The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  He really, really wanted to hurry, but he fought that back. When she lifted herself and wrapped her long, hot fingers around his cock, he grabbed her wrist.

  “Go slow. You’ll be tighter with the plug in.”

  She bit her lip, her brows drawn together, and nodded. Carefully, she lowered herself until his painfully sensitive head furrowed along slick skin and lodged against the entrance to her body. With a whimper, she slid down the length of his shaft, taking him deep.

  Fuck. She was tight, tighter than ever. The plug narrowed her channel down to an exquisite wet fist.

  “Oh my god,” she gasped.

  He twitched with the urge to move, but held himself in check. She had to set the pace, he knew that, but he’d be damned if he didn’t encourage her along.

  Gently, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her clitoris and with his other hand tapped her plug, nudging it into her body and against his cock.

  “Garrick,” she cried, her body shuddering above him. She threw her head back, her face a mask of ecstasy, and the muscles in her tight channel clamped down on his cock, shocking him as an orgasm roared through her. He held still, his hands clenched on her hips so tightly he feared he’d leave bruises, as Savannah rode out the first waves, each an exquisite pulse of muscles around his cock.

  They hadn’t let up at all when she jerked upwards then plunged, taking his cock into her unbearably tight body with a grunt, her weight forcing him down on the mattress and slamming his plug against his prostate. She did it again, his cock running the length of her clenching channel. Her narrowed eyes homed in on his face, and she took him deep again.

  And again.

  His hands on her hips guided her, urged her up over and over, not stopping her from letting herself fall until she bottomed out, shoving him down onto his plug. Electric shocks shot through him with every bounce, the plug nailing his prostate with unerring accuracy.

  The tension in his balls grew to the point of unbearable, the need for release painful, swelling, almost frightening in its intensity. He gasped her name, begging her for relief. Release.

  Her hands fisted in his hair, her forehead pressed to his as she rode him hard, granting no mercy. He pulled her cheeks apart and shoved at her plug in time with their thrusts. Her shouts grew louder, his hips moving faster, until she screamed, her back bowing, and fell onto him. Stars exploded behind his eyelids as his cock shoved deep into her body, clenched in her tight channel as she came, rocking against him.

  The plug in his ass jammed against his prostate so hard his vision grayed out and his orgasm rolled up and over him, his voice hoarse as he cried out. Their bodies rocked against each other with the power of their release and forced the tip of his butt plug to rub over his prostate time and again, until he thought his climax might be endless, his sanity in question.

  Savannah went completely lax in his arms and he barely had the wherewithal to catch her and roll them to the side together. They collapsed on the heap of pillows, panting, sweaty. Replete.

  Neither moved for a long time, but the little smile on Savannah’s face told him all he needed to know.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Savannah woke to see the sun bright behind the curtains in Garrick’s room.

  Shit. She panicked, sitting up and pulling away from the large warm body curled around her back. Then she remembered there was no game today. And while she should be at work, it wasn’t as though she’d be particularly missed this morning.

  If she even had a job still.

  Sighing, she buried herself against Garrick’s chest and tried to figure out what she was going to do.

  She had enough pride and dignity left to go back to the arena and hold her head high. Not that she looked forward to being fired, but at least she would do it like a grownup with some ethics.

  She cringed. Ethics? Duct taping one of your players’ johnsons to his thigh probably failed to meet the standards set out in the Athletic Trainers Code of Conduct.

  “I can hear you thinking,” Garrick said softly above her. His hand stroked down her back.

  She sighed. It was past time for her to confess. She leaned back to see his face, only getting so far when kept his arms around her.

  “I’m probably going to get fired today.”

  He lifted a distinctly skeptical eyebrow. “You are?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  His skepticism had vanished by the time she finished telling him what happened with Bobby and the ensuing tape job. Now he looked positively murderous. He lay still, digesting her story, presumably unaware of his fierce grip on her hip and shoulder.

  Her ship stung a little, actually, but she smiled when she thought about why. Just the memory made her crave more, her body heating in spite of their serious discussion.

  She wondered if this was what it meant to be sex-addled.

  Oblivious to her rising arousal, Garrick pursed his lips, appearing thoughtful. “You really are god’s gift to tape.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, that’s my superpower.”

  “Not your only one,” he said with a growly voice that made her want to pounce on him.

  “Too bad duct-taping dicks isn’t a job qualification for a good sports trainer. There’s no way Mark can ignore this.”

  “He sure as fuck can’t. Bobby assaulted you!”

  “Garrick, the only person who knows that for certain is me. It’s he-said-she-said. And he’s a player, with a contract, whose father is going to buy the team. I’m fucked.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Mark has to fire me. Hell, I don’t blame him. I’d fire me. And so would you.”

  “You might be surprised. Why don’t you call Mark and ask?”

  “Because I’m not a chicken.”

  “What?”

  “Because I’m not a chicken. I’m not calling. I’m going to the arena and I’m going to face it head on.”

  He nodded and rolled out of bed. “Okay. Let’s go, then.”

  He stalked into the bathroom, naked as the day he was born and not one bit shy about it. As mornings went, the view was unsurpassed. Too bad the rest of her day was bound to be a downhill experience.

  Garrick followed Savannah into the arena parking lot, intentionally leaving his truck a few aisles over from where she parked. They’d already gone to her apartment for her to change out of his t-shirt and sweats. The burnable clothes Bobby had touched were piled in his laundry room, awaiting the next time he fired up his kitchen woodstove, while the fleece was in the trash.

  She marched into the arena, her head high, as if it were just another day at the office. He could only imagine what she was facing—the stares, the results of the gossip overnight, her possible termination. It made him mental to be stuck in his truck.

  She had to face it alone. No back-up. No generating new rumors about their relationship by walking in together. He understood the reasons, even if he hated the outcome.

  After fifteen minutes, he got out of his truck, thankful no one had seen him sitting there. His phone was in hand, so he could pretend to be stuck on a call as an excuse for loitering in his car. He was about to shove it into his coat pocket when it started to buzz.

  He didn’t recognize the number.

  “Garrick LeBlanc,” he answered, using his best this better be good or I’m hanging up voice.

  “G.”

  Jack had called him that since they were kids. Garrick knew Jack’s phone number. This wasn’t it.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Not important.”

  Tension knotted in his belly. “Please tell me you’re being careful.”

  “The Sugar Shack,” Jack said impatiently.

  “What?”

  “The Sugar Shack. On Robinson.”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t know, I just thought you’d like it there. Have a drink. Enjoy the atmosphere.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

  “Okay, thanks for the tip. I’ll check it out.”
>
  “Now you be careful. Good luck. I’m done.”

  Jack meant he was done helping. It was nothing but a relief to Garrick.

  “Thanks,” Garrick said, not sure Jack heard him before he hung up.

  Garrick stood in the cold wind of the parking lot and mentally kicked himself for asking Jack about the Kramers. If Jack got into trouble, lost his job, it would be Garrick’s fault, and the son of a bitch was way too proud to let Garrick help him. Garrick had tried before.

  Sighing, he shoved his phone into his pocket and went into the arena. He forced himself to walk slowly around the long outer corridor. Eventually he found Rhian, Mike, and Alexei standing outside the trainer’s office.

  Garrick smiled and wondered if she even knew they were there, ready to do battle from the looks on their faces.

  Savannah’s army.

  He stopped to say hello and pretended shock and awe as Mike related the events of the previous evening. The look on Rhian sent him over Mike’s shoulder was comical—he knew Garrick was full of shit since he’d called and asked Rhian to keep an eye on Savannah while he was stuck waiting in the parking lot.

  He didn’t have to fake his surprise when Mike got to the part where he and Alexei had seen and heard enough to back up Savannah’s story. It wasn’t just he-said-she-said after all.

  Thank god.

  The door opened and they turned to watch Mark stalk from Savannah’s office, shaking his head at them loitering outside the door. He didn’t say a word, just marched down the hall toward his office.

  Savannah also stepped out, stopping short when she saw them.

  “Vell?” Alexei’s question—without the Russian accent—was on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Garrick didn’t think he was the only one holding his breath.

  “Aren’t you guys supposed to be in the gym?” Savannah asked with a smile. “As your trainer, I expect you to stick with our agreed-upon fitness plans.”

  Mike smiled. “Still the trainer, huh?”

  Savannah’s smile faded into a grimace. “For now, anyway.”

  Rhian broke protocol and hugged Savannah. Garrick almost laughed at her alarmed expression as he lifted her right off the ground.

  Setting her back on her feet, Rhian beamed down at her while Mike and Alexei patted her back and arm hard enough to practically knock her over.

  “Oh, well, thanks. I, uh…”

  Garrick grinned at her complete loss of words. The guys laughed and turned for the locker room and the gym beyond, leaving them alone.

  She stared at their backs as they disappeared around the bend. “They stood up for me.”

  “I don’t know why you sound so surprised.”

  She shrugged. “I thought you were my only friend.”

  Garrick grinned. “I’m not your only friend, I’m your best friend.”

  Savannah rolled her eyes. “And not too cocky or anything.”

  He tried not to read too much into the fact that she didn’t deny it, but his heart leaped in his chest. Jesus, he was like a teenager with his first crush.

  Then he pictured them in his bed, stuffed full of butt plugs and about to fuck until they lost consciousness.

  Okay, no teenagers here. So maybe he was like a grown up with his first…

  Shit, the first word that popped into his mind wasn’t crush. It was a hell of a lot scarier than that.

  Savannah cocked her head. “You okay?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just remembered something.”

  Her phone saved him from further explanation. The ringtone caught his attention. Who in her life warranted the Olympic Anthem? A stab of jealousy almost made him ask, but his brain caught up with his caveman instincts in time to save the day.

  “I better get that,” she said as she backed through her door.

  “Will I see you later?”

  She paused. The call went to voicemail. “After your workout? Do you want me to look at your hip?”

  He checked the corridor, relieved it was empty. So much for his brain outdistancing his baser urges. “No. I mean, yes. If you would help me with my stretches and check out my hip, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  He checked again. Still clear. “What are you doing tonight?”

  She hovered in her door, biting her lower lip.

  Please don’t let me be back to square one on convincing her we can be more than friends.

  “Nothing.” She moved into her office and tilted her head, indicating he should follow. “I usually spend nights we don’t have games at home catching up on sleep.”

  Certainly a goal that wouldn’t be met if he got his way. He waited, though, hearing the unspoken “but” in her sentence.

  “I guess…” She looked up at him. “I don’t feel safe at home. Alone.”

  Amazing how the urge to punch Bobby in the face could spring up at any time. “Come stay with me.”

  “I don’t know. My reputation is already in tatters.”

  “I live in the middle of nowhere. No one will know.” He understood her need for discretion, but they could do this. He was sure of it. “Park behind the house. I’ll cook you dinner.”

  With her nod, hope—and a few other things—sprang to life.

  Savannah sat at her desk three days later and stared at her phone in shock.

  She was a good interviewee. She was comfortable having conversations with people she didn’t know, she was passionate about her work, and she knew her shit.

  But never in her life had she had a phone interview like this. In the course of an hour she’d spoken with three people, all of whom should have been intimidating as hell, but had proven to be kind, easy to talk to, and—if she wasn’t delusional—impressed with her knowledge and experience.

  The results of which meant she was going to Boston for an in-person interview.

  If she hadn’t been sitting in her office, she would have leaped from her chair and whooped like a loon. This was it. The dream. The brass ring. The NHL.

  Gathering the papers scattered on her desk, she tried to compose herself and focus on more immediate tasks. They had a game tonight and her players would be arriving shortly.

  With a sigh, she checked her schedule, knowing whose name would be first.

  Bobby Kramer.

  And Mark, or whoever was assigned to play chaperone tonight.

  For a moment she hoped it would be Garrick. Just as quickly, she forced that hope aside.

  The last three nights at his house, in his bed, had been mind-boggling. The sex was incredible. By all reasonable standards, she should be sated. Replete with vigorous and gymnastic loving. But she wanted more.

  And then there was the time out of bed. The quiet meals expertly prepared, the heated debates between two news junkies, the quiet cuddles on the couch while they zoned out to their common addiction—cop dramas.

  She remembered her first impressions of Garrick. God, she’d been dead wrong. Even more galling, she had pigeonholed him. A hockey player who’d had the unfortunate impulse to ask her out, and she’d socked him into the role of jock, philanderer, and jerk. With the exception of his athleticism, he was none of those things.

  Though, he had quite thoroughly lived up to his reputation as a titan in bed—and then some. Indeed, he was forcing her to revise some beliefs she’d always held about love, lovers, and sex.

  In her experience, there had been only two kinds of lovers—selfish and generous. Now there were three—selfish, generous, and Garrick.

  There was something wholly unique about him. Selfish lovers focused on doing what they needed to get some relief. Generous lovers focused on what she needed to get some relief.

  Garrick was certainly generous. She smiled at the zing tickling up her spine from the ache in her bottom. Very generous. But it was more than finding relief. Or release. Or anything as simple as meeting some goal—hell, imperative—that sprung to life every time she was near him.

  At times he’d stopped their headlong
rush into the abyss to do the most unexpected things. Like last night when he’d rubbed his nose, just the tip, soft as velvet, down her rib cage, twisting from her shoulder blade, tucking under her arm to the sensitive flesh over her ribs, and dipping into her waist and over the bump of one hip. The trip had been slow. His touch firm. Just the memory of his smile made her shiver. Eyes closed, lips curled. It had been so soothing and erotic. But it hadn’t been for her benefit. At least, not hers alone.

  She’d felt…cherished. And he was sweet. He did something like that every time they were together. He wasn’t courting her. What would be the point when she was already sprawled naked beneath him in his bed? She was writhing, begging with word and deed for him to do as he pleased. And what seemed to please him were these simple acts of…affection.

  She’d cared for lovers before. Heck, she’d been in love with Doug in college. He’d been a good lover, often generous, sometimes selfish. She’d been selfish sometimes, too. But Doug hadn’t touched her just for the pleasure of the connection, to simply enjoy the touch, had he?

  Sitting there, staring at her corkboard, she couldn’t remember a time he had. Nor a time she’d touched Doug with nothing more than the need to express her feelings, how she cared for him. They’d been young. Driving toward release, maybe even thinking about the next one after that.

  Garrick was different.

  Which royally sucked since she had to leave town. Soon. She’d have to arrange to go to Boston for a few days next week after they got back from their three-day road trip.

  It was probably for the best, since some distance would help clear her head. She had to stop her growing addiction to Garrick before it really took hold. Three days on the road would help, being in the hotel and not his house. Living with the team and not just each other. Then Boston. Three days on her own, with no Garrick, no mind-numbing sex, just her career and future to hold her focus.

  Because Bruins or no Bruins, she was leaving Moncton and the Ice Cats.

  And Garrick.