Brutal Love & Stanley Cups: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 7)

by Heather C. Myers

  Dean slid his tongue along her bottom lip. He knew she loved when he did that - at least, she had, back when they had been together. It always made her open her mouth for him, as if by accident.

  This time, instead of opening her mouth, her own tongue met his and they battled, fighting for dominance. Dean felt himself get hard, kissing her like this. He typically had better control over himself but he felt like he was some kind of teenage boy and she was the hot book nerd he lusted after but could never win.

  His hands tightened their grip on her - one hand cupped her hip, the other was buried in her hair, clutching the back of her head so he had some kind of control over her. He tried to tilt his pelvis back, away from her. He didn’t want to scare her off. He didn’t want her to think she had such power over him, even if she did.

  Her tongue was much fiercer than he remembered. He grunted. He was becoming more and more affected by the fact that she was willing to put up a fight with him, that she wouldn’t so easily let him simply kiss her. Her fingers started tugging at his hair and he gently bit her bottom lip, eliciting a groan from her.

  Dean froze.

  That sound.

  If he thought he was hard before, the sound that came out of her mouth caused him to throb with desire. He had forgotten that sound, but hearing it made all of the memories he buried, he tried to forget with booze and other women, pop back up, eager to take flight. It was like the dam had been destroyed and a torrent of memories surrounded him, refusing to let him go. He was done for. He was drowning in her.

  And then, they both had to come up for air. They had to take a breath. Dean refused to release his hold on her, afraid that if he did, she might step away and realize that this wasn’t something she wanted to do, at least not with him.

  If that was what she really wanted, he didn’t want her to force herself to be with him. But he also didn’t want her to be afraid of being with him either. He knew things last time didn’t end the way either of them wanted.

  He sucked in the fresh air as best as he could without being desperate. His eyes were on her, refusing to even let her out of his sight. He didn’t want her to leave. But he didn’t want her to stay. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. He didn’t know what this meant. Were they together? Were they suddenly back on after nine years of being off? Could things really go back to the way they were?

  “Well.” He needed to say something.

  “Yeah.”

  He couldn’t tell if she actually said anything. The word was airy and light, like she didn’t have breath to speak.

  Dean didn’t know where to go from there. His mind was searching for more - something more to say, something more to do, something to keep this moment going and turn it into more than just catching a breath.

  And then, Clara surprised him by reaching back up and pulling him down again. His lips found hers, her fingers were in his hair, his hands were on her waist, and everything was right. Everything felt right. And he wanted more of this.

  ‘More, more, more.’

  One word, chanting in his head, like a mantra, over and over again.

  “I can’t –”

  The words ripped from his mouth when they were forced to breathe again. His hair was completely messy and askew. His shirt was wrinkled. He was a mess and he didn’t give a shit.

  “We need to go somewhere,” she said.

  Dean couldn’t tell if she had just read his mind or if she was feeling the same way as before. Regardless, he felt himself nodding his head.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, you’re right.”

  The corner of Clara’s lip ticked up. “Wow,” she murmured. “I never thought I’d ever hear you say that.”

  “What?”

  “That I’m right about something.”

  “You were right about a lot of things,” he said, shifting his weight. “I just didn’t like to admit when I was wrong.” Clara opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Dean jumped in. “Just shut up. Let’s go back to my place.”

  He grabbed her hand and led her away from the beach. She barely had enough time to grab her flip flops before they were forgotten in the sand. His toes started to get buried by sand drying on his skin but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting Clara back to his place and –

  And then what? Would she really jump right back in? Or was this just a one-time thing? Was this really the time to be thinking about something like this? She had just been through an ordeal. Something with heavy consequences. He didn’t want to take advantage of her, but truth be told, he still didn’t know what he wanted when it came to Clara.

  “What are you thinking?” Clara squeezed his hand and looked up at him with her big brown eyes. “You’re too quiet. Your brain must be going off.”

  He grinned down at her but his heart wasn’t in it. “Honestly, Clara, I want to go back to my place with you and finally be with you again, but I want to make sure that’s something you want,” he admitted. His voice was strained and he shoved his free hand in the pocket of his leather jacket or else he would find himself fiddling with things, like belt loops and fingers. He had never been good at discussing serious things like the future but there was something in him that was compelled to do that - at least, for Clara. “I know you’ve been through a lot the past few hours. I just - I don’t want you to be with me if you don’t want to be with me.”

  The corners of Clara’s lips tilted up into a small, mischievous grin. He could tell by the glint in her eye that she wasn’t mocking him or laughing at him.

  “I appreciate that, Dean.” She tugged on his hand so they stopped walking once they were near the parking lot. “Honestly, I didn’t expect that coming from you. I mean, I know you’re considerate, when you want to be. But I’m sure you know you have a reputation -“

  “It’s bullshit.” He didn’t even flinch as he said it. In fact, he pulled his hand from his pocket so he could cup Clara’s face in his palm. “Everything is bullshit. Did I sleep with women after I left? Yes. But they’re nothing. Nothing compared to you. You have to know that.”

  “You didn’t need to tell me that, Dean,” Clara said. Her eyes were serious. “What happened after me -“

  “I never - not while we were together.”

  She smiled, and he could see a reflection of the clouds in her eyes. “I never thought you did,” she said. “You were a pain in my ass, but I knew you’d never cheat on me.”

  For whatever reason, the fact that Clara knew this without a doubt made Dean fill with warmth and relief. For so long, he had been worried that Clara would assume he cheated on her, especially since the news outlets had reported, at the time, that she (unknown to the media) broke up with him because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. And that much was true, but only with Clara. He was crazy about her in every possible way.

  He ducked his head and gave her a lingering kiss on her lips. Clara tensed underneath it, and he immediately pulled back, his eyes searching hers.

  “Dean,” she breathed out. They were so close, their foreheads were nearly touching. A rollerblader dodged them, and a biker yelled at them, until Dean dragged Clara out of the sidewalk and closer to the small parking lot on Fifteenth Street. “What happened between us... it broke my heart. I knew I’d eventually move on but I wouldn’t say I’m over it. I didn’t think we ever got the closure we deserved. And if we go back to your place...” He could tell she was trying to read his eyes. He didn’t know what she saw but he hoped she saw something in them that would help her trust him more. “I never really stopped loving you, Dean. And I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put this on you. I know you’re in the last series of the season and you guys are so close to winning the Stanley Cup. But I just want to be honest with you. We’ve always been honest with each other and I don’t want that to change, regardless of what we do.”

  Dean was breathing hard. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He dropped his hand from her face, letting it smack his thigh. He didn’t even notice.

  “I do
n’t give a shit about the Cup,” he managed to get out.

  A skeptical brow sprang up on Clara’s face and she crossed her arms over her chest, giving Dean an expectant look. The wind finally calmed down so her hair wasn’t blowing in her face. He wanted to kiss her again, even though her lips looked decidedly bruised.

  “I mean, I do, but when it comes to you...” He let his voice trail off. He hated this. He hated trying to be both romantic and honest because words never came out the way he wanted them to. “I want to do right by you, Clara. If you want me to marry you, I’d fly you to Vegas. If you want me to never bother you again, it would fucking break my heart, but I would figure out how to do that. I’m crazy about you. I want you. When you left that night, I was absolutely livid. I broke all of my mother’s china and she still hasn’t forgiven me - or you - for it. I ruined my sofa because it smelled like you, because I couldn’t sit on it without being reminded of you. And now that I’m here, with you, I don’t want to let you go, but I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t know the right answer. I don’t know what I want. But I want you. In whatever way you want to give me.”

  Clara was silent for a long moment before a smile spread across her face. “Dean,” she murmured, making his heart skip. “Take me to your place.”

  Chapter 13

  Clara had never been to Dean’s new place before. She wasn’t surprised to see that it was large and over the top, much like Dean Morgan himself. It was a single-story, five bedroom home that sat on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, deep in the heart of Corona Del Mar. Technically speaking, CDM was part of Newport Beach but there was a divide between Newport and CDM, both financially and in the people who occupied both places. Unless you made multi-millions every year, you probably lived in a big house on a plot of land where parking absolutely sucked because tourists refused to pay for parking at the beach and, instead, chose to fill the neighborhood communities with their parked cars, making it impossible for actual CDM residents to find parking in front of their own houses. However, there was a part of CDM that wasn’t too clogged up, either because it was in a community that restricted access to it via a gate or because there was only direct access to the beach through a residential home.

  Dean lived in the latter. It shouldn’t surprise Clara. Because he didn’t really have family save for a mother who lived up north and who rarely talked to him, the money he made as a professional athlete was invested in property rather than anything else. The Dean she remembered liked luxury cars, but he didn’t need tons of them. He preferred his Jaguar, and, if Clara had to guess, probably only had one of them tucked away in his garage, next to his precious BMW.

  “I see you’re intent on settling down here after retirement,” Clara said as he pulled the SUV into his garage.

  Once glance to her right, and she found she was correct. A total of three cars, a Jaguar, a BMW, and this Chevy Tahoe.

  “Retirement?” Dean asked. “What’s that?”

  Clara exited the car with a small smirk on her face. Dean led her through the garage and into the house. There was a narrow hallway with wooden floors. To her right, there was a small room with a washer and dryer, and two baskets of overflowing clothes that probably included his sweat-filled workout gear. Clara shouldn’t be surprised. Dean always hated the laundry.

  The hallway was filled with picture of him and his teammates, some on the ice during a game, while others were at community and other nonprofit events.

  She stepped into the living room with a leather couch shaped like an L, a large glass coffee table with various sports magazines sprawled across the surface, and a sixty-four inch 4K television hanging above a banister and a fireplace. There were a couple more pictures in the stairwell, these more intimate than his hockey ones. A couple were of Dean when he was a kid, one of him and his mom at his college graduation, and then finally, a black and white photo of Clara herself at the beach. Her back faced the camera and she turned her head to the camera - to Dean - an impish smile on her face.

  “I remember that day,” Clara murmured before she could stop herself. She grabbed the picture in her hand, smiling.

  “I have to tell people your picture is the one that came with the frame,” he said in a rough voice.

  Suddenly, it was difficult for Clara to swallow. Her throat had gone dry and she was forced to set the picture back on the bannister.

  Dean came up behind her and snaked his arms around her waist so her back hit his broad chest. Clara let out a shaky breath. He leaned his head down until his lips found her neck. She stiffened under his touch, but her pulse jumped against her throat.

  She knew he could feel her tense. She knew he could feel her hesitation.

  But he didn’t stop.

  His grip on her hips tightened and he flicked his tongue against the most sensitive part of her throat. He still remembered. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. She let out a little gasp. Her eyebrows shot up but her eyes rolled closed and the hard surface that she tried to project around him started to melt away.

  “You like this?” he asked, his voice a low growl, dancing across her skin. She opened her mouth to respond but no sound came out. “Don’t answer that, I know you do. You’ve always liked this.”

  Clara let out a shaky breath as she felt his teeth start to nibble on her skin.

  “You taste so damn good, Clara.”

  God, how he said her name. It always shot little lightning bolts straight to her pelvis. It always caused goosebumps to break out across her skin. It caused shivers to slide down her spine and her folds to moisten with desire.

  He was her weakness. He would always be her weakness.

  His hands began to play with the hemline of her shirt. Each time his finger caressed the soft skin just underneath her stomach, she let out a small, nearly inaudible moan.

  Dean could hear it, though. She knew he could. He might pretend not to understand. He might pretend he didn’t listen. But he picked up on a lot more than he was given credit for.

  Dean slowly pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it behind him so it landed carelessly on the floor. She was left in a bra and pajama pants. Dean had to move more of it out of the way as his lips descended even further until they reached her shoulder. His hands pressed flat against her stomach and slowly traced her curves until they reached her lacy bra. Suddenly, they vanished. Judging by the pressure on her back, she knew he was fiddling with unhooking her bra. Clara had to bite back a smile. Dean has so much skill; it would make sense this was the only thing that didn’t come easy to him.

  After a few more minutes, he finally unfastened the hooks. Gently, he removed each strap from her arms and released his hold on the bra so it fell in front of her, on the marble tile just before the fireplace.

  His hands came up and clutched her breasts from behind. Her head fell back against his collarbone and she pushed her chest out, giving him better access to her breasts.

  “I know how you want it,” he whispered in her ear, causing her to get more goosebumps.

  Her nipples marbled underneath his touch so quickly, Clara was almost embarrassed. But it felt too good to do anything else, and there was no way in hell she was stopping him.

  “Tell me to stop.” His teeth grazed her neck. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

  Was he crazy? Why would he think she would ever want him to stop?

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

  He growled. She could feel his hardness press against her and she took in a quick breath, anticipating him turning her around and bending her over the couch.

  Before they broke up, their relationship was filled with passion - fucking everywhere, every way. There was intimacy behind it, but that usually took a backseat to the lust. And that was okay. Looking back, Clara blushed just remembering how she was completely incapable of keeping her hands to herself. Despite the fact that nine years had passed, she still expected the same urgency between them, especially since they hadn’t spoken, hadn’
t figured out what they were, what kind of relationship this was.

  Without warning, Dean grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder like she was a sack of ice - easy for him to carry. Instead of leading her to the couch as she expected, he slowly made his way to what Clara assumed was his bedroom.

  There was no time to take in his room. All she could see were white, navy, and red colors - very nautical in design. Her heart pounded. She loved nautical design, still did. She remembered decorating his apartment similarly before she left for Florida. She wondered if he liked it so much he kept the idea, or if there was more to it than just that.

  He gently placed her on the bed so she was on her back. His hungry eyes found hers and he did not blink, did not look away, as he slowly peeled off her pants and then her underwear. He was still too dressed for the occasion. Clara would be lying if she said she didn’t feel vulnerable under his gaze. They knew each other so well and yet, there was still that nervousness that bubbled up in her stomach, like a shaken up soda can.

  “Goddamn, if you don’t look as beautiful as ever,” he muttered in a husky voice.

  He reached behind him to tug up his shirt.

  Clara immediately sat up. Her face was still reeling from the gentle blush that had caressed her cheeks, thanks to Dean’s proclamation of her beauty. She coiled her arms around his waist, pulling her to him. His abs looked more defined than she remembered, sharp, like a washboard. She couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers over the edges. Dean flinched under her touch, and she realized just how much power over him she held. She kissed his stomach once, then twice. His hand found the back of her head and he tightened his grip.

  He wanted to be in control. She let him.

  Gently, he pushed her back so she was lying down. His hands fumbled for his jeans and it wasn’t long before he got rid of them and then his boxer briefs. He leaned over her and grabbed a condom from the nightstand. She was grateful he remembered. She probably wouldn’t have said anything if he hadn’t slipped the condom on.