Big Puck (a hot hockey romantic comedy) (Size Matters Book 6)

by Blake Wilder

  Alex licked me again before lifting his head. “Are you nuts? Wish I’d noticed this side to you in high school.”

  I snorted, the sound cut short when he nipped my clit with his teeth. “Oh my God.”

  He pressed his tongue inside me once, twice, three times. Then he replaced his mouth with his fingers, driving two deep. “I should have taken you to homecoming.”

  “Yeah, right. No way I would have gone with you with that fat lip. You looked like hell.”

  He bit my clit again and I was struggling to speak, my heart racing. Then I recalled graduation. “Besides, back then, you always had your hand up Missy’s skirt or Rhonda’s or...”

  “Point taken,” he murmured, his breath hot on my pussy.

  “I wasn’t a blip on your radar.”

  “I was an idiot.” He backed that assertion up by adding a third finger to the first two, his thumb rubbing my clit.

  My back arched, pleasure coursing through me. I still couldn’t believe how quickly he managed to push me to the edge. “Don’t feel too bad,” I joked. “There was no way I was adding my name to your list of conquests back then. It was one thing to hear your locker room talk. It would have been something completely different if it had been m—fuck me.” He curled his fingers inside, found that spot that drove me absolutely insane.

  “You were saying?” he asked, his smug grin proving he knew what he was doing to me. I couldn’t remember my name, let alone whatever it was we were talking about.

  “Oh, Alex.” My pussy clenched and I came, loudly. “Holy shit.”

  Alex stood up as I lay on the couch, boneless. While I didn’t have two functioning brain cells to rub together, Alex wasn’t quite ready to end our chat.

  “I wasn’t that bad, Charley.” He stripped off his pants and boxers, pulling his T-shirt off by reaching behind his neck with one hand and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. The man was the definition of built.

  I stared at him.

  “Tell me I wasn’t that bad back in school,” he taunted, stroking his thick, hard dick in his big hand.

  My wits were returning. So was my competitiveness. I raised one disbelieving eyebrow. “Not that bad?” I asked, my tone pure “you must be kidding”

  “Jesus. Eight years later and you still don’t let me get away with anything.”

  “My eyes are wide open when it comes to you, Alex Stone,” I teased.

  “Good,” he said, climbing over me on the couch, caging me beneath him as he took my cheeks in his hands. “Keep them open. I want you to remember exactly who it is you’re with.” He kissed me, a soft, glancing touch that wasn’t nearly enough. “Who you’re married to.”

  I laughed softly. “For now.”

  If I hadn’t followed his orders, hadn’t kept my eyes open, I would have missed the slight narrowing of his eyes, the flash of emotion that was there for an instant, then gone again as he slid inside me, slowly, deeply.

  And that was when I realized I was done for.

  Twenty-four hours in and I was completely in love with him.

  Shit.

  Eleven

  Alex

  I finished lacing up my skates, grinning as Charley slid up and down the ice, dribbling the puck in front of her with ease.

  Maybe she hadn’t played lately, but it was clear she hadn’t forgotten a thing. Her love of the game radiated from every part of her.

  I didn’t realize how long I’d been standing there, leaning on the wall, watching her, until she skidded to a stop right in front of me.

  “Intimidated?” she taunted, her eyebrows lifted, an outright challenge.

  “You sure you don’t want to set some friendly rules? I mean I don’t mind teaching you a lesson about biting off more than you can chew, but if you want to beg for mercy…now is a good time.”

  I’d reserved the rink for two hours, requesting that we have the entire place to ourselves. Because of several donations I’d made, Max, the owner, was only too happy to oblige. We’d stopped by his place for the key and now we were alone in our own personal mecca.

  Charley took advantage of our privacy, reaching out and running her hand over my cock. Two firm strokes and she had me at half-mast and rising fast.

  “I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you’ve got.”

  She stroked me a few times more, then spun away from me on the ice, slapping the puck a good fifty feet and sinking it in the net.

  Charley laughed as she went to retrieve it, leaving me by the wall fighting like the devil to will away my hard-on.

  “You’re a cheater.”

  My comment only made her laugh louder.

  Charley brought the puck to center ice and the two of us squared off for one-on-one.

  For the next hour, the two of us battled up and down the ice, and while I’d seriously expected to kick her ass, Charley was as fierce an opponent as she’d been when we were kids. Though these days, she was employing some pretty devious means to ensure she stayed in contention.

  I’d spent the entire time, grimacing in pain as I tried to skate with an erection that wasn’t going anywhere. Every time I managed to get myself under control, Charley would stroke my dick or my ass or brush up against me with her tits.

  One time, in the middle of a fight for control of the puck behind the net, she pressed her ass against my crotch, wiggling it seductively, suggestively, distracting me enough that she managed to steal the puck and score.

  We’d matched each other goal for goal.

  We were sweaty, red-faced, breathing heavily.

  And tied.

  “Last one?” she asked as we faced off in the center of the ice.

  She’d played hard, played to win.

  But for the first time in my life, I didn’t care about coming out on top in the game.

  “What will you give me if I concede?”

  Charley straightened up, clearly shocked. “What?”

  I dropped my stick and reached for her. “What will you give me if I concede the game, Charley?”

  She frowned, struggling with my question. “You never concede.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. So make it worth my while.”

  Charley was bold, beautiful. Fearless.

  She let her stick fall to the ice next to mine. Then she sank to her knees.

  Our hands brushed against each other’s as we worked together to free my cock from my pants. I’d been too hard for too long.

  I didn’t bother to hold back my groan of relief the second the constricting pressure from my pants was gone.

  Then I groaned again when Charley took the head of my dick in her mouth.

  This wasn’t going to last nearly long enough.

  “Charley. God. Sweetheart.” I gripped the sides of her head, pressing myself deeper. I prided myself on my control, my sustaining power. With her, I lost all control.

  Charley didn’t seem to mind. She shivered when my hands closed and I fisted her hair tightly. She had a similar grip on my hips, her fingers digging into my pants, seeking purchase.

  “Jesus. Yeah.” I shifted my hips faster, my blood on fire, my desires drowning out every instinct that might have warned me to slow down, take it easy. I took her hard, some primal need roaring in my head, telling me I had to claim her, possess her, keep her.

  She was the steadying influence, more stable with her knees on the ice, while I slid back and forth on my skates.

  I’d played hockey for most of my life, learning to skate about three minutes after I learned to walk. Every important moment in my life had taken place on a rink.

  But nothing that had ever happened before held a candle to this.

  Between Charley, the ice, the game we’d just played…

  “Fuck,” I yelled out, coming in hard bursts that proved just how long I’d been riding the edge of this storm.

  Charley stilled and held me in her mouth until I managed to pull myself together.

  “Sweetheart,” I murmured, releasing her hair,
stroking her face gently.

  She sat back on her ankles, and for a moment, I felt guilty. She had to be cold.

  The guilt faded when she looked up, her face pure victory.

  The Alex I’d been before this week would have hated that expression, would have taken it as a challenge to renew the game, to keep playing, keep fighting until the victory was mine.

  But that Alex wasn’t here anymore.

  Instead, I reached down to help her stand, wrapping her in my arms, holding her close.

  “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” I teased.

  She laughed as she pulled away enough to lift her face to mine. “The idea of giving you shit about this would be more satisfying if you didn’t look like the cat who ate the canary.”

  I chuckled and kissed her forehead. “It was a hell of a blow job.”

  “Dammit.”

  I awoke and glanced around the living room, then at my watch. It was just after midnight. Charley and I had come back to her place after our hockey game, and she’d made a big pot of spaghetti and garlic bread. After which, we’d hit the couch, clicking on some rom com she’d been wanting to see.

  I looked over and realized she’d fallen asleep too.

  I’d been back in Wisconsin four days, and so far, we’d seen our parents—and Bella—twice, both of us slipping off our wedding rings before leaving the apartment. As far as both of our families were concerned, we’d reunited after eight years in Vegas, then hooked up at the wedding. Bella referred to me as Charley’s rebound guy, then pulled me aside, warning me to keep the affair short, and promising retribution if I hurt her best friend.

  I tried not to take offense in Bella’s comments. After all, my track record when it came to romance and relationships was…well…nonexistent.

  As crazy as it was to admit, these five days with Charley were the longest I’d ever spent with any woman—the previous record was three days and that was only because I’d gotten snowed in—fucking blizzard—with Rebecca, and while the bloom had been of the rose by day three, I’d figured it was better to keep fucking her, considering the alternative meant talking to the boring woman. I’d followed the first snow plow out, driving on treacherous roads, just to get away from her.

  While I tried to tell myself Bella was right to have concerns, it still chafed when she acted like I was a total dick.

  Charley was different from my usual hookups because she was a friend. A friend—and wife—who knew the deal.

  She’d agreed to a two-week honeymoon. Fourteen days. Five were already gone, which meant we were now in single digits.

  With Rebecca, I’d been watching for the snow plow.

  With Charley…I was dreading the end.

  “We must’ve fallen asleep,” she said, her voice quiet in the dark room. The only light came from the television.

  “Movie was shit,” I murmured.

  She snickered. “So much for your romantic side.”

  I reached out and she took my hand, letting me pull her toward me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, loving the way she nuzzled into me. Everything with her felt so easy and natural.

  “I’m romantic,” I said, feeling as though I should defend myself. Her words, combined with Bella’s warnings, were getting to me.

  Charley, who never let me get away with anything, laughed.

  “Seriously,” I protested.

  “Fine. What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?”

  Only one thing popped into my mind, but it wasn’t something I was willing to say out loud.

  I figured the most romantic thing I’d ever done was whisking her off to that chapel in Vegas, giving her the wedding of her dreams. Even if it was just for shits and giggles and not the real deal.

  “I…” Dammit. I really couldn’t think of anything else.

  That probably wasn’t a good thing.

  “Wow,” Charley teased. “Don’t strain so hard, Alex. You’ll break your brain.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to reveal my lone romantic act just to teach her a lesson, but Bella’s warning drifted through my mind once again.

  I’d be smarter to start pulling back a bit, trying to find a way to put some more distance between me and Charley.

  “Very funny,” I said, standing up and stretching. Charley followed suit. “We should probably head to bed.”

  “To sleep or to…”

  She let me fill in the blank. Charley was the only woman I’d ever been with whose sexual appetite matched mine. She was as insatiable as me. Hell, she might be even more insatiable.

  And as tempting as it was to drag her back to her bed and lose myself in her body, tonight I craved something different.

  Something that felt infinitely more dangerous.

  “Get a handle on yourself, sex maniac.”

  I took her hand, and the two of us stopped by the bathroom to brush our teeth.

  She grinned at me through our reflections in the mirror, the casualness of our actions, the way it felt right when I slid my toothbrush into the cup next to hers when we were finished, shaking me to the core.

  We made our way to the bedroom, both of us stripping off our lounge pants and tees. We slept naked.

  Crawling beneath the sheets—me on my side, her on hers, another thing that felt right—I pulled her close once more. Charley rested her head on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my waist.

  Neither of us sought to do more than that, content to simply share each other’s space.

  It was companionable.

  Comfortable.

  Romantic.

  I closed my eyes, trying to shut down this unfamiliar feeling.

  I couldn’t be in love with Charley Matthews.

  Could I?

  Twelve

  Charley

  I caught the football and managed to dodge two of Alex’s brothers before his twelve-year-old nephew, Mike, grabbed the flag from my back pocket.

  I’d been around the Stone family all of my life, which meant I knew exactly how cutthroat their flag football games were.

  Actually, for a lot of years, they played tackle. The flags were only added in the last few years, after Alex’s oldest brother, Reggie, broke his arm one summer during the game.

  From that point on, Mrs. Stone insisted they would play flag football at her summer picnics or they wouldn’t play at all.

  It was funny to see Alex, and his equally gigantic brothers and father, bend to the will of Mrs. Stone, who was five foot nothing.

  Despite being stopped by Mike, I’d managed to move the football a fair distance down the yard. One more good pass and we’d score.

  Alex was quarterback to my running back. We got in the huddle with his father and Bella’s boyfriend, Josh. “Okay. This is it. I can smell the burgers, which means this is our last play of the game. We score. We win. Same play, Charley.”

  Josh started to protest. “Why do you keep throwing to her?”

  Alex shot Josh a “really?” look. “Because, unlike you, fumbler, she knows how to catch the ball and score.”

  Josh grumbled. “I only fumbled twice. Besides, blame your sister. That top of hers—”

  “Josh,” Mr. Stone said. “You’ve dated my daughter long enough to understand that in this family, it’s sports first. Save your ogling until after we’ve wiped the floor with those guys.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Stone,” Josh said.

  I loved Alex’s family. They all spoke just two languages—sports and sarcasm, and they never took anything too seriously.

  They’d always included me in pretty much everything they did, piling me into their station wagon along with Bella and Alex whenever they went on ice cream or Happy Meal runs. As an only child, I’d always been covetous of the craziness, the loudness, the endless siblings/playmates the Stone family offered.

  Glancing over, I saw a scene that was as familiar as my own face. Of Mrs. Stone and my mom—who had been best friends since before I was born—setting out t
he food, while Bella and my dad flipped the burgers at the grill. Alex had six nieces and two nephews, running through the sprinkler, laughing and squealing loudly.

  This was the first year Alex and I had made it home for his mom’s summer picnic at the same time in eight years. The first four summers, I’d spent my entire summer break serving as a camp counselor. Then the next two years, Alex had missed due to NHL obligations. Last year, I missed because Ben and I had taken a trip to Niagara Falls.

  This summer, we were all back together again. Something that seemed to please my mom and Alex’s too much. I’d caught the two women glancing over at us constantly, hopefully.

  I felt bad about misleading them, making them believe that what Alex and I were doing would last beyond the end of next weekend.

  Then I realized I was really screwed.

  Because there was a very large part of me that felt as hopeful as they did. Alex had remained with me the entire week, and this morning, we spent an hour or so packing for my trip to Baltimore with him.

  With each passing day, I worried less about him calling things to an end early and instead allowed myself to look forward to the trip to Maryland, the exhibition game, the fancy shindig where I’d get to rub elbows with some of my favorite players.

  So yeah.

  Screwed.

  “What’s taking so long?” Reggie called out. “Come take your ass-whooping like real men.”

  I laughed when no one bothered to correct Alex’s brother about my presence in the huddle. In the Stone family, I was destined to forever be “one of the guys.”

  Except that tradition was broken when we started to take our places in the formation.

  Alex reached for my hand, tugged me toward him, and…kissed me.

  It was a pretty bold show of affection, something we’d kept safely hidden away in my apartment. And there wasn’t a soul in the backyard who hadn’t seen it.

  Now that I thought about it, it felt like all eyes had been on us ever since we’d arrived a couple hours earlier.

  My mom and Mrs. Stone actually high-fived and Dad must’ve made some funny comment about us because Bella rolled her eyes and laughed.