By all accounts, I should be flying high right now. We beat the Renegades, Stevie came to the game, and I’m surrounded by my best mates and the women who make them happy.
Except I’m feeling hot under the collar. Stevie’s dad was nice enough when we first greeted each other in the players’ lounge. I’d put on casual attire after my shower, and we shook hands like men.
“Appreciate the tickets. Great seats,” he said.
And that’s all he’s said.
Even here at Mario’s, sipping on his beer, he’s cool and aloof with me. He’ll engage anyone else in conversation and has his head bent toward Drake where they’ve been talking motorcycles for the past ten minutes. If it weren’t for the difference in hair color, the dudes might look related with their long hair, beards, and tattoos.
I’ve been thinking of something we might have in common to talk about, but the list is pathetically short. Obviously, Stevie is the common denominator, but that’s too easy. I could talk to him about getting the tattoo of all the players’ names, but that seems too calculated.
I let my gaze slide over to Stevie, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face. She’s dressed so differently from the women she’s talking to. She’s in a group with Harlow, Tillie, Gage’s girlfriend Jenna, Baden’s fiancée Sophie, and the most notorious of the group, Brienne Norcross, the owner of the Pittsburgh Titans.
Some might think she’s only out tonight because she’s dating our star goalie, Drake McGinn, but she’s actually been friends with Jenna and the other women for longer. In other words, Brienne doesn’t sit on a throne in her castle’s turret. She likes to hang out with us on occasion, although I doubt she’ll stay long. She and Drake only ever stay for a drink as they’re more homebodies than anything.
Stevie is the one who sticks out in the group. Not as a sore thumb but rather as a creature who owns her style and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She’s in her standard biker babe attire—Harley T-shirt, ripped jeans, heavy boots, and a black leather jacket—while the other women are all wearing jerseys or some other Titans’ gear. I make a note to ask Stevie if she’d like a jersey. I won’t automatically get it for her as I’d like to know if she’s even in to wearing sporting gear. She might not be, and because I love her unique look so much, I don’t ever want her to think I expect her to dress in Titans’ clothing just because I play for them. I know she supports me on the ice, and that’s enough.
I consider joining Stevie, which means breaking in on the girl talk, and I don’t mind that idea at all. I’m a rebel that way.
First, I hit the restroom, a slight pain in the ass as I’ll have to deal with requests for autographs and pictures. It’s not a part of my fame that I dislike as most fans are super nice and respectful, but tonight, it will definitely impede on my time with Stevie, and we don’t have a lot of that to begin with.
I beeline toward the bathroom hall, keeping my gaze down to dissuade those who might be a little shy to approach. I sure hope that doesn’t make me an asshole—I will stop if someone calls my name.
I reach the bathroom without interruption, and other than a short conversation with some dude at the sinks, I exit quickly. I pass Bear on his way into the restroom, and he doesn’t even make eye contact.
Fuck it… I’m engaging him as soon as he’s out and has another beer in hand. In fact, I’ll buy him one.
I’m halfway back to our group of tables the restaurant sets up for us after each home game when I’m stopped for an autograph. That turns into some pictures and a few more signatures on jerseys with the perpetual Sharpie that always seems to be floating around. I take another picture and give my regrets. “Sorry, guys… got to get back to my friends.”
I extricate myself, only to be brought up short by a woman who steps in my path. She’s statuesque with honey-blond hair in long waves that hang over the front of her shoulders, tight jeans with high-heeled boots, and a low-cut purple sweater. “Hendrix… hi… how are you?”
That’s a weird greeting. Normally, fans don’t use my name. It’s just, Can I get an autograph?
They definitely don’t ask how I’m doing, which implies a level of familiarity.
“I’m good,” I reply with a tentative smile. She acts like she might know me, but I have absolutely no recollection of her.
“Um,” she looks over her shoulder, and I follow her line of sight to a woman sitting at a table. “I was just wondering if you’d like to join me and my friend for a drink.”
When I turn my attention back to her, she’s smiling seductively, and it irritates me. If it had just been an honest invitation for a drink, I wouldn’t be pissed at the intrusion. But the look in her eyes is calculated, and I don’t have patience for it tonight.
Not when I have absolutely no interest in her or her friend.
“Actually, I’m just on my way—”
The woman moves fast, steps in so close, I can feel her breath on my face. Her hand presses to my chest and she murmurs, “Let me be blunt. My friend and I are wondering if you’d be interested in a threesome with us. We don’t even have to do the drink… we can leave right now.”
I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, and in another time or life I’d say yes. But I’m a little put off by the speed of her come-on. Usually an offer like that happens after a drink, shared conversation, and a bit of time invested in seeing if there’s true mutual interest.
I step back to put some room between us, but her hand stays on my chest. I remove it with my own. “I’m not interested.”
She pouts. “Just one drink.”
“I’m here with my girlfriend.”
“Yes, I saw you with her.” Her hand comes back to my chest. “Not exactly who I would have matched you with. Come on, ditch the little Joan Jett wannabe, and you can have two women tonight—”
“What is wrong with you?” I growl, pushing her hand off me and taking a huge step back. I come up against someone, but I don’t look. I’m too pissed this woman just looked down her nose at Stevie because of how she dresses. “Why do some women have to do that shit and put other women down? Does it make you feel better about yourself? Does it validate you in some way?”
The lady’s mouth opens slightly in shock.
“For your future information, my girlfriend is a million times hotter than you could ever hope to be with your skanky offer of a threesome right off the bat, but mostly because she’s genuine and nice. Granted, she’ll jump into a barroom brawl to stop it, so she’d surely stomp your ass if she knew what you just offered, but her heart is made of gold.”
Her mouth drops open further. “You could’ve just said no. You didn’t have be an asshole.”
“No, I guess I didn’t have to be, but it was fun.”
The woman pivots on her heel and marches away. I turn around to apologize to whoever is behind me for stepping on him, only to find it’s Bear, and he just witnessed the entire exchange.
“Propositions like that happen often?” he asks.
My gaze slides over to the table where the woman returned to her friend, and they’re both glaring at me. “Not as often as you might think being a professional hockey player.” A thought strikes me, and my head whips back his way. “You didn’t just set that up, did you? To see what I’d do?”
Bear snorts and claps a large hand on my shoulder. “My daughter doesn’t need me interfering in her love life. She can handle herself. Like you said, she’s tough enough to stop a barroom brawl.”
“So, you just happened to be there?” I’m still suspicious.
“Just happened to be there,” he confirms with a nod. He squeezes my shoulder and turns us back toward our group. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”
I grin as we walk back. I was completely annoyed by the unwanted exchange, but I couldn’t have had better luck that Stevie’s dad watched me put that woman in her place. Him buying me a beer says a lot.
♦
I’ve been making out with Stevie on my couch for a good ten minutes. After we entered my house, I pulled her here, put her in a straddle over my lap, and kissed her.
I’ve never done this with a woman. Just made out—deep, spicy kisses broken up by tidbits of conversation, finished with breathy kisses that turn hot once again.
I’m sure as hell worked up, my cock hard as a rock not long after Stevie threw her leg over mine. But waiting always makes it better, right?
Grazing my lips down her neck, I say, “Your dad totally likes me now.”
Stevie laughs, her arms wrapped around my neck and holding me to her. “I noticed you two seemed chummy. How did that happen?”
“He overheard me putting a seriously deranged woman who wanted a threesome in her place.”
Stevie jerks in my arms, pushing her torso back with her hands to my chest. “What?”
I try to pull her back into me, but she holds me at a distance with a stiff arm. She cocks an eyebrow, and I see jealousy swirling in her eyes, which have darkened to a deep denim color. I find it adorable, but also holding up the process, so I explain quickly. “Some woman approached me as I was coming out of the bathroom. She was very forward and propositioned me for a threesome. I turned it down, and your dad overheard it.”
“Uh-uh,” she says with a shake of her head. “That would not have impressed my dad.”
I don’t know if it would or not, so I’ll have to trust her on that. “I might have mentioned you in the conversation.”
Her head tilts, her expression curious. “What did you say?”
“Enough to make your dad buy me a beer,” I reply evasively.
I expect her to press me for details, but her eyes soften. Stevie leans in and brushes her mouth against mine. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for being so sweet.”
I’m leaning back now. “You don’t even know what I said.”
“You said enough to make my dad like you, so that speaks volumes.”
And that is why I wasn’t interested in what that woman at Mario’s offered and why Stevie continues to intrigue me every fucking day.
She presses her lips back to mine and slides her tongue in my mouth. Her hips roll against me causing the most delicious friction, and my hands lock on to make sure she doesn’t stop.
Except she scrambles from my lap, down onto the floor where she kneels between my legs. I start to ask what she’s doing, but her hands go to my jeans button. In seconds, she’s got it popped, the zipper down, and I shift my hips so she can push the material far enough to release my cock.
I let out a stuttering breath and lean back against the cushion, watching her like a hawk.
Stevie takes my hard length into her hand, her skin so warm against mine. She squeezes me, giving a leisurely stroke up, and I groan with need. My head flops back, and I stare at the ceiling as I focus on the feelings of her jacking me. Slowly, a little too gently, her thumb wandering over the head, teasing me.
Then pure, wet heat envelops me, and I practically choke as my head shoots up. Stevie is bent over my lap, her hair blocking my view, but I feel myself press against the back of her throat.
“Jesus,” I growl, my hands moving her hair away from her face. She looks up at me, eyes shining with determination and a devilish smile within. Her head bobs up and down, my cock held deliciously tight between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. I keep her hair pulled back so I can watch as she sucks me in deeper and deeper.
I can’t control the slight thrust of my hips against the suction of her mouth. Her hand strokes me at the base, and my balls tingle. Her tiny hums of pleasure are ultimately what starts my unraveling. My cock seems to get bigger, harder, and when Stevie makes a slight choking noise, my orgasm frees itself from the minuscule hold I had on it.
My fingers slide into her hair, and I attempt to pull her off, but she growls at me, pulling me in deeper.
“Fuck,” I bark out as my hips punch up and I come. It’s blistering, waves of pleasure surging through my body, and Stevie swallows all of it. “Baby… God… fuck.”
I’m gasping by the time I’m emptied, my lungs nearly flat from the exertion, and all I can do is haul Stevie up my body with my hands under her armpits. I kiss her hard, taste myself on her tongue, and then flop backward. I wrap my arms around her, soaking in how profoundly intimate that orgasm felt, and a surge of emotion squeezes my chest.
“You’re amazing,” I murmur as I stroke the back of her head.
“That’s the post blow job orgasmic bliss speaking,” she chuckles.
“Maybe,” I admit, turning my head to press my lips to her temple. “But it doesn’t make it any less truthful.”
Stevie snuggles into me, her body language pleased by my compliment. “I’m sleepy. Let’s go to bed.”
I might be replete from what just happened, but I am by no means sleepy. “Yeah… that’s not going to work for me.”
She lifts her head, a flicker of worry on her face, as if I’m about to kick her out. I give her an admonishing look before tapping her on the nose. “There’s no way we’re sleeping until I have my way with you.”
“Oh,” she says, and I take the fortuitous opening of her mouth as an invitation to kiss her.
I slide my tongue right in and resume the make-out session that started this all.
