27. Stone
STONE
The after-party is killer. A few puck bunnies were wrangled, thanks to Taylor or Grant, to set up our house.
The doors to all our bedrooms upstairs are locked.
The downstairs is almost unrecognizable.
The furniture is shoved to the far edges of the rooms, a bar set up in the kitchen, a keg out on the back porch.
We were nearly the last to arrive, and I must’ve forgotten to mention those plans, because the glower Wren gave me to discover a massive amount of people in and around our house… well, it was enough to make me want to drag her around the side and repeat our storage closet adventure.
I didn’t, though, because as soon as they caught sight of us, we were dragged into the thick of the party. More congratulations, more cheers and high fives, and echoes of how Shadow Valley is going places this year. All the way to the playoffs.
Wren has been plastered to my side since we arrived, even going so far as to pull me out on the makeshift dance floor and grind on me until my dick woke up. Again . Payback, I suspect, although I kept that thought to myself.
We’ve been served a steady stream of drinks into her waiting hand and mine.
Tomorrow is a day of rest. We’ve got it off from practice, there are no classes, and my homework is miraculously caught up. If I wanted to do absolutely nothing but watch the 1980 Olympic hockey final, then I could.
Now, I’m drunk in a warm way. My face has stopped throbbing, although one of the girls pouring the drinks informed me of the nasty bruises making an appearance. More tequila was the solution to that one. I feel like I’m floating in one of those pools that makes you feel like you’re in a womb.
Wren’s on my lap, grinding against my groin and sucking on my neck. I palm her ass and close my eyes, wanting to just exist for a moment.
Her teeth graze my skin. She does it again, then giggles. She’s drunk, too.
I crack one eye open. “What?”
Shit, my speech is slurring.
“Your dick twitches every time I do that.” She cups me through my jeans.
We’re in the living room. The lights are low, and the party has devolved into debauchery. The only ones left are pairs in various levels of undress. If she was wearing a skirt, it would be easy to just…slide into her. Fuck her here.
“Well, my dick likes you.” I frown. “Obviously.”
She giggles again.
I don’t think I’ve heard her giggle. It’s so fucking freeing, my heart gives an erratic thump.
And anything that happens with my heart in relation to Wren Davis is concerning.
But with the tequila in my system, it’s easy to brush it off.
To not think it means anything, even though it obviously does.
Catching feelings for my best friend’s sister wasn’t on my to-do list, and yet…
I mean, I declared her mine. To her. In a storage closet.
But now I’m doing it more publicly, keeping us out in the open. I danced with her. I made out with her. I ignored seething looks from Evan and dodged Archer’s questions about the jersey she may or may not have had on earlier.
I was wrong earlier. I have a feeling I’m going to end up paying for Archer’s replacement.
The simple truth of the matter is that Wren is sexy as fuck, no matter what she’s doing. Straddling my lap is a prime example, but even watching her walk across the house is enough to want to chase her.
It’s an obsession. An unhealthy one.
I watch her on the cameras. I follow her around school.
And yes, obviously it’s because I’m worried that her psycho dad is going to do something from prison, like send someone to threaten her or something. We had that break-in that wasn’t really a break-in and nothing else since.
It’s been quiet, which has really just given me an excuse to watch Wren more.
To drift away from looking for the danger around her to just looking at her.
The way she flips her hair off her shoulder before she puts on her backpack, or pats her pockets to check for her keys, phone, and whatever else. The way she smiles at her friends.
Her lips return to my ear, catching the lobe with her tongue, then her teeth. It’s a zing that goes straight to my groin, and I suppress the urge to fuck her for the billionth time.
“Maybe we should take this upstairs,” she whispers in my ear.
“Maybe,” I reply. “Or maybe I enjoy torturing both of us.”
She huffs.
“Tell me, Sticks. Is my cum still between your legs?” I slip my hand into her pants. “Oh, hmm, my girl is wet.”
She bites her lip. “What are you going to do about it?”
I move my hand lower, thrusting one finger into her. Then two. My smile feels wicked. “I’m going to watch you get yourself off, baby.”
Her eyes widen, and she glances over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen from kisses, her eye makeup a little smudged. What I really want is to put her on the floor between my legs and watch her suck me off, but this is a close second. Her orgasm face is one of my favorites.
“There are people,” she whispers.
“I know.” I raise my eyebrow. “So…promise to never wear another one of my teammates’ jerseys, and I’ll let you come right here. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you don’t come until Tuesday.”
She gives me a baleful look, then nods. “I promise never to wear one of your teammates’ jerseys,” she parrots. “And now…”
“Now go to town.” I curl my fingers inside her, and her body shudders.
She wriggles. Her hands come up onto my shoulders. And slowly, she sets a pace. She grinds her clit against the rough heel of my palm, and I scratch the itch deep inside her. Her head tips back, but her gaze stays locked on mine.
I lean forward and pull her tank and bra cup down, exposing her breast.
She squeaks in surprise.
I press my palm to her back, keeping her steady, keeping her on my lap and not shooting through the ceiling, and lick around her nipple.
It pebbles under my attention. Her hips move faster, her muscles squeezing my fingers. I suck it into my mouth, flicking my tongue against the sensitive nub. I graze it with my teeth, the same as she did to my neck, and she moans.
Her hands slide from my shoulders up into my hair.
She tugs me closer while her hips roll faster.
Fuck being in the living room. Fuck having an audience.
I pull my hand out abruptly and lift her, keeping her bare breast hidden against my chest. I carry her to the bathroom, the only door not locked, and set her on the counter.
“The door,” she mumbles.
“Fuck it.” I yank her pants down.
I’m inside her in an instant, and we both groan. God, she feels too fucking good. The best elixir. I lean her back and bite her breast, and she bucks. Her legs wrap around my hips, heels digging into my ass and pressing me closer.
“Just like that,” she groans. “Fuck me harder.”
I like her drunk and mouthy. I like her sober and mouthy, too.
“Right there. Fuck , Stone. Yes. Yes .”
She falls over the edge fast. I grab her wrist belatedly, yanking it away from her clit as she comes. She laughs as she trembles, her pleasure making her expression hazy. Dreamy.
“Too fucking perfect,” I growl.
My movements become frantic, chasing the high, and it doesn’t take me long to come inside her for the second time tonight. But with her body wrapped around mine, it’s ten times better.
“Jesus Christ.”
We both look toward the door.
The open bathroom door.
Evan stands there with his hand over his eyes. “What the fuck are you two doing?”
I grin and slide out of Wren, tucking myself away. She’s slower to regroup, touching her head and going for her pants—sans panties, which I ripped away earlier—before realizing her tit is still out. She tugs her bra back into place, her face flushing.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Wren mumbles.
I raise my eyebrow. “I think everyone knew what was going on here, Sticks.”
Evan’s face slowly turns red.
“What?” I continue to Wren, rolling my eyes. “It’s not like you weren’t yelling, ‘ Yes, Stone, fuck me harder! ’ about two seconds ago.”
And that’s how I end up getting punched by my best friend.