Instacrush: A Rookie Rebels Novel

by Meader, Kate

  She was Elle.

  But that girl wasn’t enough, not when she came with all that baggage. When Preston said his family would never accept her, he’d meant he would never accept her. He’d always be looking over his shoulder waiting for the knife to plunge between his shoulder blades. He wouldn’t fight for her and she wouldn’t beg. No guy was worth that level of humiliation.

  But she’d learned one thing. She did better on her own. She’d enlisted in the army because it was the easiest way to get away from the clan, her version of “get thee to a nunnery.” They couldn’t use her there, and in the meantime, she could even out the harm they were doing to the universe in whatever con they were running.

  Those painful memories immunized her against the virus of feels attacking her body. She looked up to find Theo staring at her, waiting for her to say yes.

  * * *

  Theo studied Elle—something he found himself doing a lot—trying to puzzle her out. He knew so little about her and he was trying not to go full-scale Theo on her very fine ass. But having her at the first game was important to him.

  The secrecy was really starting to piss him off. Since finding out about his sister/mom, and then having that shit show compounded by Bio-Dad being a complete asshole, Theo had determined his life would be lived out in the open. No secrets. No hidden agendas. Yet Elle wouldn’t let him be, well, Theo. He understood that he might not be her ideal mate. She was probably embarrassed by him—he got that. Sometimes he said the wrong thing or blurted out the first notion that entered his brain. He was trying to do better, make her less ashamed to be associated with him.

  Only now she was giving him this BS about no one believing they’d be a couple by choice and booze or bad lighting had led to them getting busy. Never mind that every morning he woke up dreaming of slipping between her gorgeous thighs and burying his cock balls-deep. Christ knew he’d rather be fantasizing about someone who might actually be interested in him and wasn’t so anxious to hide their connection.

  Take today’s dick-springing look, a light blue T-shirt with a low-plunging V. It shaped her breasts snugly, probably because they’d increased—in his professional opinion—by at least two cup sizes since she’d become pregnant. Lush and ripe, they were the perfect spank bank material. He’d be making a withdrawal later for sure.

  His cock stirred in excitement, and that annoyed him. Infuriated him, to be honest. Because she was standing there thinking and saying ridiculous shit about not being in the same league as him.

  “You remember Christmas Eve? Remember what happened?”

  “I’m not likely to forget.”

  “Well, that happened because I thought you were the sexiest woman on the planet.”

  “Theo—”

  “Hear me out, Ellie. You seem so sure no one would believe I’d be with you, yet it happened. We happened. The sex was amazing. Hot and dirty enough to earn a T-rex rating.” He pointed at her. “Which is a sex rating scale I just made up! What I’m trying to say is that you turn me on. Then and now. I understand you don’t want to complicate things with sex but I just need you to know that Blue Balls City is not a great place to visit.”

  She licked her lips. Jeez. Us. Stop. “I—I know you must be frustrated.” She sounded pretty frustrated herself, but maybe that was wishful thinking. “If you need to … with someone else …”

  That was her takeaway from his gut-spill? “Told you I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, you said. But …”

  “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be with anyone else. I’m dealing with it. Solo.”

  “Oh. I see.” Did she? Did she see that his dick was making a herculean effort not to punch a hole in his sweatpants? And did her nipples just pop like nubs of sweet candy against her bra?

  “You’re staring,” she murmured.

  “Your breasts look fantastic.” Yep, he’d said that, but it was the God’s honest truth. Her tits did look amazing, ripe and plump and the prefect shape for his mouth. Just looking at her was enough to place his boner on his top five boners list. He opened his mouth to apologize, then clamped it shut again. Why should he apologize for telling it like it is?

  “They do?” A breathy gasp. She looked down at them. “They’re sore.” She bit her lip, and was that his imagination, but did she squeeze her thighs together? Give him strength.

  Boner list, climbing to top three.

  He moved in closer. “You okay, Elle?”

  “F-fine.” Her breathing had picked up.

  “You sure?” He fisted the kitchen island counter, either side of her. His dick was cocked and loaded but he leaned back so as not to touch her with any part of his anatomy. Let her see what she did to him. “I saw you rub your thighs together. I can see your beautiful nipples poking through that too-thin shirt. They must be so hard and sensitive to be visible through your bra.”

  “Cheap material,” she muttered, her tongue darting out for a quick swipe of her lips.

  Boner now making a run for the gold medal.

  “What do you need right now, Ellie?”

  “Need?” She took a juddering breath. “You’ve got all my needs covered, Theo. You’re so good to me. Too good.”

  He shook his head. Slowly. Then inclined his mouth closer to hers. “There’s so much more I can do for you.” Her breath was a hot puff of want against his lips. “So many needs I can fulfill.” But more than just physically. He was beginning to realize that Elle needed verbal assurance that she was worthy of his attention, his care, and his all-consuming desire. “I meant what I said before. You turn me on so fucking much. This hard-on has your name on it, no one else’s.”

  She moaned against his mouth, her lips parted, and he took what belonged to him. For a second, he wondered if he’d made a mistake but she clutched his shoulders and opened for him, giving him a taste of the sweetest, most forbidden fruit.

  Elle Butler’s kiss.

  So much had passed between them since the last time. A life had been created, their worlds had collided and joined. A ragged, uneasy union.

  With his hands on her hips, he guided her back to the sofa, a few feet away in the open-plan living room.

  “Theo, are you sure you want—”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Right now, I’m just going to make you feel good, Ellie. This is all about you.” He hooked his fingers in her pajama bottoms and inched them down. “But you need to ask for what you want. I’ll give it to you, but I need you to tell me clearly what you’re desperate for.”

  Confusion marred her features for a moment, bafflement at being given a choice. He’d seen that same expression the day she told him about the baby. Somehow she was used to being railroaded into decisions without heed to her desires.

  Not today.

  She pushed her flannel PJs down and sank into the sofa. “I need your touch. I need—”

  The words cut off as his fingers found her wet and wanting. She closed her eyes, gave a short head shake, then finished, “I need … that.”

  She’d been about to say something else, something more revealing. No problem, he could wait.

  His fingers delved, swirled, sought her secrets. Who are you, Elle Butler? Why am I so drawn to you? He knelt in between her legs and pushed her thighs wider. All that soft, pink, soaking flesh pulsed beneath his fingertips.

  “Scoot forward a bit, Ellie.”

  She did, a couple of inches, her thighs falling open and providing even more access. Avidly, his fingers separated the folds of her sweet, pretty pussy. He thumbed over her clit and got a gratifying surge of her body in return.

  “That’s too—too—”

  “Too much? Too soon?”

  She nodded. Perfect, because he wanted to make it last, edge her pleasure, before flinging her off the cliff. Mostly he wanted to watch as she tumbled over.

  He resumed touching her everywhere but that bundle of sensitive nerves. Her hip swivel was sexy. Her little moans were sexy. That lip bite … so sexy. Everything about her was making
him harder than the ice he’d be skating on tonight.

  “Take off your shirt, Ellie.”

  She peeled it off, and his balls filled at the sight. Gorgeous, ripe flesh overflowing the cups, the dusky pink nipples half exposed and begging for his mouth.

  “Jesus, you’re so beautiful. I’ve been dreaming of this.” Silky wetness flooded his fingers. “Pop one of those pretty tits out. Get it ready for my tongue.”

  Just a flick of her hand was enough to free her breast from the cup, and she held the spilled, abundant flesh, almost in wonder that it felt so good to offer it to him.

  His mouth closed over the nipple, and she groaned her pleasure. “Theo. Oh, God, that’s …”

  Yes, it was. He stroked over her clit, softly at first, then with more pressure. She grabbed his shoulder for leverage as she came all over his hand. Her body bucked as he sucked her breast and finger-fucked her to earn a second, longer orgasm.

  After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, blinking slowly like she was coming back after a long trip away from reality. He was glad he could do that for her.

  He collapsed on the sofa beside her. She reached over to rub his erection through his sweats.

  He groaned at her perfect touch. “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, a gentle ferocity in her tone. She looked a little undone, one lovely tit uncapped, the rosy nipple still damp and peaked. Her hand around his cock was the definition of care and pleasure. But the nicest thing about it was her warm gaze, face to face, connecting in a way that told him this wasn’t his imagination.

  While she stroked, getting rougher at his urging, he cupped her jaw and drew her in for a kiss. She tasted like sweet cream and strawberries, like soft woman and strong warrior. It didn’t take long. He exploded in thick, ropy bursts over her stomach and breasts, marking her as his once more.

  A while later, he asked, “Okay if I nap here? I usually do around this time.”

  “Sure.” She pulled a throw blanket over their bodies and wrapped an arm around his torso. The press of her breasts against his side was exquisite, all warm, willing woman. He loved that she cuddled him without hesitation, as though this was her first instinct. One she’d been fighting since the beginning.

  “You want us at the game tonight, Theo, then we’ll be there. For every game you need us.”

  Us. The sweet sound of progress. He closed his eyes and passed into untroubled sleep.

  16

  “Hey, how did you get in here?”

  Elle turned sharply at the sound of the voice, only to find a grinning Jordan.

  “Hey, lady,” Elle murmured, then lowered the volume even further. “I’ve been invited to the owners’ box by Theo. He said he wanted his kid to be here at the start of any potential cup run. You know, idiot dad stuff.”

  Jordan’s mouth curved. “Ah, that’s so sweet. He’s going to be the fun parent.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be the horror-freak disciplinarian. I already see how this is going to play out.”

  “So, how are you feeling, friend?” Jordan squeezed Elle’s arm.

  “Good, actually. Great.” She leaned in. “So, can you tell I’m carrying a genetically-enhanced super child?” She’d worn her baggiest hoodie, but she felt like everyone had to know with even the most cursory of glances.

  “Not at all. You look—”

  “Hi, Jordan.”

  They both turned to a woman who looked vaguely familiar: dark-haired with pink overtones and green eyes glittering with humor.

  “Hey, Violet,” Jordan said. “This is Elle Butler. She has an invite to the executive box tonight. Elle, Violet Vasquez-St. James is one of the team owners.”

  “In name only,” Violet said. “Normally, I wouldn’t be here, but Bren’s pretty excited that the Rebels are back in the playoffs, so I’m doing my bit for team spirit. Ra ra.” She smirked at Elle. “I’m not a big hockey fan.”

  “Neither am I,” Elle said, taken off guard.

  Violet sized her up, and Elle got the impression she was suddenly more interesting to the woman before her. “Sounds like there’s a story there. Let’s share our hockey hate in the box together. Later, Jordan. Go do whatever you hockey lovers do.”

  Oh, nuts. Elle had now drawn attention to herself in the worst possible way. A grinning Jordan took her leave (snake!) and headed into the press box.

  “I mean, of course, I like hockey,” Elle said, scrambling to amend her previous statement. “Actually, I’m a friend of Levi Hunt’s. We were in the army together.”

  “Grumpy Hunt? Nice. And you were in the military? Sounds like you’re one tough chick.”

  The owners’ suite was crowded, but a man of the exceptionally hot, bearded, and tall variety came forward the moment they stepped inside. Gathering Violet close, he landed an X-rated kiss on her mouth.

  “Nessie,” Violet murmured when he let her up for air. “I was only gone five minutes.”

  “Seven,” he said, oblivious to Elle. Must be nice to have a guy who was blind to everyone but you the minute you walked into a room.

  She mentally punched that thought back in its box. She didn’t need that. Though waking up in Theo’s arms a few hours ago had been about the sweetest moment she’d ever experienced. Even better—by a smidgen—than the feel of that sexy beard against her jaw.

  “Elle, this is my husband, Bren St. James, former captain of the Rebels. Bren, this is Elle, who can’t really decide if she likes hockey or not.”

  “I’m a bartender at the Empty Net. So I see all the players and the games all the time.” Why, brilliant, Eloise!

  Bren stared at her in understandable confusion. When Elle didn’t enlighten him, he asked politely in a distinctive Scottish accent, “Would you like a drink?”

  “A ginger ale? If you have it.”

  “Got it.” He smooched his wife again.

  “Scotch and soda for me, Nessie.”

  He raised an expressive eyebrow and walked away.

  “Come sit over here,” Violet said, already steering her to a row of seats near the windows.

  Looking around, Elle recognized a few of the big shots. Harper Chase, the oldest sister and CEO of the team, cozying up to a broad-shouldered guy with startling blue eyes and well-worn laugh lines. Isobel Chase, the middle sister who sometimes drank in the bar and was married to the team’s captain, the hot Russian, Vadim Petrov. Some of the other faces looked familiar from TV interviews she’d seen while she worked.

  Once they were seated, a gorgeous guy in a gorgeous suit who looked like something out of The Godfather approached and kissed Violet on the cheek.

  “Behaving yourself, tesoro?”

  “Not likely.” Violet smiled at Elle. “Meet Dante Moretti, the Rebels’ general manager. Dante, this is Elle.”

  Dante assessed her with mild curiosity. “Theo’s friend?”

  “Right. He’s a friend. Good friend.” Damn. She should have told Theo to organize this through Hunt. And why did her tongue turn to vulcanized rubber around exceptionally hot men? This guy should be a model, promoting those fancy watches as big as her face or espresso machines that broke after producing one solitary cup. Elle remembered now—Dante was married to Cade Burnett, one of the Rebels defensemen.

  As she had no scintillating conversation to offer, he refocused on Violet.

  “Bren said you were sick this morning. Feeling better? Can I get you something?”

  “He’s getting me ginger ale because I can’t drink for five more months! I must have been crazy to agree to this.”

  The back of Elle’s neck prickled. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yeah, but as is so often the case with this family, it’s anything but straightforward. Meet one of the fathers of my children.” She gestured to Dante. “I’m merely a vessel for the royal bambino. The Italian Stallion here is one of the daddies while Cade’s the other.”

  Oh, she understood. Maybe. “And where does Bren fit into all this?”

  “He’s pa
ying the bills.” She laughed, then laughed more at Dante’s hot frown. “My handsome, understanding husband is on board and is taking very good care of me.”

  “We all are,” Dante said. “Or trying to.” He stroked her cheek and muttered something in Italian before checking a gold pocket watch—who were these people?—and stepping away to talk to Harper.

  “That’s a really nice thing you’re doing,” Elle said.

  “Cade’s my bestie and Dante’s up there, not that I’d ever tell him. We have a frenemies thing going on. They needed someone to donate an egg and carry the kiddo, and I figured, why not?”

  Pregnant by choice to help out two friends? What Elle wouldn’t give to have her life that together.

  Bren appeared with two glasses of ginger ale and handed them off. “I need to find Franky. She said she was going to head down to the locker room.”

  “Want me to come with?”

  “You stay and visit.” He smiled at Elle and went on his way.

  “Franky’s Bren’s youngest daughter,” Violet explained. “She’s thirteen and allergic to everything except much-too-old-for-her hockey players. Bren’s pretty protective of her. Of all of us.” She rubbed a hand over her stomach.

  Must be nice to have that safety net. Not just her husband, but her sisters, Dante, and Cade. A big network she could rely on—or who could fail her. But Elle suspected no one in the Rebels family would let each other down. The bonds were strong. Unbreakable.

  For now, she had Theo, but for how long? This life with uberfans and the threat of injury and trades at the drop of a hat was so uncertain. She felt as though she was out on a sinking raft, buffeted on all sides by waves she had no control over.

  She forced a smile for Violet. “So, how’s your pregnancy going?”

  “Not too bad. A little nausea.”

  “Sour patch candy works well. Or so I hear.”

  Violet smiled. “I’ll give it a shot. So, I thought you were here because you were a friend of Hunt’s, but Dante said you were with Kershaw.”

  “Oh, not with him. He’s just …”