Scoring big, p.14
Scoring Big, page 14
So fucking much fun. She’s fun out of bed, but in bed…I’ve never experienced this. So much pleasure and laughter and connection.
I fucked around a lot, thinking that would be enough. It wasn’t enough.
This…well, this isn’t enough either. I don’t think I could get enough of Carly if I lived to a hundred and fifty. But it gives me something, something gratifying and satisfying and what I’ve wanted.
I told her about my ADHD. I don’t tell people about that. I’ve learned a lot of strategies over the years and the medication does help. Team management knows, obviously. Only one other guy on the team—Axe—knows, and that’s because he has dyslexia and we talked about when we were rookie roommates because we had similar experiences.
I don’t trust many people. Many women. They’ve thought I’m stupid. They’ve used me because I’m a hockey player. Brielle has never said that, but I believe it’s why she wanted to date me. Although I have to be honest and admit I liked dating a gorgeous actress. So in a way, we used each other.
Carly still wants me, even though she knows my secrets, my shame. I told her because she never judges me. I trust her.
That’s why the sex is so fucking stupendous.
18
CARLY
“So…you wanna fuck again? Or are we done?”
I collapse into laughter all over again, pressing my nose to Nate’s throat. God, he smells good, like sandalwood and his skin. He’s vibrating with laughter, too. “We’re not done.”
“Okay, good. I just need a minute.”
“Just a minute?”
“Christ, I’m still hard, you tease.”
I gasp. “I’m not a tease!”
“You sure the fuck are.” He kisses my temple. “Walking around this apartment looking all hot and cute all the time.”
“Oh my God.” I’m laughing all over again. It’s like I’m drunk, and it’s not even ten in the morning. We’re both high from that fast, hard sex.
“You love to torture me,” he growls, rubbing his nose alongside mine. “Admit it.”
“I do not!”
“Admit it. The other day you had on short shorts and I just wanted to grab your ass.”
“Okay, the short shorts might have been a tease…”
“I knew it.” His hand goes to my bare butt and squeezes. I love it.
“And you don’t tease me with your bare chest all the time after a shower?”
“Ah, you noticed.”
“Oh God, yeah.” I sigh in surrender. “I noticed.”
“You do things that make me so hot and you probably don’t even know.”
Intrigued, I stroke his chest. “Like what?”
“Like when you flick your hair back.”
“Oh.”
“When you stand on your toes to get something out of the high cupboards.”
I pull my head back to look at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Hot as fuck. Also when you’re writing. You have this little groove here…” He touches between my eyebrows. “And you’re so focused. Also hot.”
“Wow.” I’m melting like a crayon on a hot stove. “I like that.”
“You like making me hard?”
Our eyes meet. “I do,” I say breathlessly.
He moves, his hard cock pressing against my hip. “There you go, beautiful.”
“We need another condom.”
“Got it.” He rolls over me in an impressive display of athleticism and reaches into the drawer for another condom. “This time I’m going slow. I want to take my time and explore every inch of you with my mouth and my hands…” His hands move down his shaft, the latex stretched thin around his girth. My mouth literally waters, watching him. He’s so incredibly beautiful—his cock is broad and solid and handsomely shaped, and I want to suck him off so bad.
But I’m also happy to let him take control, moving over me, delivering on his promise to explore. His mouth moves from my cheek and jaw to my throat, where his tongue softly strokes my fluttering pulse, then between my breasts. He cups them with his hands, plumping them to his mouth, sucking in hard draws that tug a path straight down between my legs. When he lifts his head to gaze down at my hard, wet nipples, the look on his face is one of such admiration and lust I’m weak. Nobody has ever looked at me like that.
My heart speeds up, my skin heating everywhere.
“You’re beautiful, Carly,” he says softly.
“Th-thank you.” My chest fills with a fizzy sensation and my lower belly aches.
He slowly strokes down my sides, trails his lips down my belly, getting closer to where I’m craving his touch. He pauses to nip at one hip bone, then lick over it. My clit pulses with need and my womb clenches with desire.
His big hands land on my thighs and push them apart, then caress me over my butt and over my pussy, giving me a gentle squeeze there. I’m making all kinds of panty, breathy noises.
He slides rough fingertips up over my hipbones, over my belly button, his mouth so close I can feel his breath on sensitive skin. He’s teasing me, torturing me with slow caress over my lower belly. Then he looks up at me, his expression taut and blazing.
I’m dying.
He turns his head and opens his mouth on my inner thigh in a long, slow kiss, then moves to my other leg. This kiss ends with a nip of teeth that makes my body twitch hard. Centered between my legs, still watching my face, he brushes his lower lip over my pussy.
“Tease,” I choke out.
He smiles and backs up, his hand moving over me again, slow and sensuous, and then I see his other hand gripping his cock. It’s huge and dark and shiny and the sight of him stroking himself just as slowly and erotically as he caresses me, nearly makes me come right there.
He stops touching himself and caresses my thighs again, lowering his face, and he gives me one long, lush lick. He pulls back tauntingly, then does it again. And again.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “So soft. So sweet.” He nips at one thigh. “Are you ready for special kisses?” He nips the other thigh. “Special licks?”
I make an incoherent sound of assent.
He uses his fingers to part my lower lips, pulling back the hood of my clit, and bestows another lick over it with just the tip of his tongue. I shudder.
He draws back, fingers working at my flesh, and he’s watching, gazing intently at me in that most intimate place. I’m hot all over, my belly burning. Then he touches the tip of his tongue to me again. I’m so sensitive, I jump and moan. I love the expression of fascination and reverence on his face.
“More. Please.”
He’s still moving achingly slowly, his fingertips keeping me spread for his tongue. His teasing licks become longer, the whole flat of his tongue stroking wetly over me. “Ahhh,” he says as if grateful.
Then opens his mouth and goes down on me. Like, down, covering me, his lips pressing against my pussy then slowly sucking in a deep, intimate kiss.
I’m shaking, burning,
“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he lifts his head and licks again, making rough noises of enjoyment. His fingertips press my plump flesh open and my hips are lifting to his mouth, begging for more.
He draws back as if to study me, runs his fingertips over my wet skin, then with the tips of all five fingers, he taps me there. A tiny, erotic spank. On my pussy.
I cry out. My insides squeeze hard and sparks sizzle over my skin.
“You like that?”
“Oh God. Yes.”
“Harder?”
I whimper.
He does it again. Another sharp tap. Harder. Then a series of faster pats. I’m nearly crying, pleasure scalding my veins.
“Look at this beautiful pussy.” He laps again, slow, then sucks, tugging at my skin in a long, pull. Holding it there between his lips and murmuring his appreciation. “So smooth.”
“I can’t,” I sob. “Oh my God, what are you doing to me?”
“Mmm.” He licks. “Mmmm. This gives beaver tap a whole new meaning.”
I don’t even know what he’s talking about, and right now I don’t care.
He stiffens his tongue and finds my clit. I shiver and jerk. “Yes!”
He toys with me with his tongue, over and over, fever building, sensation growing, taking me higher, higher…I can’t stop the noises that spill from my lips as my body tightens and pleasure bursts through me, incandescent, scorching. My thighs tremble and try to close, but he keeps me spread for him, drawing out my orgasm almost unbearably, until I’m limp and liquefied.
“Holy bajesus,” I gasp, eyes closed.
He gives me a few last tender licks, then kisses his way up to my mouth. I can barely kiss him back.
“What the fuck is a beaver tap?” I mumble. “Other than spanking my pussy.”
He grins down at me, ardor and amusement shining in his eyes. “It’s when you slap your stick on the ice to call for a pass.”
“Um…”
“This one’s much more fun.” He kisses me again, sharing my own taste with me, his big dick brushing against my tender girl parts.
“It definitely was fun for me.”
19
NATE
Training camp starts today and I’m here, reporting for duty, bright and early.
There’s about fifty of us here at the practice facility, me and my teammates but also guys from the farm team, brand new draft picks, and a few guys the team has invited to try out. Everyone’s nervous—there’s no guarantee, no matter who you are. But it would be tough to imagine someone like Bergie, our captain, not making the cut, and our goalie Gunner is for sure in.
It’s kind of like the first day of school was for Quinn—being away from it for months, then seeing all her friends and classmates new and old.
The physical testing is also anxiety-inducing. They do it in front of all the team brass, so our coaches and managers all see exactly how we’re doing. I’m out almost immediately, but it’s not a surprise to anyone; they’re aware of my status and have my medical records. We go over my rehab plan and when I might be able to skate. “I’m hoping I can be back for the start of the season,” I say. “It’s still almost four weeks away.”
“You’re not going to jump on the ice and be at full capacity on day one,” Robby says. He’s the head athletic trainer.
“Right, I know.”
“We’ll take it one day at a time,” he says. “Hopefully doc gives you the go ahead to start skating next week.”
I hang out and watch some of the guys go through the paces—vertical jumps, sprints, pushups, pullups, then the V02 Max tests that measure the maximum amount of oxygen your body can utilize during exercise. Basically you run on the treadmill until you pass out. One of the rookies, Phillipe Lavoie, literally pukes when he’s done. I grin.
I go over to him after. His face is red and sweaty, eyes watery. I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, rookie. That happened to me too, my first time.”
“Yeah?”
He’s a kid. He still has peach fuzz and acne.
“Yeah. You did great.” I pat his shoulder. “Good energy. Can’t wait to watch you skate. I hear you’re speedy.”
He chokes out a laugh. “I may never be able to skate again, after that.”
“You will.”
“Shit. Nate Karmeinski is gonna watch me skate. I’ll puke again.”
Now I laugh. “There’re more important people than me watching you skate, buddy. Good luck.”
After that, they go on the ice and I watch from the stands as the guys are put through a bunch of sprints. Then they’re done because training time is limited to three hours, so they have recovery time—using foam rollers, stretching, cooling down on a bike.
Then there’s a team meeting. It’s not Mr. D’Agostino, it’s the general manager of the team, Brad Julian, and the assistant GM Dale Townsend. They go over what we know from the news, but don’t add much more. Mr. Julian does stress that nothing’s changing and we need to focus on getting the best team we can on the ice for this season. He says they’ll be transparent and share news with us when they have some.
I stick around for the media availability in case anyone wants to talk to me, and they do. Even the sports reporters are pumped about the season starting. The air in the building is charged with a feeling of excitement and possibility.
I just hope I’m not so far behind that I can’t catch up.
I take a deep breath and face the reporters. I’m vague about my surgery and tell them I’m doing rehab right now and we’re going day by day. I answer a couple of questions about whether the injury happened last year and then I’m done.
I stay for lunch with the team, but then I head out to go to my therapy appointment. I don’t have to ride a bike until I puke, but I damn near do…because I want to be in the best shape I can when the season starts. Or when my season starts.
“You don’t even need me anymore.”
I level a look at Carly. “Oh, yes, I do.”
She waves a hand. We’re in bed again, after getting Quinn to school. My therapy appointments are in the afternoons, so this is starting to become a routine. A very happy routine.
"Not like that," she says. “I mean to help with Quinn. You’re practically back to normal.”
“Almost,” I agree. “For day-to-day stuff. But once I’m playing, I’ll need you. I can start skating tomorrow and depending how things go, I could be playing in the season opener.”
“That would be so great,” she says softly, fingers lightly rubbing my chest.
“Are you bored?”
“God, no! I’ve been getting a lot of writing done.”
She sold another article to a magazine and has a proposal out for another. “How’s the book coming along?”
“Really good.” I love how she gets all enthusiastic when she talks about it. “I was doing research yesterday into bullying.”
“Yeah?” I stroke her hair.
“Yeah. Men are supposed to be tough. Don’t cry. Don’t show weakness. That has a big impact on bullying.”
“It makes me hot when you talk about smart stuff.”
She laughs her fingertips brushing over my beard stubble. “That’s funny, because I get hot when you talk about hockey.”
“Hey. You want to come to one of the exhibition games with me?”
“I guess, sure. I used to like hockey. I haven’t been to a game in years.”
“I guess it’s not big in France.”
“Nope.”
I was going to watch from the press box, but I can get tickets, we all have tickets for us to use. Usually it’s for my parents when they come to watch a game. It’s not very often I invite a girl.
“I guess Quinn will come too?” she asks.
I swallow a groan. How the fuck did I forget about my own daughter? I’m a dick. I guess I’m just used to her being with Brielle during the season. “Right. We should do the Friday game, then. It’ll be a late night for her.”
“That’ll be fun.”
“Yeah! I’m excited. She loves going to games, but I don’t usually get to watch with her because I’m playing.”
I get to take both my girls to the game and share my love of the sport with them. It’ll be so great.
It’s a pre-season game so the hockey team doesn’t have all the bells and whistles set up in the arena—all the light effects and sounds and video that they’ll use during the season. There’s not as much fanfare when the starting line is announced. Tonight, some of my teammates are playing but also a whole lot of rookies, giving team management a chance to watch them on the ice before making cuts. They’re playing against the New Jersey Storm, who are icing a similarly inexperienced team.
I sit between the girls, dipping into Quinn’s popcorn and answering Carly’s questions. She has a lot of questions, but they’re good questions, and answering them makes me feel like I know something.
Of course I do.
Carly hangs on my words like I’m an expert and I feel ten feet tall. I think being away from hockey is affecting my self-image more than I realized. It’s such a big part of who I am. It’s something I’m good at, damn good, something I’m proud of, something that gives me confidence.
It still worries me a little about what happens if I don’t have hockey. If I can’t do what I love, what I’m good at.
But I can’t dwell on that. I’m here to have fun with my girls tonight.
Also Carly gives me confidence.
“No, Carly,” Quinn says patiently. “They can’t cross the blue line before the puck.”
I grin. She’s going to be a badass at hockey camp next year.
The Storm score and the crowd all groans, but the Bears quickly even the score with a nice goal from Lavoie, our newest draft pick. I’ve been watching him. He’s good. I don’t know how his training camp has been going but he could give Beave or Goose a run for their money if they’re not sharp.
I miss being there, dammit, knowing how everyone is doing, showing the coaches what I can do. It feels like a hole in my gut, an empty hollow ache.
“You okay?” Carly asks softly, nudging me with her shoulder.
I slide her a quick smile. “Yeah. All good.”
“You miss it.”
“Like I’d miss my lungs.”
She laughs. “That’s serious.”
During the first intermission, the Bears mascot Orson appears. Quinn’s excited and jumps up and waves to him. I know the dude inside the costume, so I wave too, and he spots me and comes over to give Quinn a bear hug and a high five. Then we make a quick trip to the crowded store and find a hat that Quinn falls in love with—a Bears trooper hat with bear ears on top, and long knit braids.
“I feel I should have a shirt,” Carly says, perusing a rack of women’s wear.
“I’ll buy you one.”
“You don’t have—” She catches my eye and shrugs. “Okay, thanks.” She picks out a grey athletic style with the Bears logo on the front and I pay for the shirt and hat.
Quinn pulls the hat on and wears it for the rest of the game. So damn cute.
