by Teagan Kade
He pushes himself off the panel-work, meeting me halfway and taking my bag off my shoulder.
“You got the window fixed,” I note.
“I did. You look like you’re in a good mood. I didn’t see you leave this morning.”
I poke him in the chest. “I didn’t want to wake you, and yes, I might be a little, teensy-tiny bit excited.”
“Because…?” he leads.
“Coach told me I need to start looking for an agent, that I have what it takes, so to speak.”
“A big account and friends in high places?”
I shove him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Our family friend, and top gun sports agent Jamie, does fit the bill.”
I’m shocked. “You guys have a family agent?”
He slides his hands into his pockets, shrugging in nonchalance. “Doesn’t everyone? I could have a word with him, offer to put you guys in touch…while touting your on-court supremacy, of course.”
The good news just keeps on coming today. “That would be great.”
“So you’ll accept?”
“Of course.”
“Come on,” he says, moving towards the car. “Phoenix and Heather are making dinner tonight. Trust me, that’s something you don’t want to miss.”
*
Peyton is busy surveying the meal Phoenix and Heather are plating up. “Anyone would think it’s Thanksgiving.”
Heather fiddles with the garnish on the mashed potato. “You don’t need your turkey pants to be thankful.”
Phoenix rushes a tray over from the oven, stuffed peppers from the look of it.
I’m seated by the counter. “Wow, this all smells and looks amazing. You do this every night?”
Both Heather and Phoenix laugh in tandem, Phoenix replying, “Hell no. We have a cook for that, but we thought we’d make an exception tonight, show you all what we’ve been working on.”
Peyton’s rubbing his belly. “Fine by me.”
Nolan returns from upstairs, his hands falling on my shoulders. “They’re not bothering you, are they, baby?”
“I was just saying I might have to move in permanently given the caliber of cooking around here. I didn’t know you guys have a chef, too.”
“And a cleaner—a team of cleaners thanks to these two.” Phoenix is nodding to Peyton and Erin, who both look at each other as if to say ‘Who, us?’
“You think we are the messy ones?” says Erin to Phoenix. “Your room’s like a perpetual frat party.”
I tick off my fingers. “So a cook, cleaning service, the pool… Yep, definitely moving in.”
Nolan leans to my ear so the others can’t hear. “Why not?”
I was mostly joking, but Nolan seems serious. “No,” I tell him. “I’ve got to go back home eventually.
“Yes,” he replies, firm. He massages my shoulders. “Easy access and all.”
Phoenix throws a dishtowel at him. “God, get a room… Just not ours. Haven’t you heard? It’s a perpetual frat party in there.
I’ve got to admit, I love the banter and comradery between the brothers and their better halves. I feel like part of the club already. Whether I’m ready to take that to the next level is another question entirely.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NOLAN
Given we both had a free day, I decided to do something a bit different. I wanted to take her mind off Rex and all that shit, just do something with the two of us.
Linnea looks surprised when we rock up to the Crestfall ice hockey stadium, affectionally known as The Turtle given its large, domed roof.
I meet the caretaker out front. He looks around waving us over to the doors, using his keys to unlock them and smiling at Linnea. “Just for an hour, okay? I’ve got the reserves coming in for practice right at nine.”
I give him a short salute. “Appreciate it, Bruce. I really do.”
He pushes the door open and puts the keys away. “Yeah, yeah, but you owe me one, King.”
“And I hope you’ll call it in.”
I take Linnea’s hand. “Shall we?”
We enter the stadium, the door swishing closed behind us and the immediate temperature drop forcing Linnea to rub her arms. “If you brought me here so you could skate around and show off, got to say I’m not going to be impressed.”
I stop by the edge of the rink. “Your mom told me you could skate. That true?”
“You spoke to my mom?”
“Dropped around after school to pick up some of your things, make life easier for you. She’s great.”
She eyes me with new suspicion. “What exactly did you two talk about?”
He acts dumb. “Oh, the weather, the Dow Jones, how you got your braces tangled Frenching a kid called Billy back in sixth grade.”
She’s starting to blush, puts her hand up. “I do not want to know. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”
I’m doing my best to suppress a laugh. “Your call, but was she right, about she skating?”
Linnea rolls her eyes. “I haven’t skated in like seven years. I doubt I’d even remember, to be honest.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
I let go of her hand and walk over to the hire desk, jumping the counter and searching the racks at the back. “You about a nine?”
“Ten,” she shouts.
I select a pair of skates and jump back over the counter, walking over. “These should do it. Follow me.”
I can tell Linnea is apprehensive when we enter locker room. She walks in whistling. “Flashy stuff. Have you seen our locker room? It’s basically a spare closet.”
I breathe in the welcome scent of hockey, of Kevlar, ozone, wax, and rubber. “I suppose we do get a fair chunk of the Academy budget.” I open my locker door, showing her what’s inside. “I managed to procure you a full set-up from a friend, think it’s about your size.”
She comes closer, curious now. She takes out the neon pink helmet. “You want me to wear this?”
“I don’t want to give you a concussion”
She laughs aloud, the sound of her voice echoing through the locker room and showers beyond. “You want a bit of one-on-one, do you?”
“I want to see what you’ve got.”
“I did figure-skating, you do realize, and only for a few months.”
I hand her pants and guards, piling it all up in her arms until she’s teetering there before me. I place a spare cup on top out of habit.
“What’s that for?” she laughs. “I know we’re in the men’s locker room, but I didn’t grow a dick overnight.”
“You don’t want to protect your lady parts?”
“I won’t be needing no damn pussy protector, no.”
I take it away and toss it back into the locker. “Suit yourself. Now, you need a hand getting into that stuff?”
“I’ll manage.” With that she heads over to the changing bench.
Got to say, it’s fun watching her strip down. She leaves her shirt and pants in a haphazard pile. It becomes far more amusing after that watching her trying to work out how the myriad of guards go together.
I walk over fully kitted. “Here, allow me.”
I fix her shoulder pads, get her garter into position. She’s laughing, half toppling over as we try to wrangle her socks on.
“Do I really have to wear all this stupid shit?” she says.
“The socks cover the shin guards. It’s a required part of the uniform.”
“By the time we get this damn thing on our hour’s going to be up.”
Ten highly painful minutes later we’re ready to go. Linnea looks adorable suited up in pink and white. I’m half tempted to forget the hockey and strip her back down.
She sees the way I look at her. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I can’t help smiling. “What’s that?”
“You wish I was wearing just the jersey, don’t you?”
I lick my lips, using my stick to support myself. “Something like that.”<
br />
She looks down at my crotch. “What’s it like getting a boner wearing one of those things?”
“Good question. Let’s just say you pitch the tent up rather than out.”
She nods to the locker. “Pass me a stick and let’s see if I can get you hard then.”
I reach in and take out one of my spare sticks, tossing it across the room. She catches it in one hand.
“Let’s do it.”
We walk out. I hit the ice and sprint off to the far end, looping back in a wide arc, working the toe of my stick on the ice. “You need some h—” But when I look down to where I expect to see Linnea entering the ice, she’s not here.
“…Help?” she finishes, from somewhere behind me. “No, I don’t believe I do.”
She whips past, whacking her stick against my ass.
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that, babe.”
I tuck in and pace after her, but she’s quick. I expected she’d be able to skate maybe at a basic, amateur level, but I wasn’t expecting whatever this is.
She pulls into a tight circle, tapping her stick against the ice. “Come on, big boy. Drop that puck and let’s see what you’ve got.”
I take the puck and drop it, moving it side to side while I approach her. “I don’t think you were being entirely truthful with me, Ms. Marsden.”
She’s smiling. “Like I said, I’m a fast learner.”
She powers forward not showing an ounce of fear. Such is her conviction, I’m forced to shift sideways, the move allowing her just enough reach to snake in and steal the puck. She goes off with it down to the end of the rink, stopping in a spray of ice and slap-shooting like a pro. There’s a sharp thwack as the puck meets the back of the net.
What. The. Fuck.
She retrieves and puck and skates back to me. “Maybe I wasn’t being entirely truthful, no.”
“You Hilary Knight under there?”
“I wish.” She pulls up. “But I did used to play a bit with the boys in school. Roller hockey, but hey, what’s the difference?”
“Uh, a hell of a lot, actually.”
“Hockey is hockey, Nolan King. It’s the competitive spirit that counts.”
“So, let’s make it competitive.”
“First to five?”
“You’re on.” She drops the puck and speeds back off towards the goal.
“Shit,” I mutter, squatting and chasing with everything I have.
I expected to show her my skills, maybe selfishly, yes, but this is going to be an actual workout.
I can’t catch her. She scores and fires the puck back to me, meeting me in the center of the ring, our sticks snapping together.
“Better get moving, pretty boy,” she winks.
This time I’m prepared. I manage to take possession of the puck, a one-eighty around her enough to gain some distance. She pulls on me, coming in from the left, but I manage to skate out and shoot.
“One all.”
It goes like this, tit for tat, until Linnea manages to deflect one of my backhands, saving the goal.
“Come get me!” she calls, laughing as she moves up the inside and scores.
I’m breathing like a flogged fucking donkey, need to take a moment to wipe the sweat from my eyes.
“That’s four-three,” Linnea says, slowing the puck. “One more and you’re mine.” She’s skating up against the wall, yelling, “Come on, you big pussy. Is that all you’ve got?”
More out of habit than any kind of malice, I drop and drive into her side, checking her hard into the glass. She’s lighter than I expect, probably goes a full four feet in the air, skimming the top of the glass, spinning once, before crashing to the ice.
I pull up and see her sprawled there unmoving.
Shit.
I pull off my helmet and dump my stick, come to my knees and slide to a stop beside her.
Her eyes are closed. She looks unconscious.
I slap her cheek. “Linnea. Linnea. You good?”
Fuck. I took it too far.
“Linnea!”
Her eyes open and a smile starts to spread across her face. There’s a spot of blood at the corner of her mouth. She licks it away. “That’s more like it.”
I sit back shaking my head. “Holy shit. I thought I’d really fucked you up.”
She groans and stands up, retrieving her stick. “It would take a lot more than that to put me down. We going to finish this?” she says, finding the puck and pulling it in, standing there in wait.
“All right,” I reply, reaching for my own stick. “But don’t expect me to go easy. This win is mine.”
She looks over my shoulder to the front doors. “I thought those guys weren’t supposed to be in until nine?”
I look back but can’t see anyone. “What guys?”
When I turn back, she’s already burning off down the ice. “Later, sucker!” she calls.
I can’t help laughing, storming after her, just about to catch her before she quite masterfully shovels in her fifth goal, holding her stick up and hollering. “Wooooo! Linnea Marsden takes the Stanley Cup! Hoorah!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh, pulling up beside her.
“What do I win?” she asks.
I press my tongue into my cheek. “What would you like, Your Majesty?”
She sniffs. “Why don’t we hit the showers. We smell like a couple of sewer rats in this get-up.”
It’s not a terrible idea. “Follow me.”
We skate back to the edge of the rink, walking back to the men’s locker room and stripping off our gear. I check the clock on the wall, but we’ve still got fifteen minutes or so before this place is full of eager-beaver reserves.
Linnea’s got her jersey and gloves off, struggling to get her skates free.
“I like the way your face squishes together when you’re concentrating,” I tell her. “It’s cute.”
She pulls at the laces. “I don’t know why you guys have to wear all this crap, and these pants… They’re like something from a nineties music video.”
She’s not wrong.
I take out my cup, placing it into my locker beside Linnea’s clothes and shoes. I couldn’t leave them just lying around for anyone to discover.
“You were going easy on me, weren’t you?” she asks, taking off the last of her guards.
“As a matter of fact, you were kicking my ass out there. Sure you don’t want to switch sports? The women’s team could use some muscle.”
“I’m quite happy with basketball, don’t really like the whole hour ritual of getting ready for a game.”
I stand there in my jocks. “I find it quite meditative, actually. Gives me time to reflect before a game.”
She’s down to her bra on top, standing and turning around, slowly peeling her pants over her backside. “How about you reflect on this?”
My cock grows hard at the sight. She’s wearing a thong, too, her perfect ass cheeks the ultimate invitation.
“A thong, hey? I thought you didn’t go for the girly stuff?”
She turns around in nothing but her underwear. “I thought I’d surprise you.” She reaches back and pulls the thong out of her ass. “Got to say, though, it ain’t the most comfortable of garments. Feels like I’m flossing my asshole every time I take a step.”
I know I wanted to wait, but the need to have her has become too much. I can’t take it any longer. Fuck waiting. Fuck taking my time. I need her now.
She sees the change in my expression as I stalk towards her. “Nolan?”
“I’ve got to have you.”
“When?” she laughs.
“Now.”
“Here?”
‘Where else?”
“Bu—”
My lips are on hers before she can get the word out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LINNEA
I break away breathless. We’re sweating, heaving. “How long do we have?”
Nolan checks his watch. “Ten minutes.”
I kiss him again, hands flat against the solid wall of his chest. My heart’s drumming hard and there’s a flicker of heat lighting up the insides of my thighs that’s close to scorching. We might only have ten minutes, but I’d rather a quickie than self-combustion.
I push myself away from him, each ragged breath forced from my mouth in a harsh rush, breasts lifting and falling in time. I take off my bra, toss it into his locker with the rest of our stuff, and close the door.
I turn and walk backwards until the cold flat of a locker presses against me. In quite a show of contortion, I lift my left leg and scissor my heel against the handle of a locker to the right. I reach down and hook the crotch of my thong aside, conscious of how wet I am already, the slick need building between my legs. “Better get to work.”
Nolan comes against me hard, slamming me against the locker at my back, shuttling his lips to mine and his tongue going deep, an urgency there that’s almost scary. I haven’t seen this determination from him before, this hardline frenzy.
But he’s needed elsewhere.
I place my hands on the top of his head and firmly press him down.
He complies, getting to his knees on the concrete floor and separating the delicate petals of my sex.
I see the honey-coated look in his eyes as he studies me, the way his abs open and accordion below. He looks like a man possessed.
Hungry.
There’s a split second where time hangs before he’s against me. I pull in a choppy breath as his tongue parts the tender lips of my pussy, darting into the hot space beyond. He works shallow and fast, fucking me with his mouth, using every texture and angle at his disposal.
I keep one hand on the top of his head, rocking myself against his face. The other slaps against the locker beside me, the sound loud enough to echo off the walls.
I know the reserves won’t be here for another ten minutes, but there’s a naughty thrill in possibly getting caught I can’t help but keep at the back of my mind. The thought of somebody stumbling in and seeing this—me splayed, naked, against the lockers, Nolan lapping at my pussy like a hungry dog—is nothing short of delicious.
I’ve never done anything like this before; not in public, but Nolan has that effect on me—makes me want to do things I never dreamed of.
