by Anna B. Doe
The heavy sighs expelled by my brothers tell me I hit my mark and am free to move on without having to concoct one of the revenge plots I’m famous for.
“Did we have plans I forgot about?” A furrow forms between Jake’s dark brows, and I use my thumb to smooth it away. Oh this sweet, sweet boy.
“Nope.” With a peck of a kiss, I push off him to stand so he can finish getting dressed. “I needed to meet with the trainers and decided to swing by to see you since I was nearby.”
I don’t even bother to hide the fact that my attention stays on him as he pulls a shirt on, but at least I manage to smother down the sound of disappointment when he does.
What? Don’t judge me. Honestly, it should be illegal for him to wear clothes.
Chapter Two
Jake
I should probably feel guilty for breaking the cardinal rule of Never sleep with a teammate’s sister, but the moment I laid eyes on Jordan at Rookies, the sports bar the team frequents, I was a goner. In my defense, I didn’t know then that she was Ryan and Jase’s sister.
Hell, that night I thought it was Jase’s twin brother—you know, the one who doesn’t exist but who he led us to believe did—we were meeting.
Good times.
But as I watch my girlfriend crouch down to strategize and come up with the best plan of attack for the snowball fight that’s about to commence with my six-year-old sister Carlee, I can’t find a single part of me that feels at all bad about it.
I want to say choosing to love her was the smartest decision I ever made, but there was no choice in the matter. She was meant to be mine so I made it so.
“Why do I get the impression we shouldn’t have agreed to boys versus girls?” Tucker chances a glance over at where the five girls—and Sammy (the honorary member of the girl gang) to even out the numbers—are huddled together.
“Seriously, bruh…” Vince, the only guy here besides Sammy who isn’t on the hockey team, works to pack another snowball for our arsenal, keeping an eye on Skye and his sister Rocky as he does.
“You would think you’d be used to losing to my sister by now,” Sean, the youngest Donnelly, remarks.
“Ooo, burned by a six-year-old, Tuck.” Jase holds up a gloved hand for his younger brother to high-five. Sean does, jumping up and hitting his palm with a flourish.
As a group of guys in which the majority of us are used to studying plays in a playbook, I want to say we come up with a brilliant one to ensure our team’s victory in this. Sadly, we don’t. Not even our faithful captain can come up with a plan.
When the battle cry rings out it's pandemonium, snowballs fly, some hitting their intended target, most not even close.
Navy, my girlfriend’s black Labrador, enters the fray halfway through, jumping to swipe as many snowballs as he can from the air.
“Navy! You’re a boy—you’re supposed to be helping us,” Ryan shouts as the canine protects Maddey from a face full of snow.
“TRAITOR!” Jase bellows. “No more Milk-Bones for you.”
Musical giggling sounds and more than one set of eyes roll at his baseless threat. Jordan spoils the dog enough for three people, and that’s not counting what the dog gets from the kindergarten set with us.
We play until we’re breathless, the yards in front of both my and the Donnellys’ home nearly unrecognizable, the smooth snow-covered expanse now riddled with the evidence of battle.
Crouched behind Jordan’s white Corvette parked in the driveway, I’m thankful the snow is that perfect combination of fluffy and solid to make packing one last snowball easy. Left then right, I cup my hands until I have the perfect baseball-sized sphere.
The years I’ve spent in the crease make holding this half-squat position easy as I push up a little to peer over the car’s hood. Just behind the inflatable minion wearing a Santa hat, I see the blue pom of my girlfriend’s hat.
With all the stealth I can muster, I make sure to step in places where the snow has already been packed down from other footsteps, and I head in her direction.
The hot pink blob hiding next to Jordan should make me rethink my attack, but my sister will just have to be collateral damage. Besides, Carlee loves me; she’ll be quick to forgive.
A small gasp leaves Jordan’s lips as I hook an arm around her middle, spinning her to face me. They purse into a tempting O that brings to mind how perfectly they feel wrapped around my dick.
When I crash my snowball down on her head, her hazel eyes flare, golden fire flying my way as the frozen water rains down around her shoulders.
My own laughter swirls around us, and I loop my other arm over the curve of her hip until she’s cradled against me as close as our puffy snowsuits allow. I may end up paying for getting the best of her, especially given her affinity for revenge plots, but I can’t find it in me to regret it when she looks so damn cute.
Snowflakes cling to the ends of her mascara-coated lashes, and the tip of her nose has turned pink from the cold. I place a gentle kiss on it.
Her teeth pull the corner of her bottom lip between them, the sight of white digging into the plump pink flesh driving me as wild now as it did that first day I realized we were about to become neighbors.
However, unlike like that day, I’m free to claim them and give in to the urge to do so.
Watermelon-flavored pillowy-soft lips meet mine and yield to my ardent assault, the automatic hum of approval that always greets my kisses singing in the back of her throat and through my bloodstream.
Everything else fades away—the cold, the shouts of our friends, the occasional bark from Navy. Even the kissy noises Carlee makes are nothing but static.
I stroke my tongue along hers, the sweet taste of chocolate lingering from the marshmallow-laden drink she had before we decided to play outside.
Stroke for stroke.
Teeth nip for teeth nip.
I grind my hips into her stomach, both grateful and cursing the thick insultation of my snow gear when—
Sonofabitch! That’s fucking cold.
I jump back, stumbling and hopping around like I have ants in my pants, or…you know, snow, because I must have missed the snowball in Jordan’s hand when I pulled her to me. When I was getting lost in our kiss, my sadistic girlfriend acted like a sleeper agent and got me when I was least expecting it.
I wiggle around, shaking my ass like I’m doing some demented version of the chicken dance to rid my body of the last of the freezing stuff clinging to it. At least she went down the back of my pants and not the front. I may live my life out on the ice, but I don’t need to be getting frostbite on my junk.
My gaze falls on Jordan, one arm banded across her middle, the other draped around Carlee, the two of them falling to the snow in a fit of giggles. Fuck me. There’s no way for me to be mad when something as simple as a juvenile prank can make her that happy.
Still…
She’s lucky she’s so damn cute.
Chapter Three
Jordan
Pocketing my phone, I find a pair of Uggs and slip them on before padding my way downstairs. The chorus of Christmas carols and rambunctious laughter greets me, alerting me to the reason behind Jake’s text.
Navy is in doggie heaven—not in the All Dogs Go to Heaven sense, thankfully, but in the snuggled between two six-year-olds who keep sneaking him the popcorn they should be stringing for garland sort of way.
Stopping at the edge of the living room, I wait until Mom meets my gaze then I gesture with a chin jerk so she knows I’m heading next door to the Donovans’.
Though my typical route is out the back door and through the backyard, I use the front door instead to avoid alerting my pint-sized shadows. I love Sean and Carlee something fierce, but sometimes a girl just needs alone time with her boyfriend.
After the epic snowball showdown the other day, most of the powdery white stuff has since melted, but there’s enough of it for tomorrow to still be considered a white Christmas.
The hinge on t
he vinyl gate squeaks louder thanks to the chilly temperatures, and I hunch deeper into my hoodie, my hands both going back inside the front pouch as soon possible.
A few paces in and my steps come to a stop at the breathtaking sight in front of me. The entire backyard has been transformed into a winter wonderland. White twinkle lights are strung along the lattice of the patio’s overhang, the evergreens around the perimeter are now decorated with lights, and small colorful paper lanterns are scattered amongst the bare branches of the tall red oaks.
Jack Frost nipping at my nose breaks me from my stupor, and when I step onto the shoveled stone patio, I see the hammock Jake and I spent the summer and fall lounging in is back in its place, two tall stand heaters now bookending it.
My breath catches in my lungs, not because it’s cold enough that I can see it with each exhale, but from the sight of my sinfully sexy boyfriend. It’s probably a good thing the temperature is low enough to freeze liquid; otherwise Jake would be able to see the drool I have to work to swallow down.
If only the BTU Titans put out a calendar for their hockey team, because they would sell out in minutes if this is a preview of what December would look like: Santa hat sitting jauntily to the left, black skintight ColdGear Under Armour shirt, the material molding to every bump and ridge of his muscles and doing nothing to hide them before coming to a stop above the wide band of his low-slung gray sweatpants.
Guess I was a good girl this year if I’m being treated to gray sweatpants.
“Hey, baby.” Jake’s green eyes sparkle, his dimples flashing.
“What’s all this?” I wave a hand around the yard while my feet take me to him of their own accord. I did mention his dimples are out, right? Damn magnets, I swear.
“Figured we’d take advantage of this little pocket of downtime to revisit our roots.” He reaches for me as soon as I’m close enough, pulling me into him until I’m pressed against his hard chest.
With both of us being Division 1 athletes—hockey for him, swimming for me—free time, especially some that coincides with the other’s, is complicated to coordinate.
“Is this your way of telling me you want to stuff my stocking, Jakey?” I loop my arms around his neck, pushing up onto my toes, and twirl a finger around the short hairs at the base of his skull.
“Jesus.” He snorts, leaning down until his forehead rests on mine. “I don’t know what to address first…” His minty-fresh breath blows across my skin as he speaks, helping to chase away some of the chill. Against my back, I feel his fingers unfurl and stretch down to cup my butt.
“What do you mean?” I snuggle into him harder to take advantage of the could-serve-as-a-third-patio-heater warmth radiating off of him.
“Well, there’s the fact that you called me Jakey when you’ve never once done so.” This is true. The puck bunnies love to cheer the cringe-worthy nickname during their desperate attempts to garner his attention. I straight-up refuse to use it. “And then there’s that terrible pun you dropped.”
I shrug. That one is not my fault. I can put the blame for that fully on Maddey’s shoulders with all the rom-coms she’s been having us read lately.
He guides us over to the hammock and we kick off our boots before climbing onto the thin mattress top. Jake stretches out, tucking his socked feet under the thick puffy white down comforter and tugging me down to cuddle against his side.
One of his arms slips into the space under my neck, curling around to hold me at the ribs, his other bending to prop up his head.
My head finds that sweet spot made for me where his arm and shoulder connect to his chest as I drape my arm around his middle, my leg hooking over one of his thighs and my knee resting in the space between his legs.
Other than soft sounds of contentment, neither of us say a word, though the night isn’t silent. There’s that soft quiet you only get to experience when it’s about to snow again, the easy, almost living-in-a-snow-globe type magic that hangs in the air. It’s enough to still feel it over the Christmas carols playing low.
Soap and ice fill my senses as I simply breathe him in, the tip of my nose brushing along the curve of his neck.
“Oh, shit.” Jake does a little wiggle-jerk. “Your nose is cold, babe.”
“Sorry.” I smile and place a kiss on the vein that’s now pulsing faster.
His hold on me tightens, fingertips kneading their way down the length of my back, a hand cupping and squeezing a butt cheek before slipping under the hem of my sweatshirt. It’s my turn to wiggle-jerk at an icy touch, but I settle back as the calloused skin of Jake’s fingers sets off a round of tingles when he traces a figure-eight pattern on my hipbone.
One of my favorite things about our relationship is how we can just be, that there’s no pressure to be on or live up to whatever “it” couple most people assume we should be.
“Fuck I can’t wait for summer.” Jake pulls the comforter up high enough that I would look like a floating head to anyone with an aerial view of us. “It’s a lot easier to hang like this when I don’t have to worry about my balls freezing off.”
I giggle and slip a hand inside his pants, cupping his junk—which is already at half-mast—to double-check that something that dramatic didn’t happen. It didn’t.
“Jordan,” he growls. Ooo, he must be serious if he’s calling me by my name.
Gently, I fondle him, rolling his sack inside my hand and pulling a chorus of groans and curses from deep in his throat. He’s now fully hard, his tip leaking precum, leaving a trail of it on my forearm as I rotate my wrist.
I grip him at the base, but before I get a chance to travel up his length, I’m shifted, my back flat to the mattress, a forearm braced next to my face as Jake moves to hover over me. A curtain of fluffy white falls around us, shutting out the world and keeping the heat we’re generating trapped.
I never stop the movement of my hand in his pants, doing my best to wrap my fingers around him but, as always, never quite getting them to touch as I work him from root to tip.
The wicked sparkle that enters Jake’s bright green gaze is my only warning that the tables are about to turn.
From one blink to the next, his hand is under my hoodie and shirt, the flat of his calloused palm pressed to the skin below my navel then disappearing under the band of my BTU sweatpants and Joe Boxer candy cane boy shorts.
His long middle finger slides right into my slit, the wetness already there making it easy for him to glide across my clit in sure circles.
My back arches, shoulders blades pressing into the hammock, causing it to sway more, the muscles of my core straining as I try to follow his confident touch.
There’s no tease. He continues his southern trajectory, two fingers plunging inside me and scissoring, the heel of his palm pressing down on my clit.
Spiky hair tickles my cheek as Jake buries his face into the crook of my neck, lips placing a trail of kisses down the length.
“Jake.” I spear my hands into his dark hair and tug as my body undulates, my knees bending, feet braced until I’m in a full bridge pose, the clips of the hammock clink-clinking with each swing from left to right.
“How fast do you think I can make you come, baby?” he whispers against my skin.
My eyes fall closed, whether from the dirty promise or how close he already is to fulfilling it, I don’t know. Releasing him, I work my way under the tight compression of his shirt and rake my nails across his back as the first spark of pleasure blooms low in my core.
I bite my lip to hold in a moan. Our families may be entertaining themselves at my house, but with the way sound easily travels without any leaves on the trees, I’m not going to risk one of them overhearing should someone step outside.
His fingers move.
In.
Out.
Curling forward.
My eyes roll to the back of my skull as he does this thing with his wrist that has earned him the best glove save percentage in the whole NCAA, and I see stars that have not
hing to do with the ones in the clear black sky above.
His mouth covers mine, swallowing down the pleasure spreading through my bloodstream like an electric current.
I collapse, boneless from both the intensity of my orgasm and the swiftness with which it came on.
Sure strokes of Jake’s tongue against mine ease me down until he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth biting down, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders until his full weight settles on top of mine.
In the gap between my sweats, I feel his hard hot length, more precum leaking out onto my skin. For as insistently as his hockey stick is digging into my stomach, our kisses remain lazy.
We kiss.
And kiss some more.
The night is far from over.
Chapter Four
Jake
There is no sexier sight on earth than watching Jordan come undone in my arms. She doesn’t hold anything back. Has been that way since she decided to give in to us as…well, an us.
My dick is painfully hard, and whereas earlier I was afraid it might break off from the cold, now it very well might if it doesn’t bury itself inside Jordan’s tight body.
I could lie and say I didn’t think this would be a possibility when I invited her over tonight (I’m a twenty-one-year-old man—sex is always on my mind), but I just didn’t expect we would try to get jiggy with it at the risk of some of our favorite parts getting frostbite.
Okay…I can admit that’s a little dramatic. It’s barely under freezing, and the heaters I set out and the thick comforter covering us are more than enough to make sure we can comfortably spend a few hours in the place where we first fell in love.
