Faceoff, p.8
Faceoff, page 8
He pressed harder on her clit, and she gasped, her hands flying up to sink into his hair as she arched against him, thrusting her breast deeper into his hand as unintelligible words fell from her lips. She turned her head and sealed her lips with his, her tongue darting into his mouth, tangling with his in a messy and welcome kiss.
She broke the kiss on a pant, sucking in a rough breath, and moaned. “I’m so close. Fuck, I’m so close.”
He continued to circle her clit, applying pressure with each pass as she squeezed his cock inside of her. He rocked against her body, wanting to push her down on the bed so he could plunge in and out of her, but not wanting to let her out of his tight embrace.
And then she froze, her body coiled tight, her inner muscles clamping around him like a vise.
“Oh, Colin. Oh, yes,” she shouted as she came, her breath raspy, as she shuddered around him.
She collapsed to the bed, and he held still inside her. His cock pulsed inside her, rock hard and begging for more. He pulled free from her body, and she rolled over to face him, her blissed-out expression made his cock even harder, if that was possible.
“We’re not done,” she said, linking her legs around his hips and gasping when his cock brushed against her sensitive flesh.
He sank back into her body, their pelvic bones flush against each other, and she arched off the bed, pushing against him as he plunged in and out of her. He was so close to losing all control.
Then she reached up, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth down to hers. She nibbled his lower lip before bathing it with her tongue, and he groaned into her mouth.
“Fuck, Sara,” he said, and her legs tightened around his hips. Her pupils were blown, the stormy blue almost gone, and she gave him a smile.
“Harder, Colin. Take everything from me,” she whispered.
And who was he to disagree? He plunged in and out of her body as her tongue mimicked that motion in his mouth. His balls tightened, and with one last thrust, he came with a roar, that she swallowed with her kiss.
He collapsed in her arms, her words echoing in his head. They weren’t supposed to take everything from each other. That wasn’t the deal. But he would agree to anything she wanted as long as he could keep her in his arms.
Chapter 8
Sara groaned at the hottest dream she’d had in a long time. Fingers trailed over her skin and Sully’s face was between her thighs. His beard scraped against her tender flesh, his tongue more talented than a tongue had a right to be. Her body tightened, and she shifted against the cool sheets, desire pooling between her legs.
Desire that he was languidly lapping up.
She stretched, flexing her feet as pure bliss rolled through her body. She could get used to this type of wake-up call. A moan slipped through her lips, and her eyes shot open when a hard cock pressed against her back.
Shit.
She wasn’t alone.
His arms squeezed around her, and he nuzzled his bearded chin into her neck.
“Please tell me you’re having a sex dream about me,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder.
“What are you talking about? I was stretching,” she said, flexing her legs and feet against him like that was normally how she woke up.
“Shit,” she muttered as her right leg cramped. She rolled from the bed and put pressure on her foot, trying to stamp out the pain.
“Are you okay?” he choked out.
When she finally met his gaze, she realized that she was stomping on her foot completely naked and probably looked ridiculous. The pain subsided, and she darted back under the sheets.
“I just need more potassium. I used to get these all the time when I was a kid.”
“That’s in bananas, right?” he asked, and she heard the grin in his voice.
She swatted his chest. “Is this where you make a comment about having just the banana I need?” She peeked up at him, and he smirked.
“I see Blarney’s back,” she said. And dammit, that shouldn’t make her heart do fluttery nonsense it needed to stop doing right this second.
“You know I hate that nickname,” he growled, the smirk gone and replaced with heat.
“No. Get that look out of your eyes. I have stuff to do today, and you have practice. Plus, I think I’m sore from last night.” She’d lost track of how many times they’d orgasmed last night, but her hips and thighs, and other extra tender parts, needed a breather.
“Don’t they say to kiss a boo-boo to make it better?” he asked, tugging down the sheet. “I bet that’s what your sex dream was about.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she gasped when he stripped the sheet from her body, pulling her beneath him. Her legs instantly fell open, so he could fit between them, his heavy weight welcome against her belly. He leaned over her, peppering kissing across every inch of skin he could reach, and she couldn’t stop her sigh as she sunk her fingers into his hair, holding him to her body.
Apparently, she wasn’t that sore.
An hour later, she sipped her coffee and stared at a freshly showered Sully across her kitchen island. He’d convinced her to conserve water and shower with him, which she’d fallen for, and then he’d dropped to his knees in the shower and acted out her dream. She never should’ve told him about it, but common sense left the building when his mouth was on her.
“So, we need some ground rules, because I think we just broke the first one,” she said, setting her cup on the counter.
He eyed her over his own cup, his brow quirked. “And what rule did we break?”
“Well, if this is just sex, should we be having sleepovers?” Her cheeks were hot, but she needed some structure so she didn’t do something stupid. Like fall for him.
“Sleepovers are going to happen when we screw each other until we’re unconscious,” he said, and she heard the taunt in his voice.
“Sully,” she drew out.
“It’s the truth. Fine. But I’m not a smash-and-dash kind of guy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Is that actually a term?”
“For some guys, yes, but if we fall asleep or want to sleep over, I don’t think that’s a big deal. Plus, morning sex is always a bonus. We are friends that fuck, Sara.”
“I’m aware,” she said, trying to read his expression and not think too hard about what was currently churning around in her belly. This was such a big mistake.
“So don’t make a big deal about sleepovers.” He raised his hand. “We can’t hook up with anyone else while we’re doing this. We’re not dating. We’ll be honest if it’s getting to be too much, and we’ll end it.” He ticked off each statement with his fingers.
“Yes. That all works for me,” she said.
“Great. Okay, I have to run to practice. This week will be crazy getting ready for our first few games. Hopefully, we can do this again before we are on the road next week.”
“We better,” she said.
He moved with the grace of a predator around her kitchen island and pulled her into his arms. Good thing she’d put her coffee cup down because he was at her side in a second.
“Wish me luck,” he said, his hand trailing down her back and cupping her ass, as he leaned his face into hers.
“Good luck,” she whispered, but it came out as a squeak as he simultaneously squeezed her ass and planted a hard kiss on her lips.
“That should get you through the next few days. Feel free to text me with any more sex dreams you have about me.”
And then he was walking through her front door before she could finish her gasp.
What the fuck had just happened?
***
A few days later, Sara went through all her kitchen prep for the night. The Strikers had won their home opener the other night, but aside from a quick make-out session in Adam’s office, they hadn’t had time to do anything else. Now he was out of town for a few days. Their first away game was in a few hours, and C&B would be packed with fans. Anytime the Strikers played, C&B could expect a larger than normal crowd, especially when it was an away game. Adam had a few drink specials ready to go, and the staff would be in their favorite player’s jerseys. Sara stuck to a generic Strikers shirt. She’d never pick a favorite player since she knew most of them.
She ordered a shirt with Sully’s name on it last night, and then berated herself as soon as she’d hit purchase, questioning her sanity. It should be here in a few days. Her new shirt—her sanity, who knew?
Two hours later, her staff was cranking out dinner orders while the bar staff filled glass after empty glass with cocktails, wine, and local craft beers. Sara stayed in the kitchen because she had so much to do, and not because she was glued to the TV in the corner. She’d put the sound on for tonight, not that it was easy to hear over the noise in the kitchen.
It was halfway through the first period, and the Strikers looked fantastic. They’d scored the first goal within the first two minutes, and they almost had a second one thirty seconds ago, if Dom hadn’t shot it a little wide. Arizona wasn’t a great team, but every team won at least a few games, so you couldn’t go into any game expecting to win.
Sully looked great. When he flashed the camera his trademark grin during warm-ups, it was really freaking difficult to focus on the plate in front of her. Hell, that smile had warmed her up so much she’d debated walking into the massive fridge to get her wits back. She wondered what would happen tomorrow in Vegas. They weren’t coming home until the following day, and then they had a day off before the home opener. She could only imagine the trouble some of those guys—Sully—could get into in Vegas.
Shit. She had to stop. They’d agreed to be exclusive to whatever this thing was that they were doing, and she had to trust him.
“Sara. Hey, Sara,” Eddie called out, breaking Sara out of the thoughts she had no business having.
She spun to face her sous chef. “What’s up?”
“Just wondering if you were still grabbing that grill press,” he said, his brow quirked.
Yep. She needed to concentrate. And not on Sully. And his grin. And how she called him Colin when he was seated deep inside her.
The other night had been hotter than their first night together, and that was saying something. She was nervous about seeing him again. And excited to have him all to herself.
Dammit. This wasn’t supposed to be how this was going to go. No feelings.
NO. FEELINGS.
But she couldn’t resist the draw to him, and it was going to bite her in the ass—which, side note, she’d enjoyed having him do the other night.
That walk-in fridge was looking better by the minute.
Sully streaked down the ice the following night, the top Vegas center on his heels, the puck perfectly centered on Sully’s stick. He heard Cheesy shout, and Sully saucer-passed the puck to his captain. They were halfway through the third period, and they were up by one. They’d soundly trounced Arizona last night, and it would be amazing to go home tomorrow with wins for their first two away games of the season.
The clang of the pipes rang through Sully’s ears, and Harty tried to get the rebound, but one of Vegas’ players snagged it and headed toward the Strikers’ end of the ice. Their line was gassed, having played over a minute in their current shift, but they couldn’t leave Gally out to dry, so they headed down as Baz took a hard hit from one of Vegas’ players when Baz tried to steal the puck.
The bearded beast shook his head and dove into the battle in the corner for the puck. Neither team was known for playing dirty, but more than a few elbows were shoved into ribs and backs as they tried to get the puck. Sully was flattened against the boards, and the air whooshed out of his lungs. That was going to leave a bruise. He pushed back, his stick on the ice, digging for the puck, but he was exhausted.
Finally, Harty got it and guided it around the back of the Strikers’ net. He shot it over to Baz as they skated over the centerline, and Baz dumped it into the corner near Vegas’ net so Harty, Cheesy, and Sully could get off the ice.
But as they were switching out, one of the Vegas wingers snagged the puck and headed toward Gally before the Strikers’ second line of forwards could get on the ice. Sully and the rest of the bench cursed the bad change and hoped that Baz and Crow could hold Vegas off as Jake, Dom, and Westie hit the ice and headed toward them.
Vegas fired, and Gally dropped to his knees, covering the puck, as the Strikers’ bench let out a sigh of relief. Bad changes happened. Bad changes that resulted in goals for the other team were a nightmare. At least they’d avoided that. But they needed to not show any sign of weakness with Vegas. Yes, they were in their first year in the league, but they had seriously strong players on their team and had won all of their preseason games.
They weren’t so lucky seven minutes later when Vegas tied it up with a goal right off of a faceoff that they hadn’t been ready for. Two minutes later, they were headed to overtime. They were still walking away with at least a point, but Sully wanted two. Although he did enjoy the extra fast pace of the new overtime system. Three-on-three reminded him of pond hockey when he was a kid living outside of Boston, or the backyard his father and uncle would always flood in the winter so they could skate.
His uncle had played for Boston years ago. He even won a Cup with them. He’d missed those days more than he wanted to think about. Especially now when he needed to have his shit together so he could help his team win.
He looked up to the rafters, wishing his uncle would’ve been able to watch him play professionally.
“You ready?” Baz asked, nudging Sully’s shoulder.
“Damn straight. Let’s get this point and get out of here,” Dom called out halfway down the bench.
“Cocky son of a bitch,” Baz said with a chuckle. It almost sounded like there was pride in the bearded beast’s voice.
Harty, Cheesy, and Baz hit the ice for the first shift, and overtime started. Sully held his breath as Vegas almost sank the puck between Gally’s legs, but he dropped down to stop it just in time.
The next four minutes were rough. Three-on-three was no joke and covering all that ice down two men for each team was never easy, but it was thrilling as hell. Sully finished his last shift, gulping in air as he slid down the bench.
“Come on, boys. We have forty-five seconds to end this. We all hate shoot-outs,” Bugsy shouted.
“I love them,” Dom fired back.
Cocky little sharpshooting rookie. Sully hated shoot-outs. The game ending up solely on the goalie’s shoulders trying to stop a perfectly aimed shot always bothered Sully. They played the game as a team, and to end it with what amounted to a penalty shot sucked.
Unless they were on the winning side, of course.
But it looked like they wouldn’t have to go there because twenty seconds later, Vegas shot the puck high blocker side, and the goal horn blared.
Son of a bitch.
An hour later, showers and postgame pep talks and interviews over, Sully sat in his stall, collecting anything he had to bring back to the hotel room. They weren’t flying out until mid-morning tomorrow because they had a day off before the weekend matinee game. He wasn’t sure that letting an entire hockey team loose on Vegas was a good idea, but most of the guys were smart enough not to make fools of themselves.
Hopefully someone was keeping an eye on the rookies. And Jake.
“You’re going to be my wingman tonight,” Baz said, like he was bestowing the greatest of tasks on Sully.
Sully barked out a laugh. “Why, thank you, but I’ll pass.”
“Are you sick? I mean, you were kind of slow on the ice.”
“Thanks a lot, ass. And I was not,” he fired back.
“So what gives? You’re always up for being someone’s wingman. We’re in Vegas, man.”
“I know where we are,” he muttered, not wanting to have this conversation. He’d agreed to be exclusive with Sara, and he was sticking to that. Hell, he’d been exclusive to Sara for months—not that she had any idea. And for his ego, he planned to keep it that way.
“So you have a girlfriend you want to tell us about? Or maybe you got something from one of those random chicks you supposedly bring home,” Baz said, his eyes narrowed.
Fucking observant pain in the ass.
“Perfect bill of health, thank you very much. And no girlfriend. Just don’t feel like watching you make a fool of yourself when women run from your beard in fear that something’s living in there.”
Baz pretended to look affronted, and he stroked said beard. “I’ll have you know that I use the finest beard oil to maintain this glorious hair. The ladies love it,” he said with a wiggle of his brows.
“You ladies going to keep chitchatting, or are you getting your asses on the bus?” Bugsy called out, and Sully noticed the almost empty locker room.
He grumbled and stood up, heading out to the bus, and ignoring Baz’s chuckles behind him.
“Sully’s got something going on. So secretive, that one,” Baz taunted. Sully kept his head facing forward as he got on the bus, adopting the easy and joking nature he was known for.
“Who’s up for drinks on the Strip? Sully has to get to bed early, lame ass,” Baz called out, and their teammates shot teasing remarks toward Sully.
“I’ll be at the hotel bar for a few drinks,” Harty called out.
“And then he has to call Penny,” one of the guys yelled.
“You all wish you were as lucky as me,” Harty said, not giving a shit about how the single guys ribbed him.
***
Sully found himself three beers in at the hotel bar just over an hour later, with the guys who didn’t want to head out to the Strip, the guys who weren’t single. Except for Sully.
Jesus. He was turning into a red flag, and it had nothing to do with his hair.
He glanced at his phone, and it remained silent of any messages. His parents had texted him congrats on his win the other night, but nothing for tonight’s game. Not that he cared about that. He wanted to see Sara’s name on the screen. Which was ridiculous. He wanted the text to say, “Have a good game” or “Sorry about the loss,” but that would be a girlfriend thing to write, and they’d been very clear that they weren’t dating.
