Sin Bin (Denver Rebels Book 3)

by Maureen Smith

  “Fuck, Jupiter.” He reached behind his head to yank his shirt off.

  She purred appreciatively and ran her hands over his chest, her fingers brushing his nipples and making them bead up.

  He ripped open his zipper and shoved his jeans and underwear down, freeing his rock-hard cock. The way Jupiter licked her lips made him feel primal as he grabbed her hips and dragged her to the very edge of the table. She wrapped her legs around him as he gripped his shaft, guiding the head to her entrance. She was dripping wet, sending a raw shiver through him as he stared down at her flushed face, his precum juices mingling with hers.

  “Better hang on to something,” he warned before thrusting up inside her.

  She screamed his name and threw her arms around his neck, her pointy heels digging into his ass.

  “Oh fuck, baby.” He rocked his hips against hers, plunging deeper as her body welcomed him, her saturated walls easing his penetration. Staring into her lust-glazed eyes, he pulled back slowly, the friction making him groan before he slammed back into her.

  A strangled cry broke from her throat as the table shook beneath them.

  He lowered his eyes, biting the shit out of his bottom lip as he watched his cock disappear inside her pussy with every stroke.

  “Logan,” she moaned desperately. She was achingly gorgeous, so damn sexy and responsive. She completely blew his mind.

  He took her mouth, kissing her hard as he rubbed his thumb over her clit, making her breath catch in needy gasps. His pulse was roaring in his ears, his blood searing his veins. She felt so amazing, so tight and scorchingly hot. He was about ready to explode.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair, his other hand wrapping around her hip and locking her against him. She threw back her head as he sucked on her neck, his hips pumping faster between her thighs. He hammered in and out of her, groaning like an animal as her nails clawed his back and her legs clamped fiercely around his hips.

  The table was shaking harder. It was massive and sturdy, but it might have just met its match.

  “So good,” Jupiter sobbed in ecstasy, arching into him. “Oh God, Logan.”

  He let go of her hair and widened his stance, gripping her thighs as he pounded her against the solid wood of the table. She screamed with pleasure, her breasts jiggling with every thrust. Their sweat-slick skin slapped together, an erotic beat that drove his hunger to fever pitch.

  She shoved her hand into his hair and clutched hard as he slammed their bodies together. He could feel his orgasm building, tightening in his balls. Suddenly Jupiter let out an exalted cry of release and gripped his ass, her pussy clenching almost painfully around his cock.

  Reeling with pleasure, he lost control and jetted furiously into her, shouting her name as he fucked her through his climax, his hips battering hers with enough force to leave bruises.

  That was just the warmup.

  From there they moved to the wall and the poker table, sixty-nining each other on the floor before ending up back at the pool table, fucking with the same frenzied abandon they’d started out with. When they’d wrung an insane number of orgasms out of each other, they collapsed in the center of the table, gasping loudly for breath.

  “Dios mío,” Logan panted. “What a homecoming.”

  Jupiter sighed with utter satisfaction. “Since you’re leaving tomorrow, I wanted to give you a proper sendoff.”

  “You sure as hell did.” He grinned. “Though there was nothing ‘proper’ about what we just did to each other.”

  She let out a naughty giggle. “I bet pool will never be the same for you again.”

  “Hell no. I’m gonna think about this every time I play from now on.” His grin stretched. “Was that your intention? To have me horny and distracted so the fellas can start kicking my ass at pool? Are you a double agent?”

  “I’ll never tell,” she said with an evil laugh as she curled into his side, her cheek resting on his sweaty pec.

  He grinned at the ceiling, sifting his fingers through the damp strands of her hair. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and sex. Every time Jupiter took a breath, her breasts pressed against his side. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep her there all night, screaming his name and coming around his dick. He was definitely pussy-whipped. No doubt about it.

  She ran her hand down to his abdomen, tracing his muscles and raising goose bumps over his skin. “Are you hungry? I made dinner.”

  Chest expanding with appreciation, he kissed the top of her head. “I thought I smelled something delicious when I walked through the door. Of course, I was immediately sidetracked by the sight of you lying on that chaise. Holy shit, Jupe,” he half groaned. “I’m gonna be whacking off to that memory for years.”

  She laughed, her thigh brushing his. Her gorgeous skin glowed under the light that hung above them. She looked like a work of art on the green felt canvas of the pool table.

  He nuzzled her fragrant hair, dragging the back of his knuckles up and down her arm. “Thank you for making dinner, baby. And thank you for staying over until I leave.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” she said softly. “I enjoy being here with you.”

  He was so damn tempted to ask her to reconsider moving in with him. But he didn’t want to press his luck. “I wish you could come to Winnipeg with me,” he said instead. “I’m gonna miss the hell out of you.”

  “I’m gonna miss you, too.” Her voice was wistful. “I hope the days fly by.”

  “Me, too.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and murmured, “Why aren’t you following me back on social media?”

  That startled a laugh out of her. “Um, that was random.”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you. I mean, now that you’re on social media…” He trailed off pointedly.

  She lifted her head so she could see his face. “Do you want the truth?”

  “Of course.”

  She sighed. “I don’t want to see women commenting on your posts and liking your pictures. I don’t want to find myself obsessing over the female attention you get. It’ll drive me crazy, and I don’t need that kind of stress. So it’s best for me not to follow you.”

  Logan nodded slowly, staring down at her. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.” His eyes sank deep into hers. “But I want you to understand that those women mean absolutely nothing to me. You’re the only one for me, Meadow. I mean that with every fiber of my being.” He searched her face. “Do you believe me?”

  She dropped her lashes over her eyes, bit her lip and nodded. “I believe you.”

  “Do you?” He tipped her chin up, forcing her gaze back to his. “Do you really believe me? Or are you just saying what I want to hear?”

  “No.” She licked her lips. “I believe you, Logan.”

  “Good.” He brushed his lips over hers, smiling as he ran his hand down her back and slapped her ass. “Now get in that kitchen and fix me a plate of food, woman.”

  Sputtering with indignation, she smacked him in the chest and quickly sat up, making him laugh as she straddled him and pinned him down by the shoulders. He grinned up at her, enjoying the feel of her body on top of him, her thighs spread across his hips.

  “Now,” she said tauntingly. “What was that sexist mess you were talking?”

  He leered at her breasts. “Nice rack.”

  As she sputtered some more, he rolled to pin her beneath him, making her squeal as he tickled her ribs. Their laughter rang out as they wrestled naked on the table, rolling and tussling and kissing like there was no tomorrow.

  Tomorrow eventually came, bringing the unwelcome reminder that all good things must come to an end.

  That night in Winnipeg, the Rebels’ winning streak ended with a 5-4 overtime loss against the Jets.

  After the game, the mood was grim in the locker room. No one felt like talking as they sat at their stalls, stripped off their soggy equipment and grudgingly took questions from reporters. Their answers w
ere pretty much the same. They credited Winnipeg for grinding out a tough win, acknowledged the energy of the crowd and talked about making adjustments before the next game.

  After the reporters left the locker room, Logan continued undressing so he could hit the showers. He was just about to pull his pants off when someone called his name.

  He turned around.

  And froze in place.

  Lucien Brassard was approaching with Cabe Landrieu and three men who looked like bodyguards.

  Logan stared at his father, his blood boiling with fury so hot he could barely breathe.

  What the fuck is he doing here?

  Landrieu wore a big, pleased grin. Did he know that Lucien was Logan’s father? Or did it only matter that he was one of the richest men in Canada?

  “Logan,” Landrieu said delightedly, “look who flew out from Toronto to see you play.”

  Lucien stepped forward, carefully watching Logan’s face. “Hello again.”

  Logan glared at him.

  “Tough break tonight,” Lucien offered with a rueful smile. “You guys almost had them. It was so close.”

  It galled and infuriated Logan to see the motherfucker wearing his jersey. He wanted to rip it off him and jam it down his throat.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” he snarled.

  Landrieu looked taken aback. “Now, Logan—”

  “It’s all right.” Lucien smiled placatingly at Logan. “We have a lot to discuss—”

  “Like hell we do.”

  A nervous silence swept over the locker room. Logan could see his coaches and teammates exchanging curious glances. Hunter had edged closer to him, sensing the volatility of the situation. Reid and Viggo were frowning, their postures tense.

  Landrieu looked from Lucien to Logan and discreetly cleared his throat. “Why don’t we give you two some privacy?”

  “Good idea.” Coach Bohler looked around the room and gave a sharp handclap. “What’re you guys standing around for? Hit the showers and scram so you can regroup and be back at it tomorrow morning.”

  The players mumbled amongst themselves and shuffled off to the showers. Hunter nodded to Logan, his eyes communicating a clear warning: Don’t lose your cool.

  Landrieu gave Logan one last worried look before walking off with Coach, their heads bent close together.

  Lucien looked at the bodyguards hovering protectively around him.

  “Could you give us a minute?” He spoke in the steely tone of a man used to giving orders and being instantly obeyed.

  His bodyguards balked, eyeing Logan suspiciously.

  Lucien frowned. “I need a private word with my son.”

  The men exchanged uneasy glances.

  “We’ll be right by the door,” the head goon said.

  “Fine,” Lucien clipped.

  As the men reluctantly retreated, Lucien stared at Logan, searching his face for some sign of forgiveness. “I can’t stop thinking about our previous meeting. There’s so much more I wanted to say—”

  “Fuck off.” Logan turned back to his stall, coldly dismissing his father.

  He stubbornly persisted. “I wanted to see you play. But I also came to invite you and your girlfriend to a yacht party I’m having in two weeks—”

  “Not interested.”

  “Your brother and sister will be there. They’d really love to meet you. So would my wife—”

  “Don’t care.”

  There was a pause. “I know you have more questions about your mother. If you come to the party—”

  Logan reacted without thought, wheeling around and punching his father in the face.

  Lucien yelped and staggered backward, grabbing his nose. Logan followed up with a brutal left hook that knocked him flat on his ass.

  Above the roar of blood in his ears, he heard alarmed shouts as the bodyguards came running. Then Hunter and Reid were there, wrestling him away from his father as he yelled furiously, “I told you what would happen if you ever came near me again!”

  Lucien stared up at him in disbelief, holding his hands over his bloody nose.

  Coach came hurrying back into the room as Lucien’s bodyguards helped him to his feet, fussing and fretting over him.

  “Jesus Christ,” Coach exclaimed in dismay. “What the hell happened?”

  “Your prized attack dog assaulted Mr. Brassard,” the head goon said accusingly.

  “Stop being dramatic.” Lucien snatched a handkerchief from the man and wiped his gushing nose, still eyeing Logan somewhat incredulously. “I know you’re hurting—”

  “I warned you!” Logan growled. “I fucking warned you!”

  When the head goon took a threatening step toward him, Lucien grabbed the man’s arm to stop him. “It’s okay.”

  “Sir—”

  “I said it’s fine!” Lucien snapped.

  The man scowled at Logan, then at Hunter and Reid who were holding him back. “Better keep a leash on your boy.”

  “Fuck you!” Logan shouted, struggling to break free of his friends’ grasp.

  “C’mon, man. Chill out.” Hunter shot a warning glare at Lucien. “You should go.”

  Lucien lowered the bloody handkerchief from his nose and stared at Logan. “You still have questions about the past. I can give you the answers. But you have to come to my party. That’s my stipulation.”

  “Stay the fuck away from me!” Logan roared. “You hear me? Leave me the fuck alone or I’ll kill you!”

  Regret flickered in his father’s eyes. “Son—”

  “Dude, just go,” Reid snapped in exasperation.

  As Lucien and his minions left the locker room, everyone turned to stare at Logan. He was breathing hard, chest heaving as Hunter and Reid released him.

  Coach regarded him with fatherly concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he bit out.

  “Brassard—”

  “I said I’m fine, dammit!”

  Before anyone could say another word, he stripped naked and stalked off to the showers. He stayed in there a long time, eyes closed, hands braced against the tile wall as he let the hot water beat down on his head while fighting the rage and bitterness clawing at his soul.

  When he finally got dressed and came out of the locker room, Hunter, Reid and Viggo were waiting for him in the hallway. There was compassion in their eyes, but they didn’t ask him how he was doing, didn’t offer words of comfort he wasn’t ready to hear. They gave him quiet nods and squeezed him on the shoulder, then formed a protective bubble around him as they walked out to the team bus together.

  When they got back to the hotel, half the team headed up to their rooms while the other half beelined for the bar. Logan was in the latter group. The fellas followed him, along with Dubinski and Dmitri. After the night they’d had, they could all use a drink.

  They grabbed a table and ordered a round of beers, which were delivered quickly by their flirtatious waitress. They sat nursing their drinks, not really saying much as laughter and conversation flowed around them. Bunnies were everywhere, looking for hookups. Several of them were boldly eye-fucking Logan and the fellas. There was a time he would have welcomed their attention. Now he couldn’t even imagine talking to a bunny, let alone screwing one.

  He missed Jupiter like crazy. She’d texted him before and after the game, first to wish him good luck and then to commiserate over the loss. He ached to talk to her, to hear the husky purr of her voice and the smoky warmth of her laughter. She was the only one who could make him feel better about this clusterfuck of a night. Unfortunately for him, she and Bianca were attending a sorority function that evening, so he’d have to wait until later to get his fix.

  Reid and Viggo were bent over their phones, smiling as they texted their fiancées. Hunter responded to a text, put his phone away and picked up his beer.

  Dmitri waggled his eyebrows at him. “Hot date?”

  Hunter’s lips twitched. “If you must know, I’m meeting someone in half an hour.”


  Dmitri grinned lecherously. “So it’s a booty call, then.”

  Hunter just chuckled and drank his beer.

  Dubinski looked at Logan, opened his mouth and closed it. He took a swig of beer and put his glass down, then blurted out, “Okay. I just have to say it.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes. He knew what was coming.

  “I can’t believe Lucien Brassard is your father!” Dubinski exclaimed. “Holy shit, dude! Why the hell would you keep something like that a secret? Your dad’s one of the most powerful men in this country, and you just coldcocked him like it was nothing!”

  Logan was silent, drinking his beer as Reid and Viggo glared at Dubs.

  He didn’t take the hint. “I played for the Maple Leafs, so I know what a big deal the Brassards are. I never thought I’d be teammates with a member of such an illustrious family. I mean, I know you don’t talk much about your past, but it’s pretty obvious you weren’t happy to see your old man—”

  “With good reason.” Logan set his glass down sharply, a muscle thumping in his jaw. “He didn’t acknowledge me for twenty-five years. As far as I’m concerned, he can go fuck himself.”

  “I hear you, bro,” Dubinski commiserated, shaking his head. “He seems like a real douchebag, and I don’t blame you for hating his guts. But the guy belongs to a fucking dynasty, man. When he dies, his kids are gonna inherit more money than God, and one of them will be put in charge of the foundation. As his firstborn child, you’re rightfully entitled to—”

  “Marek,” Hunter cut in softly.

  Dubinski looked at him.

  “Stop talking.”

  Dubinski reddened and gave a jerky nod, then downed the rest of his beer and mumbled, “I gotta take a leak.”

  No sooner had he left than two long-legged bunnies sashayed over, batting their eyelashes and gushing excitedly, “Heyyy, Rebels! We’re such huge fans! Mind if we join you?”

  “Thanks, ladies,” Hunter drawled, “but we’re good.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Dmitri winked at the girls. “I’d love your company. Please join us.” When he patted his thigh, the blonde practically knocked her friend out of the way to sit on his lap.

  When the brunette tried to sit on Logan’s lap, he shook his head and stopped her. “No.”