liked a quiet love. A simple, easy life where passion wasn’t something to be taken, just something that existed in soft kisses and warm embraces.
But now as Seth pounds into me from behind like he’s unraveling, his hips slamming against my ass, his fingers working my clit in ways that my ex never knew how to do without using a toy or his mouth, I think that maybe I was wrong about sex.
Maybe the soft, easy, gentle sex has its time and place.
But untamed, reckless, feral sex is something that I need in my life too.
This entire experience is unlocking something deep inside me. Something I don’t know if I want to tap into. Something dark and primal. Something greedy, and something that wants to be used. Because shit, I love this. I need this. I’ll never be able to look at sex the same way again.
“You’re unreal.” He curses from behind me as he drives into me, changes his angle and lets out a deep, throaty groan. My body clenches around him. “I’ve never felt anything like you. You’re so soft, it’s addicting.”
Oh… oh, he’s a talker. The kind of man who talks you through it while he takes you apart, like he wants you to know exactly how much he’s enjoying you. That’s another thing my ex never was. And apparently, another thing I’m discovering I really, really like.
Is this… romantic? Could I somehow romanticize a one-night stand with a complete stranger? Maybe it is, in a strange, poetic way. A girl finding pleasure in the exact kind of man she never would’ve expected for herself.
I always assumed the best sex of my life would be with some quiet, bookish guy.
The librarian type with glasses slipping down his nose.
The kind of man I’d think about when I’m eighty, telling my children, he was the greatest night of my life.
The guy a lot like my ex. Not a man who wears a Sloth mask and fake teeth for Halloween.
Not a man with a pre-teen daughter, shoulders so broad he feels like a wall when he’s behind me, and hair just a little too long to be considered respectable.
Seth fists my hair, yanking my head back until I have no choice but to meet his eyes over my shoulder.
His free hand wraps my long strands around his wrist, binding me to him before he tugs hard.
I let out a surprised hiss and then I feel the pain travel from my head down to my nipples and across my clit.
Holy shit. That’s new.
“Fucking love this red color of your hair,” he growls.
“Thank you,” I whisper, breathless. My clit is throbbing from the orgasm he just tore from me with his tongue; my nipples are so hard they ache, and his cock—this fucking cock—is touching places inside me that my ex never even tried to find with his fingers.
Okay, this isn’t romantic at all. It’s proactive.
It’s sweaty and dirty and completely unexpected.
Each time he drives into me his balls smack against the back of my thighs making everything even hotter.
His one hand is tugging on my hair, the other alternating between my throat, clit and breasts.
And the sad thing is that I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t slammed those shots at the bar with Alexa and told myself I was going to do this small act of rebellion to stick it to my circumstances.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Seth groans out again. “You’re taking me so good.”
I whimper as his fingers swipe between us, teasing at the slick mess he’s made, before trailing back. I barely have time to process it before he grabs my ass, squeezing both cheeks before spreading them wide.
“Look at your asshole. Fucking pretty,” he murmurs, half to himself.
Then, like he’s cataloging me, his hands move.
“This hair.” He tugs it again, making my scalp prickle with heat.
“These tits.” He groans, cupping them, weighing them in his hands before giving a firm squeeze and running both thumbs across my nipples.
“This throat.” His fingers wrap around my throat and squeeze.
“This pussy.” He groans, sliding his fingers down, rubbing my clit just to make me clench around him then back to where he stuffs a finger inside of my already full pussy.
Uh, whoa.
And then his hands move lower again, spreading my ass in a way that feels so obscene, so stimulating, so sensual, that heat flares across my cheeks as I wait for him to say it.
“Even your asshole is hot.”
I burn. I know my cheeks are bright red, probably the same shade as my hair, and I’m so glad I’m facing away from him.
Because if he only knew I wasn’t the vixen that he thinks I am.
That I enjoy my sweet romance novels, sitting outside with the birds, drinking my matcha in peace, romanticizing every moment of my life and wearing flowy dresses when I’m not in scrubs and leggings working—if he only knew I’ve never done anything even close to this before with a stranger, let alone had anyone ever look at my asshole and praise it—I’m not sure what he’d think.
His rhythm starts to falter. Less controlled.
More desperate. A little sloppier and I can tell he’s close.
His cock swells inside me, every thick stroke begins to hit even deeper as his breathing turns ragged.
I push up onto my knees, shifting the angle, and he groans so filthy, so needy, that it sends another thrill through me that I can make this strong guy feel this way.
That I have the power to make him feel anything at my expense.
His hand snakes around my throat, fingers curling around my pulse in a grip that’s possessive. His other hand never stops working my clit. His lips move to my temple, brushing damp with sweat hair away as he curses against my skin.
“You’re so hot.” His voice is strained, almost pained. “I swear, I need to check the condom first because I’m about to unload.”
My heart races.
“I want to claim you. I want to—fuck!” His teeth graze my neck as he drags his long cock out, inch by inch to inspect it, before slamming back inside me so deeply I see stars.
I whimper and come so hard I forget how to breathe.
My vision blurs, my body locks up and all I can do is ride the waves while my pussy squeezes around him.
I black out. For a second, maybe more, everything goes blank while he fucks me through it.
The next thing I register is Seth groaning from behind me, his body going stiff as he roars his release, his cock swelling, pulsing, one hand still clamped around my throat, the other still pressed tight against my clit like he’s stuck there.
His pelvis jerks, muscles flexing, and I swear—if he has neighbors in this hotel room who are players they’re going to be talking about this tomorrow.
We stay like that. Panting. His chest is heavy on my back, his cock still buried so deep inside me that I start to wonder if he’s stuck.
Like this is some weird biological phenomenon where I’ll have to live the rest of my life attached to him.
Frankly, it doesn’t sound back. The orgasm wrecked me.
And judging by the way he’s not moving either, I think that the intensity of it might have shocked him too.
We’re both just… stunned. By the time I’ve caught my breath I know what I have to do.
I move. I don’t jump off him as much as I fall forward, my limbs suddenly feeling like overcooked noodles, my knees and stomach hit the mattress before I manage to scramble forward.
Because I need to go. I need to get out of here fast before my stupid little heart starts to tell my head that this was romantic.
I did what I came here to do. And well look at that. We both came, too.
Seth hasn’t moved yet. His cock stays hanging between his legs heavy as he kneels there, his hands still molded into the shape of my hips even though I’m gone and he’s just holding air, like his body is still catching up to reality. I don’t wait for him to catch up.
I move fast, scrambling to the foot of the bed and yanking my clothes on so quickly that I put my ridiculous, Daddy’s Little Monster shirt on backward.
Oh well. I snatch my shoes, grab my wallet, and then—because I’m awkward as hell and never have done anything like this before—I give him a stiff nod, a salute and throw up the peace sign just to cover all my bases.
“Peace out. Thanks for the orgasm, Sloth.”
Then I bolt. Straight out the door, across the hallway to the elevator bank so quickly that I almost trip over my own feet. My red hair whips around my face reminding me that I left the ponytail holders back in the room. They were Alexa’s but I’m sure she won’t miss them.
Please don’t chase me.
Please don’t chase me.
Please don’t—
The elevator doors slide open, and I dive inside.
My head rams into the back of the cart so hard that I’m stunned and it takes me a full ten seconds to stand up and press a floor button.
I definitely just gave myself a concussion.
When I finally recover, I jam the lobby floor hard like I’m trying to launch this thing through to the basement.
As the doors slide shut behind me, I swear I hear Seth yell out my name.
By the time I spill out onto the busy New York sidewalk street, the cool night air slaps me in the face, and the Halloween partying is still in full swing.
Drunken partygoers, glitter and masks, cat ears and vampire fangs that make it easier for me to blend in with.
I flag a cab and collapse into the backseat, my heart still hammering as I rattle off Alexa’s address.
It’s not until the car pulls up in front of her apartment where I’m staying temporarily that I finally exhale.
Okay.
That happened.
I fucked a professional hockey player and someone I will probably be working with soon. At least… I think that’s what he was. I didn’t recognize him when the mask came off and he never brought up hockey once which feels strange.
I unlock the door, and before I can even shut it behind me, I hear a giggle coming from somewhere on the couch. Alexa pops up with a guy that I recognize from earlier tonight at the bar. I’m almost positive he was with Seth.
“Oh, hey, Brianna,” she says with a smirk. “Didn’t expect you home so soon.”
I force a smile, lift a hand in an awkward wave. “Yeah, well…timing.”
The guy she’s with shifts forward, raking shaggy, light brown hair from his face as he studies me. Then his brows shoot up.
“Hey, you’re the girl who went home with Seth tonight, right?”
“Uh…” I definitely blush because remember, total one-night-stand virgin who is a lover girl. “Maybe?”
Why does this feel like getting caught sneaking in after curfew? Which, by the way, never happened since I was a good little girl.
He holds up a hand. And for some reason, I high-five it. Because this is normal. And that’s what hockey bros do after banging random women. And apparently, now I’m a hockey bro and not the feminine goddess who frolics through forests and finds her prince charming that I thought I was.
“Good for you. And him,” he says, nodding like I just did a good deed. “He just got out of a really bad marriage and could use a random hook-up.”
My stomach drops.
Oh.
Oh…great.
I stare at him. “Please tell me he isn’t still married?” Because please, for the love of God, tell me I didn’t just fuck a married man wearing a Sloth mask.
“Nah,” he says easily. “Definitely not married. But it’s been rough for him. I bet whatever you gave him is exactly what he needed tonight.”
I blink. And… okay. That’s weirdly comforting. Because it was what I needed, too so maybe we mutually got something out of this unexpected night.
Alexa cuts in, stretching across the couch to grab my wrist. “Hey, Brianna, Penn was just telling me that you should investigate moving to Brookhaven if you’re serious about living outside of NYC during your internship with the Mayhem and renting somewhere cheaper.
It’s in Connecticut and you can get there easily by train in under two hours. ”
My stomach clenches. I shoot her a look. One that I hope says, you better not have told him that I’m the team owner’s daughter and that’s why I don’t want to live anywhere in NYC.
She just grins, shaking her head subtly. Okay, she didn’t. That’s a relief.
Penn nods, completely oblivious to our wordless exchange. “Yeah, it’s nice. Small town, but not too small. Not a bad place if you’re looking for a change. I don’t live there but one of the guys on the team who retired lives there with his wife and baby. He likes it.”
“Yeah? Okay.” I smile, filing the city name away. “I’ll check it out. Thanks.” Then I head toward my room. “Good night, you two.”
“Night!” they call after me, dissolving into more giggles as I close the door behind me and collapse onto the bed.
Brookhaven, Connecticut, huh? It’s far enough away from my dad. But not too far to finish my studies and my internship in the city. I grew up in a small, mid-western town. I always imagined myself settling somewhere small. Maybe this is exactly what I need.