Donovan (Face-Off Series Book 3)

by Jillian Quinn

  I’m instantly taken back to the days where my dad would hit me so hard with his belt I couldn’t sleep for days. The pain was unbearable.

  “Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.

  Resting my head against the wall, I look up at the ceiling, unable to watch anymore. Memories of the past come flooding through my mind, and I cannot stop them. My father was the reason for so many wrongs in my life. When it had come to hockey, he left me alone, let me do my own thing. But I always paid for his bad moods and violent outbursts.

  There were times when I would come home from a game, pleased with myself for doing so well, only for my father to get into a fight with Jenny that had required me to intervene. Those nights were the worst. Most of the time, he would yell at Jenny for working extra shifts, all of which were to help pay for my hockey equipment or to put gas in her car to take me to a scrimmage. After everything she had done for me, I wasn’t about to let her take the brunt of the harassment. Not when I was able to take that pain for her.

  “Don’t worry. Liam has no idea what I found. I can guarantee no one would ever figure this out. It took me a while to notice the change in your behavior after it had happened. I flipped through to the end of the game and compared it to the game before and after. I knew right away that Parker’s stick was the reason you’ve lost your mojo. All the signs are there. It’s as if you are associating hockey with your dad now.”

  For the last few months, I’ve dwelled on the past more than normal, allowed it to invade all of my waking thoughts and even my dreams. Sometimes, I have nightmares of my childhood. I try to bury them, lock them up and throw away the key, but the past always comes back to haunt me. I can never escape the wrath of my father. He left me with scars to prove it, and the tattoos that cover my shame.

  “Son of a bitch,” I say, shaking my head, trying to ignore my father.

  I still remember the way his face would twist in disgust, his expression quickly turning to pleasure, as my dad would hit me with the belt. The thought of him taking out his anger over my mother’s death on me causes my back to sting. It’s like a phantom pain. Even to this day I sense him, feel the marks he left behind. He enjoyed hurting me, just as I like being rough with women. Now, Sydney gets to experience how fucked up I am for herself. She has no idea why I am this way.

  “Who would’ve thought Parker, of all people, would be the one to fuck with my game.” There’s no sense in overthinking things in the hallway of our practice facility.

  Some of the guys pass us with bags in their hands and over their shoulders, talking to each other as they pass. Tyler and I ignore them so we can finish talking.

  “I know, right?” Tyler chuckles to himself. “What a dick. We should beat the shit out of Parker for messing with our best player.”

  “I’m hardly our best player, Captain,” I smirk.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “You’re one of the best goaltenders in the league.”

  “I was the best,” I correct.

  “You will be again,” he says, confident. “Now that we know what caused your problem, we can fix it.”

  “It’s not like Parker did it on purpose,” I tell him, my tone more serious.

  “Yeah, I know. I guess the only question I need answered is how to fix my game. We have to make playoffs this year. I don’t care if we get knocked out in the first round as long as we get there.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?”

  He shrugs, unsure of himself for once. “No clue. I guess I’ll leave that one up to you to figure out now that you know how it all started. I’d say go see the team doctor, but they would probably just tell you some bullshit. We already know what caused your game to slip. All you have to do is figure out how to make it stop. You have done it before. If anyone can turn away from their past, it’s you.”

  “I haven’t done such a good job of it so far.”

  “Maybe you need to start by showing Sydney your back. It’s time to let someone else into your life. Look, I’m not a shrink, so I have no idea what would work. It’s up to you to sort through your shit. We need you, man. Get it together and do it fast.”

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Good to hear it. Now, can we get out of here, so we can go home to our women? Kennedy is making something for the baby that she’s dying for me to see. She sent me at least twenty messages about it since we’ve been here.”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  We walk down the hall, side-by-side, and when we hit the parking lot, Tyler’s face lights up after receiving another message from Kennedy. I get the same giddy feeling every time Sydney calls me to check in. I never thought either of us could be happy, not after all the things we let stand in the way.

  Maybe it’s time to let Sydney be the light to my darkness. Maybe she will help lead the way.

  Chapter 16

  Sydney

  “Carter,” I moan, a whisper on my lips as I bury my face into the mattress and scream as Carter pounds into me. “Harder…” My voice dies off in my throat, the sound muffled by the comforter.

  He was right about getting used to the pain, because with that pain, comes pleasure. Bringing his hand down hard on my ass cheek, he gives me what he calls a love tap, before clutching my hips as I come for him once more. The man is like a machine. We fuck, and we fuck, but it’s never enough. And I like it this way. Carter satisfies every one of my desires. But I wish he would take that damn shirt off. It’s been two months of orgasmic sex, plus the time we were together before our break, and I have yet to see him completely naked.

  In the time we have known each other, I would have thought by now he would lower his guard for me. I allowed him to break through my barriers, so it’s only fair he does the same.

  He must be one of the few professional athletes without at least one shirtless picture online. I scoured the Internet for some lady jerk off material and came up empty handed. Even in person, I can’t get the real thing. That’s a small price to pay in comparison to what I get in return. Carter is a fucking sex God and the cure for the female orgasm. Our sex life has become a huge help to my writing, and Carter is my muse in both the literal and figurative sense.

  Spanking me harder this time, he changes the angle by moving me into position, sinking deeper inside me. Flat on my stomach with my ass up, Carter reaches beneath me to pinch my nipple, twisting the bud with his fingers and takes what he wants. His shirt, slick with sweat, is stuck to my back, reminding me of our strange arrangement. If only he would open up to me, let me into his world.

  Why does he insist on keeping that thing on in front of me? He has no reason to be afraid.

  After we both come, Carter kisses the ass cheek that probably has a welt from his palm and pulls out of me, holding onto my waist, so I don’t tip over. My body and pussy are his and aching for more. But my legs are shaking so bad I need his support.

  He wraps his arm around me as we fall back onto the mattress together. Stroking my hair with his fingers, he leans my head on his chest. Carter has done some variation of this since the first night we had sex. I think he’s sorry for being so rough with me. Some days, Carter handles me like a ragdoll, forgetting it’s me he’s fucking. It’s almost as if he goes into this lust-filled zone that I cannot get him out of until after he finds his release.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my ear. He does this every time we have sex.

  “It’s okay, big guy.” I rub my hand down his arm, feeling the ridges of his muscles. “I understand. You don’t have to apologize.”

  “No, you don’t understand. That’s the problem.”

  With my back pressed up against his chest, I can’t look into his eyes and see what he’s thinking. Not that his eyes would give me any indication. Unlike me, Carter is not an open book. His eyes are not the windows to his soul. Most of the time, he’s unreachable, so far from my grasp that I feel as though he will slip away from me.

  I have no control when it com
es to Carter. Whatever power he allowed me to exercise over him was clearly for my benefit. It was his sneaky way of getting into my pants, all part of his master plan. Whether I had realized or not, Carter was the one working me over. Not the other way around.

  “I want to understand, Carter. Why don’t you tell me why you like it this way?”

  He plants kisses on my neck, avoiding the question before moving me onto my side of the bed. At this point, he has me conditioned not to prod for information. I cannot lose him again, so I hold my tongue when it comes to the small thing he asks of me. Patience has never been my virtue, but when it comes to Carter, he’s the exception to everything. I’m also falling in love with him, which scares me even more.

  What if he doesn’t share my feelings? What if he rejects me? The thought of him walking away from me again terrifies me, makes me want to be a better person. For him. For us. For our future together. I set aside my childish behavior for Carter. Now, I have to wait patiently until he spills all his secrets, lets me into his very private life.

  Even Kennedy doesn’t know what he’s hiding. All she knows is that it’s something big that Tyler won’t tell her about. He says it’s not his place, considering he kept his own secrets at bay for years.

  Rolling onto my side, I watch as the mattress dips beneath his weight, and Carter gets up from the bed. He glances down at me for a second, smiling. His legs are like trunks of solid muscle, his arms like chiseled steel, and the tattoos that mark most of his body are like a road map of his perfect dips and valleys. I wish I knew the meaning of his tats. The answers are behind the pictures and words. If only I could figure out how to navigate them.

  Tell me all your secrets, I think to myself as he winks at me and walks into the bathroom. Tell me what you’re hiding from me.

  He comes back with a washcloth, same as always. Carter has this odd habit of cleaning me after we have sex. I’ve never had a man do this before, and I like it. While he’s aggressive and passionate during sex, he’s tender and soft after we finish. It’s as if he tries to make up for hurting me. But what he doesn’t realize is that I like our rough sex. I like when he spanks my ass and pulls my hair. Carter opened my eyes when it comes to trying new things.

  I may write about bondage, and whatever taboo topic pops into my head. But rough sex, the kind I have only watched in a porno or read in books is one thing I have never written from personal experience. Now, dating a teacher and writing about it was a no brainer for me. That story was real and raw. I hooked up my English teacher all through high school. Every detail of that story I wrote through my own eyes.

  Sometimes, the forbidden world, like the one I have with Carter, is so much more enticing. Except I never saw a future with my sexy teacher. He took my virginity and hoped for more after graduation, but I always knew our relationship wasn’t meant to be. We never had the chemistry I have with Carter.

  After Carter completes our post-sex ritual, he holds me tight against his chest and kisses my hair. “I’m exhausted,” he breathes, resting my head on his shoulder. “I have to get up for practice in a few hours. I need my sleep, Princess. No more for tonight.”

  I try to hide my laughter and fail. “We already had sex three times since you got here. I think you filled your quota for the day.”

  “I can never get enough of you. Your pussy is hard to resist.”

  “My pussy is sore and needs a break anyway.”

  He laughs, shaking my body in the process.

  “It’s not funny.” I smack him on his thick thigh with a loud crack, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

  “You have no idea how much I like you.” His voice is a faint whisper. He sounds as if he’s dozing off already.

  You have no idea how much I love you, I want to say but keep my mouth shut. Instead, I mutter, “I know. Me, too.”

  “You’re beautiful and perfect,” he sounds as if he’s slurring the words. “I’m glad I met you, Sydney.”

  This man has the ability to fall asleep faster than anyone I have ever met. Sex takes so much out of him, which is not at all surprising with the way he fucks me.

  A single tear falls from my eye and slides down my cheek. I wish I could tell him how I feel without chasing him away. How can I love a man who won’t open up to me?

  “I love you, Carter,” I whisper as he snores in my ear. I don’t expect an answer, but it feels good to say it aloud.

  After thirty minutes of heavy breathing, I slide out from beneath Carter’s large frame, watching him sleep for a few moments before I retreat to my office. I have to get some work done. Sam has been up my ass to get the outline done for the new book. Now that Carter and I are back together, he expects me to write the fictionalized version of our love story. Except I have no idea how it ends.

  How do I write what Sam believes will sell off the shelves when our story is not complete?

  I changed Carter’s name to Chuck and mine to Savannah, same as Kennedy’s younger sister. While all the similarities are there, I still need more information to fill in the gaps. Like me, Savannah is a girl from a stable upbringing. She lived a sheltered life, full of wealth and privilege, which led to becoming a very over-the-top adult. I channeled my constant need to act out into Savannah’s personality.

  Chuck is a Wall Street banker with secrets he keeps from the world, much like Carter. He’s amazing in bed, of course, because that part I wanted to keep intact. I have to dig deeper into Carter’s life if I want to finish this book. I need more depth to his character and a reason for all the secrecy. To stick with the tropes, I made Chuck the bad boy with all the control.

  From the start, I only had what Carter allowed me to take. Because he’s the one with the real power in this relationship. Along with my body, he has my heart, the one thing he can break into a thousand pieces. Struggling to come up with the details for this outline, I tap my nails on the keyboard and stare at the computer monitor. It’s well after three in the morning. I should be tired after going so many rounds with Carter. While my body feels like Jell-O, my brain refuses to shut down, still working on overdrive.

  Too bad nothing is coming to me. I have nothing to write because I need the truth. Learning more about Carter is essential to writing this book. After wasting far too much time playing solitaire, hoping an idea would pop into my head, I get up from behind the desk. Walking down the hall on my tippy toes, I open the door to my bedroom a crack and do my best not to make a sound.

  Carter stirs when I get into bed with him, rolling onto his side to grab my boob. How do all men somehow know exactly where to go even in sleep? It’s as if their minds are trained to do the same movements both awake or asleep. Luckily, he’s turned toward me. If I can sit up enough to see behind him, even in the darkness, I might be able to get a peek at what he’s hiding.

  I need to know. I’m done waiting for Carter to confess the reason he keeps his shirt on in bed. There has to be something he’s hiding beneath the fabric. Lifting up his shirt, I take in the sight of his muscular stomach and my breath hitches. He’s still naked, and now that I’m getting more of the Carter Donovan experience, my wetness pools between my legs.

  I’m tempted to take his cock in my hand and give him a few strokes to wake him, but I need to do my research first. The story depends on it. His torso is free of ink, which is surprising considering the number of tattoos on the rest of his body. Now, I feel stupid. There’s nothing wrong with this man. He has a body worth sculpting and the face to match.

  So, why does he hide from me? Why does he need to keep on his shirt as if it’s his security blanket?

  Doing my best not to disturb Carter, I slip out from his grasp and off the bed. Pleased with myself, I take my time and climb in behind him on the other side. He doesn’t move this time. I listen as he breathes with my hand trembling as I lift up the back of his shirt. There’s so much dark ink on his back I have trouble seeing all of it in the darkness.

  The only light I have to work with shines through a
small opening in the curtain. Good thing this building has outdoor lights spread out along the property because my room would be pitch black otherwise. Still, the light is not enough to get a good look. As I push up Carter’s shirt, trying not to touch his skin in the process, I suck in a deep breath.

  Covered in what appears to be a jigsaw puzzle, the artwork takes up most of the surface, leaving almost no space on his back. This cannot be what Carter has been hiding from me. I’m so confused I stare at each piece of the puzzle. I can only hope I find something within these pictures that I can understand. Otherwise, I’m back at square one.

  In the left hand corner, he has a bear fused inside the puzzle piece. I have never seen something so intricate drawn onto someone’s skin. Each piece of the puzzle links together. Below the bear, the next square contains a dragonfly. Strange choice for a man, but I assume it has some hidden meaning. After that, he has a group of black birds that look like ravens spun into a circle of some sort. All I know from reading is that ravens symbolize death.

  My heart aches just thinking about the raven tattoo. Next to the birds is what appears to be a boulder on the edge of a mountaintop. Strange choice. Carter’s back is like a canvas, all of the pictures painted with care. He apparently chose these for a reason.

  I smile when I see a goaltender mask with two sticks behind it. Of course, he has one for hockey. Sometimes, I forget he’s the star goalie for the Flyers and not just the man I have come to know. With hockey just starting back up again, I have yet to fully experience the man behind the mask. Connected to the hockey square, Carter has a tree spun into a circle. It’s almost the same as the raven's concept with how the branches are intertwined.

  On the last row, Carter has a dragon filling the block that connects to an empty square. All of his tattoos seem so symbolic, yet I have no clue what any of them mean to him. And why is one of them blank? It seems odd that he would leave this masterpiece unfinished.