A Bear Goal: BBW Hockey Werebear Mail-Order Bride Romance (Puck Bear Brides Book 3)

by Anya Nowlan

  “I won’t be like that. I promise.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you, just like that?”

  “What do you have to lose?” he asked with a grin. “You’ve already been dumped on national television, could it really get any worse?”

  “Smartass,” she scoffed.

  She glowered at him, but the moment felt right and he knew he’d kick himself if he didn’t go for it now. The little smile on her lips gave him hope she wouldn’t knee him for what he was about to do.

  So he leaned in and he kissed her, praying to the spirits above that she’d just kiss him back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sable

  When he kissed her, it felt like a fireball passed through Sable, starting from the top of her head and then shooting out from the bottom of her feet. It was like San Diego all over again, but three times as hot and she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why that was, but she didn’t exactly care that moment either.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, rung through her head, a silly notion that she quickly discarded because, well… fuck that noise.

  She had a hot hockey bear to do horrible things to and she intended to get to that before her silly brain caught up with her again. Heath seemed to be thinking much the same way, because her tongue had just been shoved into his mouth when his hands were already on the zipper of her winter jacket, pulling it open while throwing his seat back.

  The smooth and efficient way he made that move with the seat told Sable that he’d either been thinking about doing that since she got in the truck with him that morning or otherwise he was far too well versed in the inner workings of the seat mechanics of a Ford F-150. She chose to believe the former and climbed on his lap without a second thought, throwing off her jacket while he shrugged out of his as well.

  It was a flurry of hands and laughs as they tore one another’s clothes off, only parting to stop their kisses when a shirt or a cardigan needed to come off someone’s head. By the way Heath was looking at her, he was more than willing to rip off her clothes with his teeth if he had to. A couple of moments later she was grinding up against him, her pussy soaking through her panties as she dry-humped him like they were teenagers in his dad’s stolen Cadillac.

  It sort of felt like it, too. A little forbidden, a bit frowned upon. The star of one hockey team and a girl who kept the Predators at her fingertips because she controlled their supply lines. The two sides that shouldn’t meet.

  Okay, it wasn’t exactly Romeo and Juliet, the Montagues and the Capulets, but it was close enough and it felt hot.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Sable murmured through a grin as Heath nipped at her lower lip, undoing the clasp on her black sports bra and tossing it over his shoulder into the back seat.

  “Yeah? You think so?” he asked, kissing her chin and then sucking one of her nipples into his mouth, twirling his tongue around the swollen nub stuck between his teeth in a maddening way. “You want me to stop?” he asked, his words muffled slightly by what he was doing.

  “Only if you want your leg broken by the next game. I can kick really hard,” Sable gasped, arching her back.

  Heath chuckled through that but he did as he was told, two hands on her tits now, kneading them and letting them fill his rough palms. Sable reached down between them, loath to put any distance between their bodies, but it was for a good cause, ultimately. She undid the button on his pants and then the zipper, shoving her hand in and grasping his cock through his boxers. He hissed in a breath and she loved the strained growl he gave as she started jerking him roughly, no gentleness between them.

  Heath coiled his hand into her hair and yanked her head down, kissing her roughly. She purred into the violent motion, kissing him raw and hard and loving the way he seemed to be incapable of getting enough of her. That matched how she felt so damn well. She stroked him even harder and desperate hands peeled back the pants, Heath raising his hips so she’d have better access.

  “Take your pants off,” he said, his voice low and dark, and his eyes flashing brown for a moment before returning to the comforting, dazzling green.

  She could see the beast lurking just below the surface, the tension and the power oozing off of him and bathing her in its presence. Sure, there were a lot of similarities she could draw between Heath and Mackey, the tiger ex who as far as Sable was concerned should have been thrown into the ocean and left there, but whatever excuses she made for herself, one thing was true: Heath was better. Or badder. Or whatever, she couldn’t get enough of him and all she knew was that she needed his cock inside of her right now.

  Consequences be damned.

  This has happened before, Sable. You fucking remember it.

  She did. And she didn’t care.

  Sable wiggled into her own seat and kicked off her boots and then her pants, Heath helping her a little as she struggled for leverage in the tight space. His free hand was on his cock, stroking that monster length of his, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of the way his palm rasped over it, flicking at the base of the head and teasing her with it. She wanted it inside of her. Now.

  Her panties were practically stuck to her body because of how wet they were and she let out a little frustrated moan as she pulled them off, her mouth on Heath’s again as he pulled her into his lap and had her hover over his cock for a moment. Their eyes met and Heath grinned, keeping her in place with his hands on her hips, only letting her feel the wide head pushing against her entrance.

  “Did you miss this?” he asked, his voice taunting and the smug look on his face making her want to smack him again like she did in San Diego.

  But she didn’t. Frankly, she felt like the only way she wanted to hurt him anymore was by fucking the daylights out of him, and that was some sort of a huge victory in her mind—closest thing she’d gotten to feeling affectionate toward anyone as of late.

  “Yes, I did,” she whispered, her eyes lidded and her breathing heavier now.

  Her hands roamed his shoulders and chest, admiring the tattoo on his chest and the bulge of his biceps. He had the NSHL logo tattooed on his pectoral muscle and it looked entirely at home there. Hockey was life for these men, but she got the feeling that Heath was looking for something else in his as well. After all, the other side of his chest still needed a tattoo, didn’t it?

  “I did too,” he admitted, and that maddening cockiness was gone all of a sudden as he thrust upward, making her nails dig into his shoulders as she tried to adjust.

  He was just as big as she’d remembered, fitting in only barely at first and needing several strokes before he could fill her all the way on account of her tightness. But she was wet as hell and she’d been dreaming about this moment since San Diego, whether she’d admitted it to herself at the time or not, and by the time she’d taken him in completely, she was grinning like a fool.

  “Fuck, you feel good, baby,” he ground through clenched teeth as Sable started riding him, first slowly, but then her hips bucking into him faster as she got her rhythm set and her mind went blissfully empty of all the doubts and nagging questions.

  He grabbed her ass firmly with one hand and buried his head in her chest, his tongue licking and snaking around her nipples as she bumped up and down on him, her body slicking with sweat as fast as his did. It was starting to seem like they would never get out of cramped spaces for their little stolen moments, but frankly she didn’t care much. With his cock in her she was willing to bend herself into a goddamn pretzel wherever needed if it meant having more of him.

  Sable bit her lip, feeling the heat pooling in the pit of her stomach, one hand now against the roof of the car to support herself and the other tugging at his short, blond hair, liking the way it felt so silken under her touch. Heath started thrusting up into her and the combination of their movements rubbed her clit just right, turning her gasps into squeals soon enough.

  Heath smacked her ass and she burst out in laughter for a moment, only to find her mouth covered by his again and his pos
sessive tongue forced into her mouth. She sucked on it, making him groan and growl at the same time, the sexy sound traveling through her and hitting her right in the core.

  Both hands on her ass now, he started pulling her down against him until Sable was helpless, completely controlled by his desire and riding the wave of it with shallow breaths.

  “Cum for me, baby,” he said, and she was happy to comply.

  With a splitting wail, her pussy clenched around him as he pounded into her, her orgasm bursting through her and making her shudder and shake. She clung to Heath, whimpering into his neck as he speared her on his cock, splitting her open as she came just like he’d asked her to. He joined her release a second later, the last thrust jerky and uncontrolled, with Heath roaring out his relief as he spilled his load in her.

  The two of them practically collapsed, with Sable still convulsing on him as Heath sunk back into the seat, their breaths synchronized and Sable not completely sure whose heart was beating harder and faster. It took a good few minutes before either of them could speak again, but it was Heath who came out of the stupor first, brushing hair out of her face as he kissed her forehead.

  The windows were completely fogged over and Sable noticed a few palm prints she’d left on the glass. She grinned at that. Dirty indeed.

  A stillness came over her as she lay there, in his arms, being held close. And then the harsh coldness of reality slithered through her.

  “This can’t work, can it?”

  Neither one of them could say anything to that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sable

  MakeItPuck: I promise, it won’t even take long ;)

  SanDiegoSuntan: Right. Because it’ll be real stealthy if we both go to the bathroom and then animal moans start coming from said bathroom, right?

  MakeItPuck: I think you put too much faith in your brothers. Doubt they’d be able to figure it out before we were done.

  SanDiegoSuntan: Is this a derogatory comment about your capabilities or a compliment about mine?

  MakeItPuck: Anything that can be read as a compliment should be for the betterment of all werebears around you.

  Shaking her head, Sable put down the phone, making sure the screen was facing the table, and picked up her fork again. She was sitting on the outside end of the booth at Sunrise Diner, having a nutritious evening meal consisting of a burger and some fries along with Cayman, Caleb, and two other teammates. The four of them were deep in conversation, talking about strategies for the third game in a boisterous tone so the Shovelers players two booths down would hear them.

  Sable could see Heath sitting on the corner and every now and then, they’d make eye-contact, he’d grin and she’d frown at him because he was being too obvious. What ever happened to being stealthy? You know, hiding your tracks?

  He’s so going to blow our cover.

  Though she wasn’t entirely clear on what kind of “cover” she meant, considering that they hadn’t been able to see each other since the day of snowmobiling a few nights ago. Since then, they’d been confined to shamelessly texting one another and Heath had braved a whispered phone call to her the previous evening, which had gotten cut short when Jacob pounded on Sable’s door for them to go out to dinner and she’d panicked and hung up.

  The game was in two days and maintaining the status quo was getting harder and harder, especially if she was set to stare at the object of her current desires up close and personal. That white T-shirt that he was wearing was practically clinging to his biceps and Sable’s memory was far too good to lie to her about what he was hiding underneath there. Just the thought of his naked body made her wet and frustrated, which wasn’t the best look for a supposedly well-behaved, staunch anti-Shovelers hockey professional.

  “What do you think, Sable?” Caleb asked her, making Sable look at him sharply.

  “Huh?” she muttered, before biting her tongue.

  Dammit.

  “The hell are you so spacey about lately? Is the fresh air fucking with your brain, sister dearest?” Cayman mocked, grinning as he popped a few fries into his mouth.

  “No, but breathing the same air with you two numbskulls seems to be draining my IQ. How about you guys focus on winning the game so we can get out of here and I’ll worry about… What were we talking about?”

  She couldn’t hide it. She hadn’t been paying attention and frankly she didn’t feel too bad about it. Heath flashed her a grin from his booth, obviously catching onto the aggravated voices coming from the Predators’ booth as a sign of good things. Her phone buzzed and she picked it up for a moment.

  MakeItPuck: You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? I don’t think I can wait until the end of the game, baby…

  Sable was blushing before she knew how to react. Her cheeks lit up with a pinkness and that made Caleb’s eyes narrow, both of her stepbrothers sitting across from her at the booth.

  “We were talking about how if we take Cannon or Heath out, their team will be as good as toast. Their second-string sniper isn’t that good and without the playmaker they’re pretty much shot in the face with their own shotgun. Isn’t this right up your alley, sis? Theories on how to kick some Shovelers’ asses? I thought you were all gung-ho about that, especially the thought of getting that Locklear prick skinned and tanned.”

  “Hey, what’s the point in kicking a man or a team when it’s down, right? It’s obvious they’re going to lose anyway. Their game was completely off at the last match and I don’t think it’s going to get any better with just a week,” Sable said noncommittally, shrugging her shoulders.

  She risked another glance at Heath and the smug smile on his lips told her in no small detail that he knew exactly the kind of effect he was having on her. The bastard.

  There was a moment of silence at the table and Sable didn’t realize why this was before a suspicious-looking Cayman followed the direction of where she was looking, leaning out of his seat and twisting his neck only to find himself eye-to-eye with Heath Locklear. Heath, of course, waved at the guy and blew him a little kiss, which made Cayman’s neck flare red with anger.

  Shit.

  She’d been caught staring and smiling at the Shovelers’ sniper and the look Cayman gave her as he turned back was a mixture of disgust and honest anger.

  “The fuck do you think you’re doing, Sable?”

  “What do you mean?” Sable asked, looking down at her pie and shoving her fork into it in a futile attempt to rekindle her appetite.

  It was cherry pie. Damn good cherry pie. But the flash of anger in Cayman’s blue eyes was enough to drive her desire to eat to the hills pretty much immediately.

  Cayman and Caleb Lynderly weren’t your average werewolves. As a whole, not many werewolves went for hockey, as it favored the bigger, stronger shifters like bears, lions, and tigers, but the Lynderly twins were diamonds in the rough. Or asshats in the rough, but the point remains. While they weren’t the biggest guys on the ice, they were the most vicious ones by far. Several teams had gone on bidding wars to get them ever since they debuted in the college circuits as one of the single best grinder lines ever seen.

  Their style warranted them a lot of timeouts but also a whole lot of pissed-off offensive players whose game got ruined when the Lynderlys were sicced on them. They were amazing to watch, but the problem was their viciousness was not a learned trait for their profession. It was just what they were. Bullies.

  “Little Sable here is making goo-goo eyes at Heath Locklear, two booths behind us. Is that who you’ve been texting with all night, sis? That Shoveler asshole who can barely stand up on his fucking skates?” Cayman hissed.

  “He could stand up well enough when he plowed you and Caleb into the rails during the first game,” she spat back, letting her aggravation get the best of her and her mouth run before her brain could keep up.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  She was not supposed to engage them on this! Sable abandoned the fork and pushed the plate away, her appetite thorough
ly lost.

  “Don’t you fucking start with us, Sable,” Caleb said, joining in. “What have you been doing with that guy? Fucking hell, woman! The regionals are at stake here and you’re cozying up to the guy? Unless it’s to break his kneecaps you better be real fucking careful, girl.”

  Sable looked up sharply, sensing the threat in Caleb’s voice. His eyes were narrowed and both of the twins looked tense and ready to go ten rounds with the first person to cross their way. Solo and Remy, the two other guys who’d joined them for dinner, were watching the exchange with frowns on their faces, but chose wisely to keep out of it. Probably the best thing they could do for their health.

  “Is there a problem here?” Heath’s low, rumbling voice inquired, the big man appearing by the table.

  Of course he’d pick now to come and have a few words. His expression was sullen, his lips pressed tight and he looked worriedly at Sable, who shook her head a little, imploring him to get out before shit really went down.

  “No, we’re fine,” she croaked.

  “Yeah, Locklear. Take a walk before I mash those teeth of yours against the fucking tile floor,” Cayman said, standing up fast and sizing the werebear up.

  The diner went quiet, except for the other Shovelers players standing up from the booth. Sable knew that if she didn’t do something right away, there were going to be a lot of broken faces and arms in the Sunrise Diner in a couple of minutes.

  She flung herself out of her seat and pressed herself between Cayman and Heath, one hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. It was easier said than done because none of the men wanted to budge, with Caleb having risen from his seat as well, his jaw set and his beady eyes scouring for trouble. Sable had no doubt that given the slightest chance, both of her brothers would sock Heath and then a brawl would break out. There were at least eight hockey players at the diner and Sable doubted Cerise, the owner, would appreciate her place of business getting trashed.

  “Heath, please go. We’re okay here. I promise,” she said hurriedly, looking up at Heath.