LOVE ERUPTION, NUMBER THREE, PEACHES AND CREAM
TALLULAH
Fridge was never interested in taking me to one of his away games. He assured me they were boring, just long naps before they’d head to the rink. It wouldn’t be fun. There was no reason for me to go.
So I never did.
Nick had a different outlook. He declined the bus ride to drive me there himself. His Canadian teammates teased him in the parking lot, and he shrugged it off, grinning, loading my stuff in the car.
I took the passenger seat with Rat, who dozed in my lap.
For four hours, Nick and I talked. He wanted to hear about the Cherokee Nation and wasn’t surprised that I’d spent my formative years with my nose buried in a book, hiding in the back of class.
We talked about the songs my mom ghostwrote, my dad’s motorcycle collection, and I asked Nick about him.
Well, tried to, anyway.
There were safe topics. His brothers, his mom, hockey itself, and the hiking stories were endless. Then if we strayed towards other things, like his dad or the events he did for Tomasini, Nick would suddenly make a joke and change the subject.
Which was fine. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It wasn’t like we ran out of things to talk about.
His car pulled into the hotel, Rat was ecstatic to be out and about. She strained against her harness, rushing to see the busy hotel lobby. I picked her up and tried to take my suitcase, but Nick brushed me aside, bringing in the bags.
I followed him inside. “I can take my own—”
“I’m sure you could,” he drawled, shooting me a grin. “Why don’t you open that pocket?”
Nick nudged me with his suitcase. Rat was just as interested as I was to see what Nick had hidden inside. I unzipped it. There was something leather…some kind of metal…?
“What is this?” I said, confused.
He zipped the pocket again, moving towards the front desk. “Love eruption, number three, peaches and cream color, naughty specialties—”
“Uh, what?”
Nick waited until I met him at the desk and ducked down to tell me privately. “They’re handcuffs, sweetheart. I’m tying you up tonight.” My mouth fell open and Nick straightened up as if he didn’t say anything at all, smiling at the receptionist. “Kurosawa. Checking-in.”
The blush set my face on fire. How could Nick do that? Be so nonchalant? I didn’t realize we were checking off a bucket list item here. My heart hammered in my chest, following him down the hallway. I hoped I wasn’t stumbling on my feet.
We’d had so much sex, but it didn’t lessen how my body responded to him. If anything, I was more sensitive. Constantly aware of him.
Nick checked both room keys to see if they worked for our door and slid one into my back pocket. With a giddy smile, I closed the door behind us. How could I not be giddy? I was spending the weekend in Ottawa with the sexiest hockey player. This couldn’t get any better.
I set Rat on the bed and she zoomed around, as thrilled as I was.
“You get one item checked off your bucket list tonight,” Nick said, unzipping his duffel bag. Something flew through the air. I barely caught it, a forest green jersey with KUROSAWA written on the back. “In exchange, I want one checked off of mine. You in my jersey.”
“That’s on your bucket list?”
“It is now.”
I touched the letters of his last name, smoothing down the fabric. “Won’t this be…weird for you?”
“No.”
“I’m sitting in the WAG section.”
“Uh-huh.”
“With the wives and girlfriends…”
“That’s what WAG refers to, yeah.”
“This is…okay?”
“Why don’t you put it on and I’ll tell you?”
Gingerly, I slipped the jersey over Nick’s For the Arena sweatshirt. I stole it from his room before we left.
His jersey hung at my thighs and Nick’s eyes wandered, taking me in. He balled-up the fabric in his hands. “You look better in this than I do.”
I smiled until I realized tonight’s game meant an audience and cameras… My eyes snapped to his. “Won’t the Gladiators be watching?”
“No, Tallulah—”
“What if Fridge sees? I—I can’t—”
He put his hands on my shoulders, making sure my gaze was on him, his voice firm. “You don’t need to be anxious. Calgary, Toronto, and Edmonton are the only exceptions because of how their arenas are structured. Most of the Blades games aren’t filmed.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Because I asked,” he said quietly.
A breath of relief escaped me. Of course Nick did his research. He still gamed with Fridge every Thursday, they talked on the phone constantly, and Nick snapped pictures of every classic Fonda car we saw because it was Fridge’s favorite.
Nick and Fridge were still very much friends. What we were doing wouldn’t change that.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” I whispered.
Nick’s nod was slow, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he gathered up the jersey between his hands again, taking another step in my space, so close, my heart lodged in my throat.
With a deep breath, Nick dipped down to kiss me hard.
“Oh,” blurted out of me between kisses. He took my face in his hands, holding me tight, kissing me like he couldn’t stop.
I loved when he kissed me like that. His kisses were hungry, wanting, always with a little left unsaid. I was dizzy from them. Was I floating? Was he floating? I had to suck in quick, unstable breaths, stomach swooping from the contact.
My anxiety melted away. Anticipation took its place, heating the blood in my veins. I couldn’t get enough of him.
“What do I get if I win the hockey game?” Nick asked, his voice husky.
An unexpected giggle burst out of me. “That’s so corny.”
“Tell me. Give me motivation.”
What could I give him?
My eyes flickered to the handcuffs on the bed. They weren’t flimsy, metal ones from a Halloween costume. They were made of supple leather, thick enough to offer protection.
Nick obviously bought them ahead of time. He was taking care of me.
What could I do to make this just as good for him?
I tugged Nick down, my lips at his ear. “Every time you score a goal, I’ll give you a kiss.”
He chuckled. “A kiss?”
“On your cock.”
A beat passed. He froze. “What?”
“If you win the game, I’ll put it in my mouth.” I wove my fingers through his hair. “Can I suck your cock?”
“Fuck, Tallulah,” he panted, squeezing me. “You know how to give a man motivation.”
The Ottawa arena was alive. Crowds screamed every time the puck soared into the net. For five out of eight goals, Nick skated up, slamming his fist against the boards, pointing at me.
“Did you see that?” he shouted, grinning wildly under his helmet. “Tallulah! Did you see what I did?!”
I put my head in my hands, blushing, laughing so hard my sides ached. Every time the cameras pointed my way, I hid behind the girlfriends, laughing as hard as I was.
I was mortified, and unbelievably pleased. It was a shocking combination. Yes, of course I was embarrassed, Nick putting the spotlight on me definitely embarrassed me, but while the antics were dumb and silly, his focus was on me.
I’d never experienced being the center of somebody’s attention. Especially in front of an audience as big as this.
Embarrassing? Sure. And also weirdly sweet.
Nick returned to the bench when his coach waved him through. I peeked at Nick through my hands and he waved happily at me, as joyful as the night before Christmas. He pointed at the scoreboard. I couldn’t hear him over the crowd, but I could read his lips, shouting my name.
One of his teammate’s wives gave me an incredulous look. “Five points—what the hell did you promise him? A blowjob?”
I burned even brighter, melting into my seat.
Post-game, the Blades were ready to celebrate. I thought Nick and I were going back to the hotel, but he wove his fingers through mine, bringing me out with them.
“Aren’t we going to the hotel?” I whispered.
“I want everybody to see you in my jersey first,” he joked in a tone that didn’t quite sound like he was joking.
We found a packed bar in downtown Ottawa with red, tufted booths and yelling bartenders who slid drinks across the counter to waiting hands. Music pounded from the speakers. It was hectic. I stayed only two inches away from Nick, refusing to leave his side through the crowd.
Nick leaned over the counter. He grabbed our drinks and redirected me to the wall of booths the hockey players had taken over.
It was so busy, my nerves flared. I took a sip to steady myself.
“Nick?” I frowned. “I think this is a soda? I wanted a vodka soda.”
He directed me around dancing couples. “You’re not drinking tonight.”
I couldn’t stop the giggle from slipping through. “I’m not allowed to drink?”
“Nope.”
I climbed into the booth. “Um, tonight—?”
Nick gently grabbed me by the jersey, tugging me to him. His lips grazed my ear, his words husky. “I don’t want you buzzed for your first time in handcuffs.”
My eyes slid his way, amused. “How chivalrous of you.”
“You don’t understand.” Nick slipped into the booth beside me, keeping our conversation low while his teammates laughed and joked with each other. “If you’re hammered, your focus is gone. I don’t want that. I want all of your attention. I want you to experience exactly how I’m fucking you.”
I drew in a slow breath, desire pooling in my stomach. “It’d be fun if we both drank.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I get demanding when I’m drunk, Tallulah.” He smirked. “You wouldn’t be able to handle that.”
“I can handle it.”
He made a noise of amusement, and I rolled my eyes.
Gordo approached the table with a round of shots. Almost everyone in our section declined—heartburn, kids to call later, early mornings to plan for—most of the shots went untouched.
“Twenty-year-olds,” Gordo urged. “Drink them. They’re perfect for you, your livers are still intact—”
“We’re not drinking,” Nick said easily.
“What the hell is your problem?” Gordo said in mock-surprise. “You’re the only two who can drink!”
“Man. I love having a twenty-one-year-old on the team,” Muratov chuckled. “We dominated tonight, that was fucking fun.”