The Goal

by Elle Kennedy

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” There’s true regret in her voice.

  Dean’s a fool. This girl is as sweet as they come. I can’t wait to get my mouth on her.

  And my hands.

  And my teeth.

  And my hard-as-steel cock.

  “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  I slide my arm along the bar until Sabrina’s essentially standing in the circle of my arms. Her feet are tucked between mine, and if I shift my hips slightly forward, I’ll be able to make the contact my body is dying for. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the years I’ve played hockey, it’s that patience is rewarded. You don’t take an immediate shot when your stick gets the puck. You wait for the right opening.

  “I never really wanted it,” I add. “And I think it’s one of those things you have to really want to pursue.”

  And then she gives it to me. The opening. “So what do you want these days?”

  “You,” I answer baldly.

  Two things happen. The lights go out completely and she nearly drops her glass. The jukebox dies out and suddenly the bar seems way too quiet. Around us are a few shrieks of laughter, a few shouts of dismay.

  “Keep your pants on, children,” one of the bartenders yells. “We’re going to see what’s going on. Generator should kick in any second.”

  As if on cue, a humming noise fills the air and then a dim glow of light illuminates the crowded room.

  “You still thirsty?” I ask, stroking the inside of her wrist with long, gentle strokes. Up toward the inner elbow and back down to the wrist. Repeat. Again and again and again.

  Her gaze drops to our joined hands and widen as if she just now realizes we’ve been touching for the last ten minutes or so. I lean in close and brush my nose against the outer edge of her earlobe, filling my lungs with her spicy scent.

  I could stand here all day. There’s something great about drawing out the anticipation until it’s nearly painful. It makes the release all the more explosive. I have a feeling that sex with Sabrina James will blow my mind.

  I can’t fucking wait.

  After taking a deep breath, one that pushes her perfect tits into my chest, she eases back—not too far, but enough to create a sliver of distance.

  “I’m not into relationships,” she says bluntly. “If we do this—”

  “Do what?” I can’t help but tease.

  “This. Don’t play dumb, Tucker. You’re better than that.”

  A laugh pops out. “Fair enough. All right…” I wave a hand. “Go on…”

  “If we do this,” she repeats, “it’s sex only. No awkward morning after. No phone numbers.”

  I give her one last caress before releasing her, letting her read into my silence what she needs to. I highly doubt that one time is going to be enough for either of us, but if that’s what she needs to believe tonight, I’m okay with that.

  “Let’s go then.”

  Her lips curve. “Now?”

  “Now.” I moisten my bottom lip with my tongue. “Unless you want to sit here a while longer and keep dancing around the fact that we want to rip each other’s clothes off.”

  She lets out a throaty laugh that goes straight to my balls. “Very good point, Tucker.”

  Lord. I love the way my name rolls off those full, pouty lips. Maybe I’ll ask her to say it when I’m making her come.

  The need surging through me is so strong I have to squeeze my ass cheeks together and breathe through my nose to try to curb it. I take Sabrina’s elbow and muscle my way to the door. A few people call out my name or pat me on the back to tell me good game. I ignore them all.

  Outside, it’s still pouring. I pull Sabrina close and raise my black-and-silver hockey jacket over her head. Fortunately, my truck is nearby. “Over here.”

  “Nice parking spot,” she comments.

  “Can’t complain.” It’s a perk of being a starter on a championship-winning college hockey team.

  I help her into the truck, then slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. “Where to?”

  She shivers a little, though I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or for another reason. “I live in Boston.”

  “My place then.” Because there’s no fucking way I can wait the hour it’ll take to drive to the city. My dick will explode.

  She puts her hand on my wrist before I can shift into reverse. “You live with Dean. That’s not going to be uncomfortable for you?”

  “No, why would it?”

  “I don’t know.” Her index finger slides forward to rub my knuckles.

  I grit my teeth as my erection nearly breaks through the zipper. The only reason I didn’t kiss her the second we were outside the bar is because if I’d started, I probably would’ve taken her against the side of the building. But now she’s touching me, and my self-control is more elusive than a puff of steam.

  “Let’s do it here,” she says decisively.

  I frown. “In the truck?”

  “Why not? Do you need candles and rose petals? It’s just sex,” she insists.

  “Darlin’, you keep saying that and I’m going to start wondering if it’s really me you want to convince.” My breath catches when her thumb strokes a tiny circle in the center of my palm. Fuck it. I need her too bad. “But fine. You want to do me in this truck, then the truck it is.”

  Without another word, I reach beneath me and push the seat back as far as it can go. Then I shrug out of my jacket and toss it into the backseat.

  “You got any guidelines for your just-sex hookups?” I drawl. “Like no kissing on the lips?”

  “Hell, no. Do I look like Julia Roberts?”

  I scrunch up my eyebrows.

  “Pretty Woman?” she prompts. “Hooker with the heart of gold? No kissing the johns?”

  I grin. “So what you’re saying is that you’ll kiss this John?” I tap my chest so she knows I’m referring to my name and not implying that she’s a hooker.

  She snickers. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll be pissed. I need kissing. Otherwise I’d just stay at home with my vibe.”

  A smile creeps across my face. With my back against the window and my boot up on the console, I create a cradle for her hot body and beckon her toward me. “Then come and get what you need.”

  3

  Sabrina

  Tucker sits there with a slight smile on his face and a huge erection in his pants. My tongue sneaks out to wet my lips as excitement buzzes through my veins. God, that monster is going to feel so good inside me.

  My gaze falls to his neatly trimmed beard, and I wonder, briefly, whether I should’ve given Carin a shot at him. After all, beards were on her bucket list. But now I’m wondering what that scruff would feel like between my legs. Soft? Scratchy? I squeeze my thighs together in anticipation.

  Hope and Carin were so right. I do need to get laid, and hockey player or not, I believe Tucker is the guy for the job. He has confidence without the ego, which is the biggest turn-on ever. When he’d said “you” in response to my question about what he wanted, I nearly came in my panties.

  And he seems steady, as if an earthquake wouldn’t shake him. I even admired the way he stuck up for Dean, even though I know the loyalty is misplaced. Tucker had to have known that if he’d lied about his friendship with Dean, he could’ve stood a better chance with me, but he chose honesty, which I value most out of everything.

  “Need some direction?” His voice is low and gravelly, drawing out those syllables. Die rehhhc shun.

  Sweet Jesus, that accent.

  “Just considering my options.” I love that he’s just sitting there, instructing me to take what I need. As if his big cock exists just for me.

  I can’t wait, but I can’t decide what I want to do first, either. My mouth waters at the thought of his shaft dragging against my tongue, but my core aches at the anticipation of him stretching me, filling me all the way up.

  “Why don’t we start with the kissing you’re so fond of?” he suggests.
>
  I meet his hot gaze. “Where?” I ask coyly, which is weird, because I’m never coy. But there’s something about the surety in him that draws out the woman in me, and I find I don’t mind it at all.

  He taps one big finger against his lower lip. “Right here.”

  As seductively as possible, I crawl over the console and onto his lap, allowing my heels to drop onto the floor of the truck. His mouth parts in invitation, but I don’t immediately press my lips to his.

  Instead, I run my fingertips across his beard, from one side of his jaw to the other. “Soft,” I murmur.

  His eyes darken and grow so full of lust that it’s hard to breathe. And then he grabs me, tired of waiting and tired of talking.

  Our mouths slam together. He tangles a hand in my hair and I’m not sure if it’s to get a better angle or provide more leverage for the force of his invasion. Either way, his tongue is making me feel magical things downstairs. I’m forgetting why I almost turned him down.

  I mean, tall, hot, dark auburn hair, scruffy beard? Why did I even hesitate? Oh, that’s right. Because he’s a hockey player.

  Tearing my mouth away, I pant, “Just for the record, I hate hockey players. This is a one-time-only deal.”

  He sweeps my hair to the side to expose my throat. “Noted. I won’t even remind you of this when you’re begging me for a second round.”

  Laughing, I grab his head and hold it against me as he tongues his way down my throat to the tops of my breasts. “Never happening.”

  “Don’t tie yourself to absolutes. It makes it easier to back away. More graceful.”

  His words are somewhat muffled as he buries his face in my cleavage. A callused hand pulls at my shirt, and then I hear a frustrated growl when the neckline doesn’t lower enough to give him access to what he wants.

  Good thing our needs are aligned. I reach between us and yank my sweater off, and his mouth latches on to my nipple before I can get my bra undone. When I reach around to undo the clasp, his hands bat mine away.

  My laugh at his eagerness dies in my throat as his palm closes around one bare breast. I arch into his rough caress. Oh gosh, it’s been way, way too long. As Tucker’s mouth gets busy sucking on one puckered nipple, his fingers pinch and tease the other one.

  He’s good at this. He knows how deep to suck, how hard to bite, how tender to kiss, and despite the rod in his pants, he acts like he could do this nipple-sucking deed all night long.

  I rock my lower body over his erection, fumbling to push my skirt out of the way so I can really feel him. I want it off, damn it. I want his naked body rubbing against mine. I want him inside me.

  I want it all.

  I fish for the bottom of his T-shirt. He offers me zero assistance, because he’s too intent on my breasts right now. I find the hem and pull it hard. Only then does he separate from me, and the cool air in the truck causes my nipples to tighten even more.

  “I don’t need more foreplay,” I tell him as I drag his shirt up over his head.

  Oh God, muscle alert. Lots and lots of tight, smooth, rippled muscles glide beneath my palms. Gotta love athletes.

  His hands tunnel under my skirt. “Is that right?”

  There’s nothing graceful about the way his fingers shove aside my thong, and there’s no warning when he thrusts two of them inside of me. It’s dirty and so hot. Air whistles between my teeth as I inhale sharply.

  “Like that, do you?” he murmurs.

  “It’s okay,” I lie, and am immediately punished when he withdraws. “Fine. It feels good.”

  He withdraws again and uses his now wet fingers to lightly circle my clit. My entire body strains and clenches and screams for more.

  “Just good, huh?” he taunts.

  I give in. “Great. It’s great.”

  “I know.” He looks smug. “I hate to tell you this, Sabrina. But you’ve made a big mistake.”

  “What? Why?”

  His fingers draw my thong tight, the fabric cutting into my swollen lips. “Because I’m going to ruin you for all future guys. I apologize in advance.”

  Then he jerks the fabric aside and slams three fingers in. The graphic rawness of it comes as a giant shock. I can feel it—him—everywhere. Even down to my toes. A wave of excitement crashes over me. Holy shit, he’s making me come. Is that even possible?

  I stare at him open-mouthed, and he grins back, white teeth against his tanned skin and his beard, fully aware he’s blowing my mind. His fingers move again, two of them rubbing against that spot that hardly anyone ever finds but me.

  And he keeps rubbing it as he jacks his fingers inside me. And I keep coming. I let my head fall back and my eyelids fall closed and I give myself over to the pleasure that spirals up and through my body until I’m one shuddering mass of sensation.

  When I drop back to Earth, I find myself lying against his chest, gasping for air. I’ve never come this hard in my life, and the guy hasn’t even been inside me yet. My heart is pounding insanely fast, and my sluggish mind is having a hard time keeping up.

  He’s just a guy. A normal guy, I remind myself. One dick and two balls. This is nothing special.

  “I haven’t had sex in a while,” I mumble as my breathing starts to normalize. “I’ve been super stressed. My body really needed a release.”

  Three long fingers flex inside me. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darlin’.”

  There’s smug amusement in his voice, but the guy just fingered me to orgasm (which never happens to me), so I guess I can’t blame him. He drags the pads of his fingers along my sensitive nerve endings as he withdraws, pulling another involuntary shudder out of me.

  Between us, his hand rises and the wetness shines on his fingers even in the dark cab of his truck. I’m not prepared for the shock of arousal that hits me when he sucks them clean.

  I gulp.

  One swift jerk of a lever and his seat falls completely flat. Tucker lies down and beckons for me again. “C’mere and fuck my face. I need more of that.”

  Oh. My. God. Who is this guy?

  Maybe I shouldn’t hike my skirt up around my waist and crawl forward, but I do. It’s like he’s cast a spell on me and I’m helpless to disobey him.

  “You’re gonna want to brace yourself,” he rasps, “because I’m going to make you come again.”

  “You’re so fucking cocky.”

  “No. I’m sure. And so are you. Now gimme that sweet pussy and ride my tongue.”

  Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Sex with Tucker is dirtier and hotter than I thought it would be. He doesn’t look like he’d be this way, but isn’t it always the quiet ones?

  I like it, almost too much.

  His hot breath warms my skin as I lower myself over his face.

  “Fuck yeah,” is the last thing he says before his mouth latches on to me.

  He doesn’t just use his tongue. He uses his lips, his teeth to scrape across my hypersensitive clit. One hand is clamped around my hip while he uses the other to finger me. And his tongue? He licks me in long, sweeping strokes until I’m muffling sobs against my wrist. Then he parts me with two fingers and holds me open while his tongue stabs hard inside me.

  He’s right—I do need to brace myself. I grip the sides of the seat and then I’m gone. He brings me right to the edge of the cliff and throws me over.

  While I’m still shuddering from my second orgasm of the night, Tucker lifts me off his face and down to his lap where somehow his dick is free of his jeans. I reach between us and grab him.

  “Wait,” he barks, but it’s too late.

  I suck in my lower lip as the broad head slowly penetrates me. Greedily, I push down, wanting to fill myself up. His hands find my hips, and I breathe out a sigh of anticipatory satisfaction only to yelp with dismay when he pushes me off.

  “Condom,” he says grimly.

  I glance down between us in surprise. I never make that mistake. Never. My hand flies to my mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

&nb
sp; He fumbles in his jeans, finds his wallet and tosses it to me. “No big deal. It was just the tip.”

  A sly wink draws a startled laugh out of me. I bite open the foil and then position the rubber over the head of his shaft.

  “I’m clean,” I feel compelled to tell him. “I get tested after…” I trail off, feeling like talking about past hookups is bad form when I’m naked and about to impale myself on someone else’s dick. “Well, after. And I’m on the pill.”

  “It’s all good on my end,” he says. His eyelids flutter shut for a beat as I roll the condom down the thick, hot column of flesh. A low moan escapes his mouth, and then he brushes my hand aside to take hold of himself.

  “Ready?” he asks, positioning the head at my entrance.

  I don’t know if I nod or whimper or beg, but whatever sound comes out of my mouth must sound like assent, because he shoves upward with one swift motion until he’s seated to the hilt.

  “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

  “And you’re damn big,” I croak, wriggling around on top of him.

  He grabs my hips to hold me still and shallowly pumps into me. “Don’t move.”

  “Can’t stop.” The friction feels so good. If I thought his fingers and tongue were magic, his dick is supernatural. I can feel him everywhere.

  I dig my knees into the leather seat and rest my hands on his chest. The muscles flex beneath my palms, and I rake my gaze over his ridged abdomen, the light hair on his chest, and the thin line that leads directly down to heaven.

  He’s as delicious to look at as he feels. I wonder how he tastes, but that will have to come later. Right now, I need him to fuck me until my anxiety about Harvard, money, and my home life is driven out completely. I want to be wrecked and he’s the perfect man for the job.

  I slam down on him. A feral look crosses his face and then a large palm clamps against my ass. He powers upward, finding the leverage from somewhere, and even though I’m on top, he’s clearly in control, which is exactly what I want.

  His teeth are clenched and I feel the bite of his fingers on my ass, pushing me downward with each thrust forward. I squeeze my thighs tight around him and give myself over to his care, allowing him to power me into oblivion.