Puck Love

by Carmen Jenner

  “Christ. You need to stop or I’m gonna wind up coming all over your pretty pussy.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I do. I wanna be inside you when I come, country.” She straddles me and positions the head of my cock at her entrance, and then slowly lowers herself down until I’m seated balls deep inside her. “Oh fuck,” I groan.

  Her breathy moan forces me into action. I’m tired as fuck, but I have no intention of coming first. I slide my thumb between us and stroke her clit, slowly at first, and then faster as her pace increases. Her legs begin to shake within just seconds of me touching her.

  “Did you miss me, baby?” I snag her earlobe in my teeth.

  “Oh, god,” she murmurs. “So much more than you know.”

  I stroke her clit faster, thrust deeper, and then her moans turn to breathy pants and she throws her head back as she comes around my cock. I grunt and follow her over the edge, spilling my come inside her.

  After we catch our breath, I squeeze her tightly. “Hold on.”

  She wraps her body around me, but she has all the strength of a limp noodle. I stand, clutching her ass, and climb out of the tub. We’re dripping water everywhere, but I don’t care. I cross the tiles, almost tripping on my discarded shoes, and I lay her out by the fire. I lie on top of her, kissing her face, her breasts, and her stomach, and ease my way down her body until I’m face-level with her pussy. I force her to open her legs, and I eat her like a starving NHL hockey player after a hard game. She’s here with me. I get her for a whole week, and she’s perfect.

  “Don’t go,” I say, when I come up for air.

  She gives a sexy little laugh. “Well, I wasn’t planning on leaving right this second.”

  “I don’t mean right now, I mean ever. Stay with me. Move in with me?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I’m blown away by this, and I lean up on my elbow to look at her. She better not be teasing me. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay you’ll stay?”

  “Yeah. I mean, Nashville has always been my home, but there’s nothing there for me if the man I love is miles away. I’ll keep my house, and obviously, I’ll be there to record and for the music awards—which I expect you to attend—but after the tour ended, I just wanted to go home, only Nashville didn’t feel like home anymore. Lodge Ross did.”

  I search her gaze. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

  “No, Van, I’m not messing with you,” she says, and she takes my face in her hands. “I want us to be together. We can’t live like this. Touring is one thing, and I get that you’ll be gone with away games, but I can handle that if you can. I can give up Nashville because you’re here, this house is here, and it’s the closest to home I’ve ever felt.”

  I kiss her deeply and squeeze her so tight I worry she might break, because I know exactly what she means.

  One week later

  I set my bag down at the front door, throw my keys on the hall table, and flex my fist. I’ll need to ice it again soon to take down the swelling, but hitting that fucker was worth it. Even if it did cost me a one-game suspension in the Stanley Cup. I’m just sad Stella hadn’t been there to see it, but she’d had some pretty important meeting with the LA division of her label that she couldn’t get out of.

  “Country, I’m home.”

  “You’re early,” Stella says, and I follow the sound of her voice to the kitchen. I stop dead in my tracks when I see her covered in flour, and what looks like egg. She’s makeup free, her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she wears a Hello Kitty apron, and nothing else. Fuck me. She pouts and throws what looks like a lump of sticky dough on the floured counter. “I wanted to get all dolled up for you, but I’m not done here.”

  I grin. “What are you doin’?”

  “I was trying to surprise you, but I burnt the first batch.”

  I glance at the pot in the sink which is overflowing with dishwater soap and chunks of burnt . . . well I haven’t figured out yet what that is, but I’m one hundred percent sure it’s not edible and likely never was. “Of what?”

  “I was trying to make your favorite pasta. I called your mamma to get the recipe, but it seems I can’t even follow the simplest of instructions.”

  “You cooked for me?”

  “I tried.” She grimaces. “I’m sorry. I kind of suck at this whole domestic goddess thing.”

  I chuckle. “You really do, but it’s a good thing I’m not after you for your culinary skills.”

  “Oh, really? What are you after?”

  “Your cunt,” I say with a cheeky grin that I know will get me anywhere with her. “Your sweet, beautiful tits, and this glorious face.”

  She laughs. “Well, let me just wash up and we can work on you getting all of those things.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “But I’m sticky.”

  I grin. “You’re gonna be stickier when I’m finished with you.”

  Afterward, as we lay spent on our kitchen floor, Stella reaches for a crumpled piece of paper poking out of my discarded suit pocket. “What is that?”

  “Oh yeah. I have a surprise for you, too.”

  “You brought me a present from Nashville?”

  “Kind of.” I snatch up the paper and unfold it before handing it to her. There’s a drop of blood on one corner and a bunch of chicken scratch, but it’s mostly legible. Stella’s brow creases as she reads the note aloud.

  Stella,

  I’m sorry I ever fucked with you, and I’m sorry I hit you, too. Hitting women is for pussy-assed bitches.

  Logan.

  “Oh my God, is that blood?” She shrieks and drops the note on the floor.

  “I ran into your ex. Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “What offer?”

  “Write an apology or I knock his teeth out.” I shrug. “I might have knocked a couple out anyway, just for the fun of it.”

  “You knocked Logan’s teeth out?”

  “Yeah.” I grin. “Good times.”

  “Oh my god, Van,” she says resting her head in her hands. “This is going to cause another media meltdown.”

  “He had it coming,” I say.

  “He’ll press charges. You’ll get fined, not to mention another game suspension.”

  “Coach already gave me a one-game suspension.”

  “But it’s the Stanley Cup.”

  “And it was worth it.” I shrug. “There are still at least three games left. Besides, if I’m not on the ice I can be here, doing my favorite woman instead. Maybe this time we’ll actually get to eat the pasta.”

  “Oh my god, I can’t believe you,” she says, but since I’m kissing my way down her body and using my tongue to dip into her sweet pussy, I can’t tell if she’s saying that because of my admission or whether she’s just enjoying my ministrations.

  I can’t believe her either. This woman can have any man she wants, and here she is living in my cabin, welcoming me home at the end of a long day, and attempting to cook for me—when we both know it’s not her strong suit.

  Stella stole my heart when she crashed into my mountain, and she’s had possession of it ever since. Ordinarily, I’m a man who likes to win, but I’m completely okay with losing to an opponent as perfect as she is.

  Summer

  “How you doin’, Calgary?” I say into my mic. The resounding cheer goes up. “I wanna thank you all for coming out tonight. You know, it wasn’t too long ago that I stood backstage in this very arena, and I couldn’t shake the feeling like something important was missing. So, I ran away. See, I thought I was running from something, but it turned out that I was running toward someone. I had to go find me a man, y’all.”

  The crowd hollers. “Now here I am, less than a year later, and I’m kind of hoping he’ll come out here and introduce himself. Van Ross, the new captain of this year’s Stanley Cup winners, the Calgary Crushers, can you come out here please?”

  Van stan
ds in the wings, shaking his head. His mother gives him a nudge, and Emmett punches him on the arm before smiling at Sadie like a fool. Lana is beside them, looking all business as usual. Eli drapes his arm over her shoulder, but she promptly shoves him off. His grin turns lascivious. Lana rolls her eyes.

  “Please, honey?”

  “No,” Van mouths.

  “Aww, ladies and gentlemen, I do believe my big, scary NHL-playing boyfriend is shy. Why don’t y’all give him a round of applause?”

  The stadium erupts with hoots and hollers, and Eli shoves Van out into the spotlight. “There he is, ladies, would you look at that face? Why don’t you give us a little twirl, honey bunch?”

  He folds his arms across his huge chest. “No.”

  “No?” I pout. “Ladies, we want to see the hockey butt he’s worked so hard for, right?” The crowd goes wild. “Come on now. Give us a little spin.”

  “You owe me,” he says, shaking his head, but he grins and my heart just melts. Along with every other females’ in the room.

  “Van?” I pull him closer and thrust the mic up under his chin.

  “Yes, country?”

  The screaming about deafens me, and I grin at the audience. “I have a very important question to ask you.”

  “Shoot,” he says.

  “Ten months ago, you saved me from freezing to death in a snowdrift.”

  He nods. “I remember.”

  “You took me into your house, upstairs to your bed, and warmed me up.” The audience turns rabid with catcalls, and I stop to look at them. “Not like that. It was completely innocent.” I glance at Van again. “Wasn’t it, honey?”

  He smirks, and I make a wide-eyed “tell them” face.

  Van leans into the mic. “Completely innocent.” He winks, which undermines everything he just said.

  I roll my eyes. “Since you warmed me in your bed that night, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to warm my bed every night for the rest of our lives?”

  He flinches, and for a beat I think he’s going to break my heart and say no. My breath catches in my throat. This was a terrible idea. What was I thinking?

  Van reaches for the mic and I hand it to him, terrified of the answer, but wanting it all the same.

  “Are you asking me to marry you, Stella Hart?”

  I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m paralyzed by fear, but somehow, I manage to nod.

  “Then what the hell took you so long?”

  I exhale, and he pulls me closer, dropping the mic so he can kiss me on the lips. He dips us and I almost lose my footing in the six-inch heels, but Van has me, just like he did the night we first met. He has me, and I hope he never intends to let go.

  When he pulls back, my red lipstick is smeared all over his face, and I attempt to wipe it away, but that just makes it worse. A roadie hands me a new mic, and I take it with a grin. “I just got me a husband, y’all.”

  A million flashes go off as I kiss him again, and the cheeky bastard can’t resist one good squeeze of my ass. Pretty sure I know what tomorrow’s headlines are going to be.

  “Now get off my stage, Ross. I got songs to sing.” I wink at him and turn to the band, giving them the signal to lead into Van’s song, which went straight to number one on the Billboard charts.

  When the concert is done, I thank Calgary for their hospitality, and run off the stage into Van’s waiting arms. Ten months ago, I sat backstage in this very venue, unable to breathe, smothered by schedules and the weight of my career and the loneliness that came with that, and now? Now, life is perfect. It took running away to lose myself, and to find what I never knew I ever wanted.

  Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something, USA Today and international bestselling author.

  Her dark romance, KICK (Savage Saints MC #1), won Best Dark Romance Read in the Reader’s Choice Awards at RWDU, 2015.

  A tattoo enthusiast, hardcore makeup addict and zombie fangirl, Carmen lives on the sunny North Coast of New South Wales, Australia, where she spends her time indoors wrangling her two wildling children, a dog named Pikelet, and her very own man-child.

  A romantic at heart, Carmen strives to give her characters the HEA they deserve, but not before ruining their lives completely first … because what’s a happily ever after without a little torture?

  For More Information:

  www.carmenjenner.com

  Welcome to Sugartown (Sugartown Series #1)

  Enjoy Your Stay (Sugartown Series #2)

  Greetings from Sugartown (Sugartown Series #3)

  Now Leaving Sugartown (Sugartown Series #4)

  KICK (Savage Saints MC #1)

  TANK (Savage Saints MC #2)

  REVELRY (Taint #1)

  Finding North

  Toward the Sound of Chaos

  Harley & Rose

  The Way Back Home

  To my darling non-husband Ben, you are my everything! You finally read my damn books!!!

  Ava Rose and Ari Danger, I love you more than the sun, and more than the stars, and more than the moon, and more than Mars, and way more than … chickens!

  To my gorgeous family, I love you!

  To my beautiful beta readers: Christine Tovey, Kristina Zolnar, Ali Hymer, Kristine Barakat, and Anne Dawson. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You guys sit through horrendously rough second drafts and yet you still see something under the mess that’s worth loving. I’d be lost without all of you. Huge shout out to Christine Tovey for letting me pick your brain on all things hockey and Canada. You, lady, are a goddess, and this book would have been a hot mess without your keen eye.

  Lauren from Lauren Clarke Editing, thank you for always pushing me to give a little more, for loving my work, and your innate ability to see the things that I can’t. I’m forever grateful. Also, you’re a freaking awesome friend, and I still want to steal your baby.

  To the ridiculously talented Ben from Be Designs, this cover! Oh, the cleverness of you!

  Eric Battershell, this image is everything. Thank you. Special thanks also to Kaz for being my Van Ross muse and allowing us to turn your blond locks brunette.

  Thanks to the lovely Tiffany of T.E. Black Designs for her impeccable formatting and for fitting me into an already packed schedule. You’re an absolute doll, and you have a gift, lady.

  Special thanks to Tarsh Smerdon for being my being my game day buddy during the Stanley Cup Playoffs. I loved our random hockey chats. Go Pens! I’ll blow Crosby a kiss for you.

  And finally, a huge, heartfelt THANK YOU to the readers! I never expected to be able to explore so many worlds with my writing, to meet so many amazing people—both real and fictional—nor did I expect that five years after beginning my writing career I’d have people reading my books, and waiting in lines at signings to say hello. I’m blown away every day by your love and support.