Pucked Up Love

by Lili Valente

  *

  Hailey: Of course. I won’t kiss and tell, I promise.

  *

  Sabrina: So you admit there’s going to be kissing! Ha!

  *

  Hailey: Oh shut up and go buy some hot dogs. Tell Brian the cost is coming out of petty cash and you don’t want to hear another word about it unless he likes looking at a line of empty bar stools.

  *

  Sabrina: Yes, ma’am. Off to explore my Dominant side right now. And good luck. Seriously. I hope you and Will work it out, whatever weird way that needs to happen. You two were so good together. I hated to see it end.

  *

  Hailey: Me, too, babes.

  Me too…

  Chapter 4

  Will

  After nearly a decade as a Portland Badger, I don’t get worked up over pre-season games anymore—I know my job is secure and management wants to keep me around—but I’m especially cool and collected tonight.

  By the third period, I’ve slammed two pucks past the Red Wing’s goalie and been on the ice longer than any other player except Wallace, whose endurance is being challenged while our other goalie recovers from a testy groin.

  Wallace is also testy, but his irritability is coming from his brain, not his groin. The kid lets the stress get to him sometimes. I talked him down from the edge during the second intermission, but now, with five minutes still left on the clock in the third, he looks rattled in the cage.

  “You’ve got this, Walls,” I shout as I circle around the back of the net, getting ready for the faceoff after a close call with the Red Wing offense and a lucky save involving Wallace’s skate blade.

  “And we’ve got you.” Petrov, our biggest, baddest defender slaps Wallace on the shoulder on his way by. “No more blown coverage. We’re keeping it on their end of the ice for the rest of the night.”

  Petrov is a man of his word, and a player I’d trust with my life, let alone my team’s defense, but a man’s word is only as strong as his stick. When Petrov’s shatters mid-slap-shot seconds after they drop the puck, we’re right back where we started, scrambling to give Wallace cover as the Red Wing offense pushes in hard and fast.

  A single breath is all it takes for my laser-focused brain to calculate the distance between myself and the net and realize there’s no way I’m getting in position to offer cover in time. Thinking fast, I shout, “Petrov, over here!” The moment he makes eye contact, I toss my stick his way. He catches it in one meaty fist, lunges forward—sliding in between our net and the Detroit winger—and intercepts the puck, knocking it up the boards.

  Launching into motion, I chase, empty-handed, after the puck. But I don’t need a stick to kick the shit out of that biscuit. My skate connects with the spinning disc, sending it skidding harmlessly to center ice. The next line jumps over the boards, and I cruise back to the bench, where Petrov is already waiting with my stick and a clap on the back and Coach jokes, “You’ve got a future in the soccer major leagues after you retire, Saunders. One hell of hustle. That’s the way it’s done, kids. Learn from your elders.”

  “That means you’re old now, too, Saunders,” Brendan, our captain, calls out from the other end of the bench. “Welcome to the club.”

  Laughter ripples through the rest of the team as I smile and shoot a stream of water Brendan’s way. Four shifts later, the Red Wings are still scoreless and I’m on my way down the tunnel, feeling good about life.

  Yes, things with Hailey and I are in a weird, fucked up place.

  Yes, I want to kill this guy she’s so eager to get on her knees for—hunt him down, turn him inside out, and slowly pull his face through his asshole—but I’m a Dominant man in control of my emotions and behavior who just played one hell of a good game. Besides, no matter how hard Hailey is crushing on this mystery douchebag, at least for tonight, she’s mine.

  Mine all mine, and I can’t wait to get my curious girl alone and give her a preview of the things a real Dom can make her feel.

  Careful, man. She’s sub-curious, not sub-committed. Charge in there with alpha guns blazing, and you’re going to scare her away.

  My jaw clenches at the thought. A part of me thinks it’s a decent strategy—if she’s scared of the lifestyle, then she won’t end up in bed with some piece of shit motherfucker who isn’t me. The other part of me, the more optimistic, hopelessly romantic part, believes that as soon as Hailey’s had a taste of what I can give her, she won’t want to go looking for her sub-high anywhere else.

  She still loves me—I could see it in her every gesture, hear it whispering between every word she spoke. She loves me, but she wants to see what else is out there. I can empathize, but I’m also perfectly capable of giving her the variety, spice, and danger she’s craving. She can have her cake and eat it, too.

  And if I play my cards right…so can I.

  I never imagined Hailey had any secret submissive fantasies. She’s such a strong, fearless, badass woman—it’s one of the things I love best about her. But that fiercely independent streak would also make it erotic as hell to top her. She’s not the kind to submit easily—I’m going to have to earn every scrap of obedience, but it will be worth it.

  Worth it, and so fucking hot I’m already sporting a semi on the way up the stairs to Hailey’s new apartment.

  The thought of Hailey on her knees in front of me, wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties, with her delicate wrists bound in rope and her eyes cast down because I told her to keep her gaze fixed on the floor until I give her permission to look up, drives me crazy. I want that from her—with her. I want it so badly I have to pause on the landing of her hallway, taking a moment to banish all erotic thoughts from my mind.

  I have to maintain control or I’m going to give myself away five minutes into Lesson One. Hailey wants platonic advice from a friend, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give her.

  At least until she begs me to give her something more…

  Outside her door, I knock softly, willing my pulse to remain steady as I hear her footsteps padding across the floor. I will not lose control, I will not let her see how desperate I am to have her back in my arms, in my life, in my bed.

  I’m feeling relatively steady until she opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of glossy, skintight black leggings and a gray tank top with no bra—no bra for fuck’s sake, fuck me, no fucking bra—and my blood pressure skyrockets.

  Chapter 5

  Will

  “Hi.” Hailey’s eyes widen as her gaze flicks up and down, taking in my freshly shined Ferragamo loafers, dark gray suit pants, and perfectly pressed white button-down. “I thought you said we were staying in?”

  “We are, but I believe in dressing appropriately for a professional situation.” I step inside, chest aching as I catch the familiar vanilla, flowers, vegetable stir-fry, and sunshine smell of a space where Hailey makes her home.

  This smell is home to me, too—she’s home to me—but I’m not the Will she lived with for five years. I’m William Major Saunders, Dominant Professor at large, and I refuse to let my pupil off the hook for sloppy presentation simply because the sight of her in sexy leggings and free-range breasts makes me want to cuddle her on my lap and fuck the hell out of her in equal measure.

  “Oh, well…” Hailey closes the door behind me, clearly sensing my displeasure. “So do you want me to go change, or…”

  I turn back to her, dragging my gaze away from the reclaimed wood dining table, bright blue couch, and pale pink chairs in her combination living room-dining room. The unfamiliar furniture is a physical reminder of how far she’s moved on from the life we shared, and it pisses me off to a ridiculous degree.

  And it makes me sad, but none of that shit is on the emotional menu tonight.

  Not mad or sad, just strong, calm, and controlled. So I force a light note into my tone as I reply, “Yes, I would like you to go change.”

  Hailey’s lips quirk uncertainly on one side. “You’re serious?”

 
“I’m serious. Go change. And put on a bra, please.”

  She huffs as her cheeks go pink, the soft sound expressing an eloquent mixture of irritation, embarrassment, and amusement. “All right, William, I will. But you’re the one who said we were just talking tonight. You’ll have to forgive me for assuming I didn’t need to be dressed to the nines to sit on my couch and take notes.”

  I step closer, and she backs away a matching step, her shoulders hitting the wall behind her.

  Slowly, deliberately, I place my palms flat on either side of her face, leaning down until only a few inches separate my lips from hers. “First submissive lesson—when the Discreet Gentleman who’s agreed to advise you asks you to go get dressed and put on a bra, you say ‘yes, sir’ and do as your told. Otherwise, the Discreet Gentleman is going to assume you would like to be punished for disobeying a direct order.”

  Hailey’s eyes widen, awareness flickering in those deep blue depths even as her nostrils flare in that “You’ve Pissed Me Off” way I know so well. “We’re just talking tonight, not playing or having a scene or whatever you call it. I haven’t agreed to any rules or picked a safe word or done any of the things you’re supposed to do before punishments enter the picture. I’ve done my homework, Will. I know how this is supposed to work. At least enough to know that right now you’re being a dick, not a gentleman.”

  I grin, I can’t help it—I’ve always loved Hailey’s fiery side. “You have a point, Curious Cat. But you’re the one who started playing games, sweetheart. I was just following your lead.”

  She lifts her stubborn little chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I angle my head closer to hers until I can feel her body heat warm on my face. “You knew I was coming over. You knew that we would be alone in your apartment, and you chose to wear a semi-sheer shirt and no bra. Why would you make that choice, Hailey? What were you trying to prove? What consequences did you want to face?”

  “I…” She swallows. “I don’t know.”

  I tut softly. “That’s not going to work. Honesty is mandatory during these lessons. I need you to be honest with me, and even more importantly, I need you to be honest with yourself.”

  “I am being honest,” she whispers. “I guess I just…wasn’t thinking.”

  I hum as I draw back far enough to cast a pointed glance down at the front of her shirt, where her nipples are pulled tight, poking temptingly against the well-worn T-shirt fabric, the sight of them making me ache. “So you weren’t thinking about making me suffer? About flaunting the beautiful body you’ve made it clear you no longer want me to touch?”

  She shakes her head, and when she speaks, it’s in a voice I can tell comes straight from her heart. “No, Will. I swear I wasn’t doing that. I would never do that. I… I care about you. So much. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Not ever again.”

  I nod slowly but keep my focus on those tight, tempting nipples. “So should I assume you chose to skip the bra because you secretly want to cross the platonic line you’ve drawn in the sand?” I drop one hand to her waist, teasing my fingers beneath the hem of her kitten-soft shirt, loving the way her breath catches as my fingertips graze her warm skin. “Because I would love to teach you to submit the fun way. Chatting and study can be informative, but you’re not going to learn to ride unless you get on the horse.”

  Her breasts rise and fall, and the tip of my tongue begins to tingle.

  Fuck, I want her nipples in my mouth.

  Now. Five minutes ago.

  We shouldn’t rush into power exchange—the rules are important and shouldn’t be taken lightly—but I want her naked and under me so badly it’s almost impossible to keep from lifting her into my arms and making a break for her bedroom.

  It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been with a woman. There’s been no one since Hailey. I’ve had more than my fair share of opportunities—Puck Bunnies wait by the exit at every away game, and a good number are usually wearing my number, a sign they’re eager to come back to my hotel room and puck me all night long.

  But no matter how lonely and sexually frustrated I’ve been, the thought of a one-night stand or, God forbid, starting a relationship with another woman makes me sick to my stomach.

  I don’t want another woman. I want this woman, this sweet, sexy, delicious woman. I want her tits in my mouth, her pussy hot and tight around my dick, her voice in my ear as she calls out my name, begging me to make her come, to make her mine again.

  And now, thanks to our emails, I also want her arms and legs bound to the four corners of her bed. I want to watch her muscles flex as I tease her nipples, licking and sucking and biting ever so gently until she’s panting for more. I want to torment her until she demands I end her suffering, until she bucks and thrashes beneath me, waging a futile war for her freedom. But the bonds will be too tight, too expertly wrought for her to escape using brute force.

  She’ll have to learn to submit, to beg, to thank her master for her pain and her pleasure. And when she’s put herself fully into my hands, I’ll teach her the dance of suffering and satisfaction, take her to the edge of pleasure/pain where I’ll make her come so hard she’ll be ruined for vanilla sex for good.

  The thought is so tempting that my cock swells thicker, harder, until it feels like my heart is beating in my heavy, suffering balls and every nerve in my body is humming with need.

  “So what do you say, sweetheart?” I let my palm glide beneath her shirt, molding to her ribs. “Do you want to learn the boring way? Or do you want me to make you so wet you’ll be soaked through these sexy little pants before we’re halfway through our first lesson?”

  She lets out a soft moan, and her lashes flutter. Her back arches, bringing her diamond-hard nipples even closer to my chest—a silent plea for me to give them the attention they so clearly crave.

  But instead of falling into my arms with her mouth crashing into mine, Hailey darts to the right, her hands clutching her T-shirt just above her belly.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well,” she says, shaking her head. “I think I ate something. Something bad.”

  I blink, but before I can switch gears and ask if she’s all right, she turns and makes a break for the back of the apartment.

  “Gotta go,” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs away. “Bathroom emergency. Can’t be stopped. You should go; we can reschedule for another night.” A moment later, she dives into a room halfway down the short hallway and slams the door behind her, locking it with a finality that makes it clear our erotic evening is over before it can begin.

  I cross my arms over my chest, eyes narrowing as I study the light streaming from beneath the bathroom door, smelling a rat in this sudden “bathroom emergency.” I stalk slowly forward, crossing the ultra-feminine space Hailey’s created—silently thinking that I would have been fine with her transforming our apartment into a pink and powder blue, flower-packed hideaway if that’s what she needed to exert her identity—until I reach the closed door.

  “Are you all right?” I ask. “Can I get you anything? Medicine or some hot tea?”

  “No, thank you, you should just go,” she says, voice strained. “Please. I don’t want you to hear this. It’s going to be embarrassing. I think I ate eggs by accident or something. Probably that ice cream my sister brought over that I had for dessert tonight. I think it was custard.” A frustrated huff is followed by a moan that doesn’t sound sufficiently tormented to be believable. “God, I can’t believe I forgot that custard has eggs in it. What was I thinking?”

  “Don’t blame yourself.” I lean in, ears straining, but the only sound from within is the buzz of the fan whirring in the silence. “Ice cream shouldn’t have eggs in it. That’s clearly a violation of logic and decency.”

  She laughs softly, thinly. “Yeah, but seriously, Will, I need privacy. I’m going to be fine, I just need you to go. Now. Please.”

  “All right.” I step back with a sigh, realizing I have no choice but to
admit defeat. Whether Hailey’s truly ill or hiding from the way the thought of playing sex games with me made her feel, I’ve got no choice but to retreat, regroup, and return to fight another day.

  But I will be back.

  I’m not giving up on her—or us—this easily.

  “Feel better,” I say. “I’ll text you to set up a make-up session for Lesson One.”

  “Okay. Bye. Thanks. Bye!” Hailey squeaks, clearly ready to be rid of me.

  With one final hard look at the locked door she’s placed between us, I turn and walk away, locking her front door behind me to ensure she’s safe. I take the stairs to the ground floor and elect to walk home instead of calling a car, hoping the exercise will help banish the frustration from my bloodstream.

  But by the time I reach my condo complex ten blocks away, I’m still itching in places that can’t be scratched, and my jaw is locked so tight I’m afraid I’ll crack a molar if I try to go to sleep in my present state.

  So I pour myself a generous tumbler of bourbon and sip it as I start the shower, turning the taps until the water is steaming hot. I just showered less than an hour ago—I always grab one the second I get off the ice—but that was a utilitarian shower.

  This is a therapeutic one.

  As I step into the steam, I set my glass on the end of the tile bench and turn my back on the scalding spray. As the water pummels my aching shoulders, I close my eyes, allowing visions of Hailey’s tight nipples and wide eyes to dance across my mental screen. I replay the moment when that soft, aroused moan escaped her lips, again and again, until my balls ache and my cock is as hard as it was in that moment before she ran, when I was so certain she was going to let me take her hand and show her all the new fun we could have together.

  In my imagination, I change the ending to tonight’s story…