Puck Performance: BTU Alumni Series Book #4

by Ciz, Alley

  “Come over tonight?”

  I’m nodding before he even finishes asking.

  “Zo,” he calls out to my soon-to-be-dead ex-best friend.

  “Yes, Loverboy?” she sing-songs. Is she filming us? I swear to god, if she’s FaceTiming Ella…

  “Don’t go too hard on my girl.”

  “Why?” The arch of one of her eyebrows is not promising. “Because that’s your job?”

  I’m squeezed in a bear hug as Jase barks out a laugh.

  “Damn, babe. No wonder The Coven didn’t scare you. I think Zoey is a long-lost member.”

  Too bad she’ll never get to accept membership because I’m going to murder her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Aww, come on, Donnelly. Don’t be like that.” Cali spins, trying to evade my attempts to push him out of the apartment.

  “Fuck off, Cali. Mels will be here any minute, and we aren’t a tricycle.” I take advantage of being the largest member on the Storm roster and manually move him to the door.

  “Man, I knew this would happen.” He digs his heels in, pressing his shoulders harder against my grip.

  “Knew what would happen?”

  I so don’t have time for this. My time with my girl is limited enough; I don’t need any party-crashers interrupting.

  “You’d go and get yourself wifed up and forget all about me.”

  I’m almost to the door. So close to being free.

  Just…a…few…more…inches.

  “Me, me, your OG brother husband.”

  The door is right there.

  “Um…I think both Tuck and Vince would fight you on OG status there, bro.”

  Finally! The door.

  I contort my body to stretch around my pain-in-the-ass teammate-turned-best-friend—even if the OG title is incorrect—to reach for the handle.

  Just another inch.

  I call on every ounce of yogi beaten into me by Rocky through the years.

  Got it.

  My fingertips skim the nickel handle.

  I curl my hand over it and push down, yanking back as the lock releases and the door pulls open.

  “God. Way to kick a man when he’s down, Donnelly.”

  A shove.

  A push.

  A grunt, followed by a squeak.

  Cali pulls up short, and without his counterweight, I continue my forward momentum until I’m flat on my back, in the hallway looking up at my I-am-so-smothering-you-with-a-pillow teammate and my startled-looking girlfriend.

  “Oh my god, Jase. Are you okay?” Her eyes are wide, a hand covers her mouth as if to hide a smile, and the other is pressed against her heart.

  “Fine,” I grumble.

  Through his laughter, Cali holds out a hand to help me up.

  “Hey there, Broadway.” He slings an arm around Melody’s shoulders for a side hug.

  “Do I even wanna ask?” She finishes hugging Cali and immediately folds herself into my arms.

  “No,” I answer while Cali says, “Your boy over here is being mean to me. I think you should hold me instead.” He opens his arms.

  “Get your own woman,” I threaten.

  “But yours is so nice.”

  “Cali,” I growl, not missing the shy smile coming from Mels.

  “Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m going. You guys go be all couple-ly while the rest of us are left alone…all by ourselves…with no one to talk to.”

  “Are you sure hockey is the right career choice for you?” Melody asks as Cali walks backward to his apartment.

  “How is that even a question, Broadway?” His arms are out as if to say, look at all this.

  “Because…you sure have a flare for the dramatics. I get the feeling you’d be just as at home on stage as you are on ice.”

  He perks up like an eager puppy, and I remind myself I’m an animal lover. “If it means I get to play your co-star and kiss you, sign me up.”

  He’s one of your best friends. Don’t hit him. Don’t hit him. He’s just trying to get under your skin.

  “Cali, if you don’t turn around and get your ass in your apartment in the next three seconds, I’m going to have Jake tie you between the pipes while Ryan and I take slap shots at you.”

  “Fine, fine, fine. Be a buzzkill, brother husband.”

  I release the breath I’ve been holding as he disappears behind the closed door. I love my friend—he really is like another brother to me—but damn does he push my buttons.

  “Hey, baby.” I lay a too-quick kiss on her and lead us into the safety of my apartment.

  “Brother husband?” She has the cutest furrow between her brows.

  “Don’t ask.” I pull her with me onto the couch.

  My balls tingle at the groan she expels, shifting her around until she’s settled under my arm.

  “I take it Zoey didn’t take it easy on you after I left?”

  “Not even a little bit.” A moan. “My best friend is a sadist.”

  I laugh. I have a few of those in my own life. “Well, my offer still stands.”

  “Which one would that be? The one where you offered to play massage therapist?”

  “Oh, baby, I’m all about role-playing.” She pops me on the chest. “But, for real, I’ll rub all your aches and pains away.”

  “I know you’re probably angling for a happy ending, but I’m sore enough not to care. Do your worst, All-Star.”

  I link my fingers together, cracking the knuckles.

  Time to get to work.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I’m bone-tired and should be home sleeping, letting my body recover for what I’m sure is going to be yet another killer day of choreography tomorrow.

  Zoey = The Devil.

  But this close to Jase, his eyes darkening as they turn greener, a buzzing awareness replaces the exhaustion.

  “Lose the shirt, baby.” A finger runs along my collar, following it down where it hangs off my shoulder, his touch making every one of my hormones fight for center stage.

  “Oh now I get it…you’re using a massage as an excuse to get me naked.”

  “Baby.” That finger follows the line of my arm, dragging the material of my shirt with it. “I don’t need an excuse. If I wanted you naked, you’d be naked.”

  Holy shit.

  “I should be telling myself to say no to this.”

  “Did you just use a Hamilton reference on me?” His deep chuckle hardens my nipples almost as much as his Broadway knowledge.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you how hot I think it is that you picked up on it.”

  “Why not?” He’s back to tracing my collar. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  “I wouldn’t want your ego to get so big it explodes.”

  “Oh, Mels.” Almost everyone calls me Mels, but hearing it said in his deep voice hits me in the feels—and in the clit, but that is an issue for another time. “Don’t you fret. The Coven would never allow that to happen.”

  He is the most ridiculous and charming man I’ve ever met. Still…he pulls me in like no other.

  “But for reals.” He pinches my top and tugs. “Lose the shirt. Let me help heal what ails ya.”

  I don’t move.

  Not a muscle.

  Not even to breathe.

  If I do this, it could be the catalyst for something I can’t take back. I already feel like I may be in this too deep, but to cross the line into the physical would be an entirely different ball game. And yes, I know that’s a baseball metaphor, but whatever. My brain cells are currently having a heated debate with my hormones about the situation; I deserve a pass.

  “Let me level the playing field.”

  See? He did it too.

  He reaches behind his head, pulling his t-shirt over it in that sexy one-handed way guys do that is the equivalent to us ladies removing our bra under our shirts. My brain cells lose the battle as my hormones give a standing ovation to the deserves-to-be-applauded perfection in
front of me.

  I gulp—audibly.

  “Does this help?” He waves a hand down his body…his oh-my-god-I-need-to-check-my-chin-for-drool body.

  No. No it does not help.

  I know he did it so I wouldn’t feel the pressure of being the only one shirtless. Unfortunately, now all I want to do is fuse myself to him like cling wrap.

  “Forgot your line, baby?” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear, and says, “I’ll be happy to tell you what to say here.”

  I suck in a stuttering breath. There is not one thing about him that doesn’t overwhelm me.

  “Why do I get the feeling if I left the dialogue up to you, it wouldn’t be filled with actual words?”

  “Oh…there would be words.”

  One of his blond brows is arched, and there’s a devil-may-care smirk pulling up the right side of his mouth.

  “There would be a yes, and an Oh Jase, take me now, and let’s not forget the ever-important Oh Jase, you are such a stud.” His smirk transforms into a full-blown smile so bright it takes my breath away, the green and gold of his eyes practically dancing.

  “You are the most over-the-top person I have ever met, and I spend my days with actors.” I shake my head with a facepalm.

  “You know you love it. Don’t play. Now come on.” He circles his finger. “Lose the shirt so I can introduce you to my magic fingers. Then maybe some other time you’ll get to meet my MD.”

  “MD?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “My magic dick.”

  Yup, I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Oh my god.” I barely manage to get the words out I’m laughing so hard.

  “You have the best laugh, baby.”

  Swoon.

  Needing the relief a good back rub—the real kind, not the kind with quotation marks men like to use for code to get to sexy times—I give in and remove my shirt, folding it and placing it on the coffee table.

  Now he’s the one sucking in a breath with a hiss through his teeth. I peek at him through my lashes. His eyes turn a forest green, and he’s rolling his tongue ring across his upper lip.

  I can’t recall ever seeing him do that. To be honest, unless he’s using it on me, I almost forget he has the piercing—almost.

  I’m in another bralette, this one a cute baby pink color similar to the hue of my hair with a scalloped design on the edges. Aside from my pretty underthings, I’m dressed for comfort in a pair of simple black leggings.

  “Fuck me,” he whisper-curses.

  Yes please.

  I’m quick to close the curtain on those thoughts, stupid hormones trying to take control again. You will not fuck the hot hockey hunk tonight. Your legs will stay closed. This show is not doing previews.

  Easier said than done.

  “Lie down.” His voice sounds as rough as the ice after a full period of hockey.

  I do as he asks, bending my elbows, resting my face on my folded hands, shivers racking my body. They have nothing to do with the cold leather on my bare stomach and everything to do with anticipation.

  “Let me know if I’m too heavy,” I hear him say before I feel him straddle the backs of my thighs. He doesn’t actually sit, his ass barely resting on my legs, the weight not at all uncomfortable.

  His large calloused hands mold around my shoulders, his thumbs pressing in just the right spot to have me moaning in equal parts pleasure and pain.

  He works on my potato-sized knots—damn him for making me always have spuds on the brain—dancing his fingers down the length of my spine, each vertebrae cracking.

  That’s it—I’m quitting Broadway and Jase will have to leave the NHL because this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. His hands on me, all my aches and pains handled by his very accurately described magic fingers.

  Up and down my back, he kneads away every knot that dares show itself in his presence.

  When the long length of his fingers curve around the front of my ribcage, his thumbs smooth slow semicircles lower, occasionally dipping into the waistband of my leggings, brushing across the top of my thong, which is pink to match my bralette. I’m about to be literal putty in his hands.

  The shifting of his weight is the only warning before his lips press a soft kiss between my now loose shoulder blades. The pressure of his lips is whisper-soft, only adding to the sensation.

  The touch remains light as he follows the line of my spine.

  Down to the band of my leggings.

  Up to my shoulders.

  The pressure finally increases on pass number two, but the lazy tempo does not.

  All the while he continues to massage.

  Pass number three is when he kicks it up a notch. That goddamn ring dances its way over each bump, my skin heating and goose bumps rising.

  As he reaches the end of the line for the fourth time, his thumbs fully disappear beneath the band bisecting my back before hooking under the straps of my thong.

  A fresh wave of desire hits, the heaviness of my breasts amplified as they push into the leather cushions.

  As he makes his trek up my body, his thumbs remain locked on my underwear, pulling it along with him.

  Fire flashes through my veins as the drenched lace tightens, trapping my engorged clit beneath it.

  “Tell me to stop, baby.” His voice is dark with promise.

  “I—” I swallow a sob. “I can’t.”

  Another tug.

  He shifts, blanketing my body while simultaneously holding himself above it. His chest burns my back, and the strength radiating from the thighs holding me in place is unparalleled.

  “Jase,” I cry with another tug, the pressure pulling and pushing on my clit too much and not enough. I need…that’s it—I just need.

  Another shift and he has the back of my thong in one hand, keeping a steady pressure, the lace setting off sparks as it drags against the rosebud of my ass, his free hand snaking around my hip and into the front of my pants.

  I squirm, to run away or seek more, I’m not sure. Though he’s pinned me with his upper body, his lower half is held off me, preventing me from rubbing against him and returning the torture—err, pleasure.

  Slowly, so fucking slowly there isn’t a doubt in my mind he knows exactly what he is doing to me, one—just one—of his fingers traces me from the top of my slit to the bottom, increasing the already maddening pressure tenfold.

  Back and forth he traces.

  Up, down.

  Serpentining over my pleasure button.

  “Jase.”

  “I know, baby.” His breathing is labored in my ear, that damn ring whirling against my lobe.

  “Jase.”

  I need him to go beneath my underwear.

  “Jase.”

  I’m going to come.

  Finally, finally, his finger stops toying with me, pressing down.

  That’s it.

  In three, two, on—

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Beep-beep-beep.

  My head drops to the top of Melody’s back when I hear the lock on my front door disengage.

  “Shiiiiiiittt,” Tucker drawls. “I thought Blondie was taking after her twin and making up stories.”

  Murder is wrong.

  I thunk my head softly on her skin. Where’s a wall when you need one?

  This is soooo not how I wanted the evening to go. Cali was child’s play compared to what has just invaded my apartment. Yes, invaded, like those aliens trying to take over the world.

  As soon as Mels realizes we are no longer alone, her body coils tight underneath mine, and this time it has nothing to do with the orgasm that was at the tips of my fingers before we were so rudely interrupted.

  Unfortunately, I’m well versed in what is about to go down.

  Is it too late to be adopted into a different family?

  Blindly, I search the floor for a shirt—mine, Melody’s, it doesn’t matter. No one gets to see her like this but me.

  Another pass and I touch cotto
n. Sitting up, I use my body to block her from view and slip my shirt over her head. The two idiots have stopped before entering the living room—thanks to Ryan, no doubt. If it were up to Tuck, his ass would already be on the couch.

  “Tuck.” Ryan uses his captain voice. “Didn’t we teach you to think before you speak?”

  Yeah, there’s no corralling Tucker Hayes. Once he realizes exactly what he interrupted, the razzing I’ll get will be endless.

  “Where’s the fun in that, Cap?”

  Ryan may not technically be our captain anymore, but we all still use the title.

  With Mels covered, I help her sit up and tuck her tight to my side, not giving a damn that I’m still shirtless—it’s not like they haven’t seen more in the locker room.

  “What are you puck heads doing here?” I readjust the hockey stick straining against my zipper.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re a puck head too, little brother.” Ryan takes one of the massage chairs, while—surprise, surprise—Tucker plops himself next to Mels.

  “Well hellllloooo. Who might you be, beautiful?” He lifts one of her hands to brush a kiss across the knuckles.

  He’s one of your best friends. You probably shouldn’t hit him.

  “Taken.” She pulls her hand free and wipes it on her leggings. That’s my girl.

  “Bro.” Ryan sucks in lungfuls of air, trying to get his laughter under control. “I totally see why JD likes her.”

  “You too with the teenage valley girl vocabulary?” Mels says to Ryan, reminding me of how much crap she gave me during our courtship.

  Shit. If she heard the way I described the start of our relationship, she would give me so much shit.

  “Our lives are run by women—we pick up certain things.” Ryan shrugs.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  It’s not that I don’t want to see them—cockblocking aside—I just hoped our relationship would’ve had the chance to grow some roots before it was exposed to the golden boy of the NHL.

  I love my brother, really I do, but all my life I’ve never felt like I measure up. Since the teams were announced, Mels has taken to jokingly calling me All-Star. The question I ask myself is, would she still call me that after spending time with the All-Star?