Kissing Micky (Washington Guardians Hockey Book 1)

by Ellen Devlin

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. His anger was upsetting, but it was clear there was something more going on here. This wasn’t actually about her. She took another deep breath.

  “Tom,” she said calmly and softly, “please. What’s wrong?”

  His shoulders were tense, and he was staring over her head, giving off a vibe of I-want-to-put-my-fist-through-a-wall. “I am so fucking angry I haven’t given you my sweater already!” If it was possible to yell and growl at the same time, that was the sound.

  Her heart started beating again. He was still glowering, looking angry, but her mouth twitched upward at one corner. This was something she could work with.

  “Okay. I’ll make you a deal,” she said. He looked down at her and made a visible effort to unclench his fists and relax his shoulders. “I’m going to go to the team store before the game and buy your sweater like a star-struck fan, which, to be fair, I am. I think I’ll even ask you for your autograph. Probably on my boob.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “By the way, you are not allowed to sign other boobs. Only mine.” She continued. “However, as you know, I do keep score between us, and I’m thinking…this new potentially autographed sweater of mine will be worth…” She thought for a moment. “Three? Three.”

  Tom’s eyebrows unfurrowed a bit, and he squinted sideways at her. She moved closer to him.

  “So now, McCullin, you are going to go to the rink, and you are going to take all that anger I just saw, and you are going to use it where it actually makes sense and knock some Puffins on their asses. You guys are going to win. In regulation. Do not let those fuckers push this game into OT.”

  She was right up in front of him and poked a finger in his chest. He tried not to smile but felt one slipping through.

  “Because I’ve just decided this very minute that I’m taking a cab to the game, and you’re driving me home. If you guys win in regulation? You’re getting laid in the backseat of your car before we even leave the garage.”

  That was it. He knew he was smiling at her, and he could see her eyes sparkle. There was humor there, but there was also an underlying heat in them that promised she meant exactly what she said. He pulled her in for a deep, hard kiss.

  “I promise,” he said, biting her gently on her neck under her right ear, “that I will not let those fuckers…” He bit her with slightly more pressure where her neck met her shoulder and was rewarded with a small gasp. He pushed the neck of her shirt away from her collarbone and pressed a kiss there before continuing, “…push the game into overtime.” He switched sides and moved up, grating his still-new beard along her jaw and cheek. “And after the game I will make you come so hard…” he bit her gently under her left ear before finishing with a growling whisper, “…while I am fucking you in the backseat of my car.”

  Liz was breathing hard. Tom looked at her and made a very masculine sound of satisfaction. Pupils dilated, breasts rising and falling rapidly, lips slightly parted, and skin flushed from where the V-neck of her shirt began all the way to her cheekbones, more so where he had rasped it with his beard. He put his right hand at the back of her neck and pulled her to him for one last hard kiss and said, “I will see you after the game.”

  ***

  Tom got to the rink about ten minutes earlier than usual and sought out the Equipment Manager, Tony, who was in the middle of the nine thousand tasks that happen behind the scenes for every game.

  “Hey, Tony, I’ve got a favor to ask. I need to get a game-worn sweater.”

  “Mr. McCullin.” Tony always used “Mr.” with the players, but it was just his way. He was actually not too much older than Tom and very friendly with all the players. “I can certainly arrange that.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a bigger favor than that…”

  Tony looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “How soon?” Tom looked sheepish. “Seriously? You’re killin’ me, Smalls.” He sighed. “You need it cleaned after?”

  “Nope.”

  “All right. Sometimes jerseys get damaged in the laundry and I have to arrange for replacements. It happens. Too bad it happened to yours tonight after the game.” He shook his head.

  “I owe you, Tony. Big. This is important.” Tom was grinning.

  “You’re my kid’s favorite player. A picture with him and we’ll call it even.”

  Tom looked surprised. “I’m not really, am I? Shit, Tony, for this, I’ll take him out on the ice sometime.”

  “He would flip. Yes, you are. What can I say, Mr. McCullin? The kid loves a good hockey fight.”

  Tom laughed. “We can figure a good day for him to come to practice or something like that.” He headed into the locker room to start getting ready as the other players were beginning to arrive. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

  Tony shook his head, smiling.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was a tight game. It was almost always a tight game with Pittsburgh. The two teams had a long-standing and bitter rivalry, and the Puffins had knocked the Guardians out of the playoffs more than once. In a row. Liz hated them. But the games were always great.

  Paige wasn’t there, so this was a complete solo flight for Liz in the world of hockey girlfriend-ness. Sitting with the wives and girlfriends was fun, but different. As a real die-hard hockey fan, she was not necessarily in like company among the other women in the group. Many of them, like Paige, had not known anything at all about hockey before meeting their hockey player significant other. But, Liz was Liz, and she was there to watch the game. She knew that she was going to jump and yell and high-five people nearby like she always did, no matter where she was sitting.

  Not arm candy, Tom, she thought to herself. Hope you don’t hear about it too much from other players, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.

  She felt a bit self-conscious at first, wearing her brand new “McCULLIN—40” red home sweater, but soon felt more at home. After all, most of these were people she knew. Some better than others, of course, but almost all were familiar faces. And the ones who weren’t familiar were most likely feeling more lost than she was, as they were probably connected with the newer players this season who’d just been traded in or drafted or called up from the minors.

  She greeted folks she knew, and then did what she always did and introduced herself to the people she didn’t. If they were new, well, so was she. If they weren’t new, then she should probably learn who they were.

  She had learned long ago that the best way for her to deal with a new situation was to just admit she was completely lost. She chuckled to herself, thinking she should really just have a permanent nametag made that said, “Hi, my name is Liz. I have no idea what I’m doing.” That would definitely save time.

  They did win, in regulation, but as with so many games against the Puffins, the last few minutes of the game were an insane flurry of activity, with Pittsburgh pulling their goaltender to try to make up the one goal deficit to send the game into overtime. The six-on-five was intense—the Guards’ goaltender was one of the best in the league, and he showed it, but the Guards’ defense also did an amazing job of shutting the Puffins down.

  The icing on the cake was the empty net goal sent in by Tom in the last five seconds of the game. Liz was pretty sure she had lost her voice, but who could tell with everyone else in the arena screaming too? Maybe she just couldn’t hear herself.

  ***

  She waited outside the players’ entrance with several other people for the press conferences to be finished and the guys to come out. When she saw Tom, Liz launched herself at him and jumped into his arms, croaking, “That was amazing!” Apparently she had lost her voice a little. He laughed and swung her in a circle and then put her down and looked at her. And saw what she was wearing.

  She saw his brows knit together, and his eyes got a little stormy. She looked at him questioningly. He put his hand behind her neck and kissed her, hard, and said, “We won. In regulation.”

  Her smile got sultry, and she said
, “You most certainly did. And with style, Tom.”

  He took her hand, turned, and led her away to the garage. His car was further away from where he would normally park, and by a wall. He had been looking for some semblance of privacy when picking a parking spot this afternoon. Tom pushed Liz against the side of his car and started kissing her, deep and hard, biting at her lower lip. He put his knee between her legs and pressed them apart, pushing himself against her, and was rewarded with a small gasp. He opened the back door of his car, threw his bag in, climbed in, pulled her in after him, and shut the door.

  “Take off your jeans and underwear. Now.” He was growling his instructions, and Liz complied. He was taking charge, and it was doing things to her insides.

  She started to pull off the jersey, but he stopped her, saying, “No. Leave that on,” as he pulled her to him for another bruising kiss, and then pulled her onto him to straddle his lap. His jeans and underwear were down to his knees, so when she straddled him, his erection was directly at her slit. Liz rubbed against him just for a moment, her wet arousal slick against his hard cock.

  Tom growled louder, his eyes getting darker by the minute. “No teasing.” He was holding her by the back of the neck. “Not tonight.” He kissed her hard again, his tongue probing the inside of her mouth while he lifted her and fitted her onto his shaft. He pressed upward, hard, as he pulled her down, and her gasp mixed with another low growl from Tom as they slid together.

  Liz was already breathing hard, so turned on, already moving, desperate to feel more of him. He had his hands on her hips, moving her, pushing her against him faster and harder. She had her hands clutched into the fabric of his shirt at his chest and shoulders, breathing fast, saying “oh,” with every breath, every word getting slightly higher pitched, adding his name, adding “yes,” until she reached a gasping, crashing climax riding on him, calling out his name.

  Tom grabbed her hips and ground himself into her one more time and then moved her to the seat next to him. Liz waited for him to follow, expecting that they were just changing positions, but he gripped the back of the seat in front of him and just sat there, looking at the floor, breathing hard. And then started to pull up his jeans.

  “Tom? What are you doing?”

  “I’m buying back that fucking jersey.” He managed to make the last word sound like part of the profanity.

  She stared, watching him attempt what seemed like the impossible task of fitting himself back into his jeans while fully erect. It was surreal. When he finished, she said, “That might be the single most astounding act of willpower I have ever seen.”

  He finally turned and looked at her and then closed his eyes. “For God’s sake get dressed, and get in the front seat.” He sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.

  She did, and he started the car to get them out of the garage and on their way to her apartment. When she reached out to touch his leg, he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t touch me. I will wreck the fucking car trying to get out of the garage.” His growling voice did such things to her.

  She turned in her seat to watch him drive. Once they were out of the garage and on the main roads, she reached out again, asking, “Can I touch you yet?”

  Her hand touched his upper thigh, and he jerked and said, “No. Fuck.”

  The trip to her apartment took far less time than it usually did. She had no idea how fast he was driving, but it was impressive.

  He parked the car, turned, and pulled her by the back of the neck for another searing kiss. She grabbed his upper thigh and raked her nails into his jeans.

  Tom grabbed his bag out of the back of the car; by the time he got to her door she had it unlocked and open. He pushed her inside, kicking the door closed with his foot, and claimed her mouth again. Pulling her into her bedroom, he ordered, “Take off your jeans and underwear and lie down on the bed.” Her smile at him was pure sex as she did what he asked.

  Grabbing one of her ankles, he pulled her to the edge of the bed, knelt down on the floor, and started kissing and biting his way up the inside of her thigh.

  “Oh, holy shit.” Liz had not been expecting this. Every nerve ending in her entire body pinged to attention; the anticipation was already causing pulses mimicking tiny orgasms. As he got closer to her center, Tom moved more slowly. The bites were gentler, and then there were only kisses, and licks, and tongue flicks. He pressed her legs further apart, lifted them over his shoulders, and licked slowly from her entrance all the way up to her clit.

  He stopped there, not moving, and then flicked his tongue once.

  Liz was already falling apart, her hands tangled in the bedclothes, her head thrown back. He pressed into her, teasing, flicking, sliding, sucking, kissing, until she arched her back and yelled out her climax.

  And then, when she tried to push him away, because the feeling was too sensitive, too overwhelming, too much, he wouldn’t let her go. He held her hips and made her ride his tongue through her climax, and then kept her in place, teasing and flicking and sucking until she came again, soon after, this time with a scream.

  Liz lay back on the bed, feeling wrung out, but in the best way. She looked up at Tom, now standing next to the bed, and saw his eyes, hard and fierce.

  “Now taking that fucking thing off.”

  She sat up and then got to her knees—she had almost forgotten the jersey she was wearing that had started this whole thing. She pulled it over her head and tossed it to the end of the bed.

  “Now take off the rest.”

  She smiled, and took off her t-shirt and bra, kneeling naked before him.

  Tom crouched down, reached into the bag he had brought with him from the rink, and pulled out the red sweater he had worn during the game. Liz sank from her knees to sit on the bed. He held it up, front facing her.

  “This is my sweater, Liz. This can’t be bought. I earned this.” His voice was deep, and there was raw emotion in it. Passion. He turned it around to his name and number. “This. My name, Liz. My number.” He tossed it at her as he stood up again.

  “Put it on.” It was a growled order. She did as he asked, kneeling on the bed again.

  It was huge on her, made to fit over pads on his six-foot-four frame. She rolled the sleeves up so her hands were free. It was damp with his sweat from playing a full game. It smelled like him, and it was making her heart race again.

  He had not intended for this to happen this way, but he was feeling feral. Wild. On the edge of control. Tom got on the bed, on his knees behind Liz, looking at his name on her body.

  “My name, Liz.” He took her hair in his hand and came up close to her ear and rasped out, “Don’t ever wear another man’s name again.”

  Her heart was beating out of her chest.

  Tom turned her, put his hand behind her neck, tilting her head to look in her eyes, and growled, “Are you afraid of me?” He looked and sounded on the edge of violence.

  “No.” She was breathing hard, and her eyes were slightly wild, too.

  “Good. Don’t ever be scared of me, Liz.” He sounded savage. Tom turned her back around. He stripped off his clothing, put his knee between her knees, and moved them apart.

  “My sweater. My name.”

  He put his other knee between her legs and pressed in the other direction. “My number.”

  He took her hand and put it on the headboard as he pressed himself inside of her, enjoying her gasp. “My name, Liz.” He started moving, sliding in and out of her. “Say it.”

  “Tom!”

  “McCullin!”

  “Oh, God,” she panted, “McCullin!”

  “Yes. My name.” He was slowly starting to increase the speed of his thrusts into her. “Say it again, Liz.”

  “McCullin! Tom McCullin. Oh, yes.”

  He wrapped his hand into her hair at the back of her neck, already starting to feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, sliding in and out, feeling her hot slickness tight around him.

  “You’re mine, Liz.
” He bowed his head, starting to pant. “You wear my name. My name, Liz.” He was speeding up; the headboard was starting to thump against the wall with the force of their coupling.

  His thrusts were deep and powerful. “My name. My number. You wear my sweater.” He was starting to lose rhythm. “You’re mine. Say it.”

  “Oh, God, Tom, I’m yours!”

  “Say my name again!” He was so close. “Say it!”

  “McCullin!” She was gasping for air. “Tom.” A few more seconds passed, and then Liz screamed, “Micky!”

  Tom grabbed her hips and thrust into her one last time, holding on and grinding against her as he ejaculated, shouting as he claimed her in this primitive ritual, feeling each surge as if they were coming from his toes.

  He rested his forehead on her back, one arm on the headboard, the other curled around her body, trying to catch his breath. He had skated a full game and then participated in multiple sex acts. His legs just weren’t going to hold him anymore. Not after that.

  He pulled Liz down with him in a controlled collapse onto the bed, into a spooning position. All of his muscles were shaking. From exertion, from exhaustion…and now that he was coming back to his right mind, from concern.

  “Liz,” he spoke into her hair, his voice rough, his chest tight, “are we okay?”

  “Hmmm?” After her fourth orgasm of the evening, she wasn’t sure she could connect two words together, but this sounded important, so she tried to swim to the surface. “What?”

  He turned her over to look at her. “Are we okay?”

  She smiled, in a sweet, sleepy way, and said, “Yes. I’m yours. Sleep.”

  She rolled back over to snuggle into his arms again, and they both fell asleep.

  ***

  The next morning, she woke before him and spent some time just watching him sleep. When he woke and saw her watching him, he smiled. “Good morning, beautiful.”