by S. R. Grey
“Wow,” he interjects, clearly astonished. “Forget Benny. We should set her up with Nolan. He’s a sex toy aficionado. She sounds like his dream girl.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” I reply. “But I can tell you now, I don’t want Nolan anywhere near my sister.”
Brent just laughs.
I continue, dismissing any thoughts of my nemesis, Nolan. “Anyway, I was thinking since I never got rid of the crazy thing that maybe you and I could give it a whirl.”
“Give it a whirl?” He sounds stunned. Raising a brow, he asks, “You really want me to use this thing on you?”
He may act all shocked, but I sense it’s for my sake, an opening for me to back out graciously. But I can see he’s already hard just thinking about it. And God knows I’m dripping. Hell with backing out graciously. The only place I’m backing to is maybe onto this thing. Er, maybe.
“It looks more intimidating than I remember,” I confess. ”But yeah, I think I want you to use it on me. Just be gentle, okay.”
He gives me a look, like that’s a given. “Aubrey, of course. It has to be fun for both of us, or there’s no point.” He sighs. “You sure you don’t want me to just put it away?”
I shake my head. “No. Let’s try it.”
Brent starts toward me with DPMB, and I sit up and pull my knees up to my chest.
“Changing your mind?” he asks.
“Nope. Just mentally preparing.”
He reaches me and nudges my legs apart. I scoot to the edge of the bed, and he asks, “You ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
He doesn’t use DPMB on me immediately. First, he gets me readier than ever with his tongue. Then he fingers me. We also talk about how far and how much I want. DPMB comes with lube, which is essential for the double part.
When we get to that, Brent keeps his promise and uses the toy on me gently and carefully. It’s weird and it’s different, but the kink factor of Brent using the thing on me makes the whole experience hot.
When I’m so worked up I think I might die, he tosses it off to the side and straight-up fucks me.
I come so many times I lose count.
When Brent finishes, he collapses onto me. “God, that was amazing,” he says.
Just wait till we play with your namesake, Brent 51, I think.
I sense the opportunity might come—no pun intended—the very next night.
Brent, back in sweet and romantic mode, drives me out to the desert in his newest car, a late model Jaguar, so we can see the many nighttime stars that blanket the desert sky.
Once we’re parked in the middle of nowhere, Brent and I get out. He rests his ass against the front of the car, so I wedge between his arms and lean my back against him.
“Oh my God,” I gush, looking up at the sky. “It’s so freaking pretty. I can’t believe how many stars are actually up there.”
“And to think they’re there all the time. We just can’t see them in the city with all the bright lights.”
“Well, they sure stand out here in the desert,” I murmur. “It kind of makes you feel grounded, reminds you of what’s important.”
“It does,” he agrees. “Life’s not all about bright lights and big cities.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I know bright lights and big cities is a metaphor for the glitz and glamour of celebrity life.
“I’m glad you brought me out here,” I murmur.
“I wanted to share it with you. This is my spot to come and think about things, important things.”
“So, this place is special to you?”
“It is.”
“Do you come out here a lot?” I inquire. I’m thirsty to learn all I can about Brent.
I feel him shrug. “From time to time.”
It’s totally quiet in the desert, silence reigns, so we stop talking and just enjoy the peacefulness for a few minutes.
Finally, I break the silence when I bring up something we’ve not yet addressed, not directly. “Brent, what are we going to do if we’re found out?”
“We won’t be discovered,” he assures me.
I turn in his arms to face him. “Still, we have to be extra careful when you go on the road next week.” I sigh. “I love being at your house. It’s a great hideaway. But how are we going to manage to keep our relationship a secret in a hotel when the team’s staying mere feet awa—”
He silences my concern with a kiss.
“We’ll just have to be overly cautious,” he says when we break apart.
When a star suddenly shoots across the sky, I make a wish, hoping he’s right and we’ll be fine.
Sighing, he says, “I can’t wait for when you’re no longer working for the team.” He kisses my forehead. “Then we won’t have to worry anymore about sneaking around.”
We’ve already discussed the next six weeks, the time remaining on my contract. We’ve decided to give our relationship a real shot out in the real world once I’m free from any contract restrictions.
I love Brent, and I’m pretty sure he loves me. We haven’t said the words yet, but I suspect it’s only because we’re both waiting for the perfect time.
“Yeah,” I say, agreeing that I can’t wait for my contract to end too. “I’ll have a couple months off afterward for sure. I can stay here in Vegas with you until my next assignment. And until I have to leave, I can still travel with you to your away games.”
Once I’m no longer under contract with the Wolves, I can do whatever I want. We can do whatever we want.
“That sounds perfect.” He closes his eyes and adds, “December can’t get here soon enough, Aubrey.”
“It’s just a few weeks away,” I remind him.
On the way back home, we take a different route and spot a diner on the side of the road. A big neon sign on a pole out front informs us it’s the Area 51 Café.
“Oh hell, Aubrey.” Brent starts to laugh. “Check out that sign. We totally have to take a picture of you next to it.”
I reach over and whack him in the arm. “That’s so not funny.”
I’m not really mad, I’m just playing. It is actually kind of funny.
When Brent sees I’m not upset in the least, he pulls into the lot. “Uh, out of curiosity, do you still have that Area 51 toy?”
Ooh, opportunity!
“Why do you want to know?” I coquettishly ask.
“Well, we had so much fun with that double-penetrating thing last night that I thought maybe we could invite your green friend to join us later tonight.”
“My green friend, huh?” I laugh. “He has a name, by the way.”
“He does? You’re shitting me. What is it?”
“Um, it may be Brent 51.”
“It may be, or it is?”
“Okay, it is.” Clearing my throat, I confess, “I obviously named him after you.”
After a long pause, he says, “I don’t know if I should be happy about this or offended, seeing as that thing’s a pretty weird shade of green. Not to mention, it freaking glows in the dark.”
“Not always. I found a switch where you can turn off that feature.”
“Ah, that’s why my upstairs hallway no longer lights up like a toxic swamp.”
That earns him another whack. “Brent, be serious.”
He laughs, and God, I love how happy he sounds. Placing my hand on his hard thigh, I assure him, “You should feel happy I named my toy after you. He’s what I use when I fantasize about you and me together.”
“You pretend that thing is me?”
“Yep.”
“What about DPMB?” he asks, though it’s clear he’s now teasing. “Who do you pretend it is?”
“No one.” I make a face. “I told you I never used it before last night. That one used to scare me.”
“Does it still?”
“Not as much. But it is…a lot to handle.”
“Maybe we should reserve it for special occasions, then?”
“Like on
ce in a blue moon?” I joke. “Get it, Brent? Moon?”
When Brent doesn’t fall into hysterics at my joke, like he damn well should, I sense something is wrong. “Hey, what’s up?”
In a worried-he’s-not-pleasing-me tone, he says, “Do you still use Brent 51, like, often?”
“Aw, don’t worry, stud.” I pat his leg, inching up closer to a part of him that’s near and dear to my heart. And near and dear to other parts of me, as well. “I haven’t taken Brent 51 out for a long time. He’s been sleeping peacefully since we hooked up.”
He shoots me a mischievous grin. “Well, then, I say we wake him up, for sure. Damn, the things I could do to you with that thing, Aubrey. You do realize it’s much more maneuverable than the DPMB.”
“Shit, Brent. Forget about taking a picture with that stupid sign. Hit the gas and get us home as fast as you can.”
Laughing, he says, “You got it, babe.”
Damn, Brent Oliver is turning me into a toy-loving sex fiend.
A Bad, Bad Decision
Aubrey likes all the things I do to her with her green toy. But not before I make certain the switch to keep that weird green glow feature is indeed turned off. The last thing I need is for my neighbors to think I’m conducting bizarre experiments over here. I think the team would be more freaked out over that—imagine the press!—than if they found out about Aubrey and me.
Then again, maybe not.
The day after our drive out to the desert, I have one more home game. And then the team goes on the road. I decide to drive to the arena separate from Aubrey to maintain appearances. And though I don’t blatantly look for her in the stands, I know she’s there, cheering me on.
Damn, I can’t wait for December to get here.
Fueled by feelings I’ve never felt before, like an intense sort of joy, I come out flying on the ice. Three minutes in and our goaltender, a Russian guy named Ruslan Brezzenov—we call him Breeze—sends the puck to my stick when he’s clearing his net and sees there’s no defensemen around me.
The other team is in the midst of a personnel change so I skate down the ice mostly unimpeded. One of their defensemen finally notices me and comes in for a hard check.
I outmaneuver him and shoot the puck at the net.
Their goalie never sees it coming, and the light behind the net goes on. Sirens erupt and the crowd goes crazy. Our team is doing so well, in large part because of me. I’m playing better than I ever have in my career, and it’s all due to Aubrey.
I realize right then and there, on the ice, as my teammates are congratulating me on my goal, I’m in love with her.
Shit, I’ve never been in love. Not like this.
I go on to score another goal and two assists. It’s a great game and we end up leading 6-2 with only two minutes left to play. But then Benny gets hurt. After he goes down hard against the boards on a wicked check, he has to leave the ice.
We still win, and word from the team doctor is Benny will be okay.
That night, after interviews conclude in the locker room, and after I take a quick shower, I join the guys for a late dinner. I text Aubrey that I’ll be home in a bit, and she messages me back to have fun.
We go to a fancy steakhouse in downtown Las Vegas. The food is great, but I’m not too thrilled that there’s a strip club next door. I have a feeling the guys will want to stop in after we eat. If Benny were here with us, I could take off with him. He avoids all drinking situations. Unfortunately, he had to stay behind for X-rays.
Sure enough, dinner ends and Nolan suggests we stop in at the strip joint.
“Come on, Oliver,” he says when I attempt to decline. “You haven’t been out with us in ages.”
“Yes,” Breeze, the goaltender, chimes in with his choppy accent. “I owe you drink from last season when we go out. Hell,” he goes on, “with all the booze you bought me, I probably owe you twenty drinks.”
“One is good,” I assure him with a clap on the back. It’s not like I’ve been keeping count, but I do recall buying multiple rounds for everyone after we were knocked out of the playoffs in early May. I guess that’s what he’s referring to.
“Does that mean you’re actually going to hang with us tonight?” Nolan raises a brow.
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug. “What can it hurt?”
I regret those words when I walk into the strip club and see how out of control things are. This could end up badly. There are three bachelor parties going on…and now us.
Breeze buys me the drink he owes me. I try to nurse the watered-down vodka and tonic, but various players keep buying rounds for everyone. Before I know it, I’m fucking hammered.
“So much for three months of sobriety,” I say to Nolan.
“You’re not an alcoholic, Brent,” he says. “I don’t know why you talk like that.” He pauses for a few seconds, then says, “Oh, wait. I actually do know why you say shit like that. It’s because of Aubrey and her mouth.”
Lifting my fifth vodka and tonic of the night, I murmur, “Yeah, okay, but she has a point. My downward descent always seems to start out this way.”
He makes a scoffing noise. “That also sounds like something Aubrey would say.”
Leaning back, I ask him, “Dude, what is your fucking problem with her?”
He blows out a breath. “I like her just fine. It’s just that I see the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you.”
“So?”
“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“More than once, I presume?”
I nod, and he says, “Damn it, Brent. What are you two doing? She’s an employee of the team, same as you. Nothing good can come of you and her together in any way.”
I don’t like what he’s saying, especially since it’s true. So when a skimpily clad cocktail waitress comes along, I order yet another drink.
“Man, you are such a downer,” I mutter. “Just because you had a bad experience with love—” I shut the hell up when I realize what I’ve just blurted out.
Nolan’s head jerks up. “What did you just say?”
I wave him off. “Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.”
He’s not alarmed that I brought up his past. Well, maybe he is, seeing as it’s a closely guarded secret that not only was Nolan once madly in love, but he married the girl. Both of them were still teenagers. He was just out of juniors and thought she was the love of his life.
Too bad she loved nothing but dick.
She cheated on him with half the team he was on at the time, as well as many other random men. When he found out about all her flings, he filed for divorce and everything was swept under the rug. No one really remembers since he was a “nobody” at the time. But he sure remembers. He told Benny and me all about it, in confidence, this past summer. He even admitted that he’s never been the same since, not when it comes to love. He just doesn’t believe in it—at all.
Narrowing his eyes at me, and probably more pissed than I thought that I mentioned his past, he says, “I told you to fuck Aubrey one time and get it out of your system. You weren’t supposed to fucking fall in love with the bitch.”
“Hey.” I shoot him a warning glare. I will throw down, even with a friend, for her. “Aubrey’s not a bitch, Nolan.”
“Okay, okay.” He puts up his hands. “This is me backing the fuck off. But let me put it out there that I think you’re both dumb to be playing with fire.”
I toss back my drink. “Let me get burned, then. I don’t care what the team says or does to me, as long as Aubrey doesn’t get hurt.”
Nolan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, good luck with that.” He only has my best interests at heart, but while drinking at a strip club is not the best time to discuss this in any rational manner.
Just then a bunch of the guys bring over a tall, blonde stripper. She has on nothing but a G-string and an open short robe. When she starts dancing seductively in front of me, I realize they’ve bought me a lap d
ance.
This is so not good.
I keep my hands to myself, like a good boy, but there are a lot of cameras flashing. Big fake tits in my face are not going to fly with Aubrey. Nor is the vodka and tonic in my hand destined to bring a smile to her face. Management will be pissed too. I should stop this right now.
But I let it go on.
After the dance, I tip the blonde so she’ll take off. I then get all the guys to erase the pics and videos they captured. I hope I didn’t miss any, because I know if I did it’ll end up on social media. And if that happens, the pic—or worse yet, a video—will show up on a site like Deadspin. I know Aubrey and the team monitor that site and the knock-off ones closely. Everything will be out about this night if something goes viral. And though nothing happened with the dancer, images of her writhing all over my junk wouldn’t look good.
Speaking of junk, I’m horny as hell now thanks to the lap dance. “Hey, I’m taking off,” I say to Nolan. I’m anxious to get home to Aubrey.
Luckily, he sees how drunk I am and makes arrangements with Breeze to follow us out to my place so he can drive me home in my car, and then have a ride back.
Nolan may be a dick at times, but he always has my back.
I also learn he has a video of me with the stripper. I don’t ask him to erase it. He’d never do anything with it.
The Real World Sometimes Sucks
Brent wakes me from a dead sleep. When I realize he’s tugging at my sleep clothes, pulling them off despite my groggy and only half-awake state, I’m surprised, but definitely all in.
But then, when he just about crushes me with his weight, I’m more like, “What the hell, Brent? I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry.” He lifts his body off me enough that I don’t suffocate under his very naked self. Not that it’d be a bad way to go. But still, Brent’s usually much more smooth and controlled than this.
He nuzzles his nose into my neck and breathes out something that sounds like an apology. And that’s when I smell alcohol.
“Are you crazy?” I push him off of me. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
