by June Winters
Lance tugged at his collar. “Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. Uh-oh is right. Ella's great! Why were you so mean to her growing up?”
“That's what older brothers are for! Besides, she turned out alright, didn't she?”
***
Lance parked the Range Rover in the front of his building. A valet rushed out to greet them, and Lance introduced him to “my fiancée, Paige.” He was pleased at how very right those words felt when he spoke them.
Gently, Lance unbuckled Irie from her baby-seat, scooped her up without waking her, and carried her into the building. She didn't wake. They took the elevator to the top floor, and once inside, Lance laid Irie down in her crib. He and Paige held hands and watched over their sleeping daughter.
“She looks so peaceful,” Lance whispered.
“Yeah,” Paige agreed. “She won't be so peaceful when she wakes, though.”
They both quietly chuckled.
Paige looked up at him, a worried look on her face.
“What's the matter?” he asked.
“Are you sure you're ready for this? It's a lot of work.”
“I know it's a lot of work. And that's why I want to help, Paige. We'll do it together.”
Paige nodded. “Thank you.”
“But now that's she's asleep”—Lance threw Paige over his shoulder—“you're coming with me!”
“Lance!” she quietly squealed.
He took her down the hall, to his bedroom.
Lance tossed his fiancée onto their king-sized bed and the athlete pounced on top of her. His mouth met hers, and they kissed while his hand blindly tugged at her waist-button. A second later, the hockey star was peeling her tight jeans from her legs.
His hand went to her mound. Sneaking his thick fingers under her panties, he stroked her folds and spread her apart.
“You're so wet,” he growled hungrily. “I want you so bad.”
Paige's soft, musical moans warmed his neck. Lance smiled, thinking himself lucky to hear that lovely sound for the rest of his life.
“Then take me,” she whispered. “I'm yours, Lance Couture.”
Chapter 39
Paige
Five Business Days Later
The late morning sun flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the condo in a warm and lovely yellow light. Paige was curled up on the sofa, with a steaming mug of tea in one hand and her phone in the other. She was chatting with her parents, telling them about her latest adventures in Boston.
She and Irie had already 'survived' Daddy's first road trip. It was a short one, thankfully, only lasting three days. The Brawlers traveled to the tri-state area for back-to-back games. Ella came by during the evenings for dinner, which made things so much easier.
Her new life with Lance was nice. Really, really nice.
“Is that Irie in the background I hear?” Mom asked.
It was. Irie had swung her hockey stick at the foam ball. It zipped across the condo and smacked the window with a loud gong. Irie looked at the ball, expectant and confused.
“I think Irie misses Rascal,” Paige told her parents. “She's lost a little enthusiasm for hockey now that she has to fetch the ball herself every time.”
“Tell Lance it's time for a dog!” her Mom replied.
Paige snickered. “Yeah, maybe it is.”
Just then, the door swung open. Lance was home from morning practice. Paige jumped off the couch to greet him.
“Anyway, Lance is home so I'm going to let you go! Can't wait until you visit us! Bye!”
She hung up and rushed over to Lance, jumping into his arms and giving him a deep kiss. “Hi, mister.”
“Hey, babe. Who were you talking to?”
“My Mom and Dad.”
Irie ran over. “Da-da! Da-da!”
“Hi, little munchkin!” He picked her up and planted a big old juicy kiss on her cheeks.
“How are your Mom and Dad?” he asked Paige.
“They're good. They want you to know that it's time for a dog.”
He laughed. “Oh, is it?”
“That's what they say. That way, Irie will start playing hockey again.”
“Hey, I like the way they think.”
Irie wiggled wildly in his arms, so Lance set her down and she ran off again.
Paige didn't mind. She wanted Lance all to herself. She pressed herself against his body, ran her nails down his chest, contouring the hard bulges of muscle beneath his dress shirt.
“I've been thinking about you all morning,” she said, her voice low and husky.
He smiled knowingly. “Oh? Have you?”
“Mm-hm.”
He pulled her closer and grabbed a handful of her ass. “And what exactly have you been thinking about?”
She brushed her hand against his trousers, letting her fingers glance up and down the length of his cock. “Once Irie's down for her nap, I'll show you exactly what I've been waiting to do.”
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath with hunger. “I like the sound of that.”
Lance broke free from Paige.
“Hey Irie! Come here, baby girl!” He bent over and picked Irie off the floor, tossing her into the air again and again while she screamed with delight. “Let's see how fast we can wear you out! Wheeee! Wheeee! Isn't this fun?!”
***
Lance's grip tightened on Paige's ankles. He had her legs spread high as he fucked her into oblivion, until she screamed so loud she was sure Irie would begin to cry—but they heard nothing, so they kept going.
His muscular waist crashed into her pelvis again and again with a fleshy clap-clap-clap, and the headboard of his bed smacked the wall, bam-bam-bam.
His pace began to stutter, his cock growing swollen inside her, his mouth hanging open.
Paige clenched her muscles and squeezed him tighter. “Come inside me,” she whispered.
Lance roared, powering forward, fucking her with everything he had left.
“I'm coming!” he growled. “Oh God, I'm coming!”
The feel of his big dick throbbing in her pussy—the pressure blast of his champion seed coating her insides—never failed to make Paige grin like a maniac.
He was hers.
All hers.
Spent, Lance lowered himself to Paige. He pressed his fire-hot lips to hers, and they sealed their bond with a long kiss.
***
Later that afternoon.
Lance waved a handful of envelopes. “Mail's here.”
Paige sat on the sofa, nursing a still-sleepy Irie. “Anything important?”
“Bills, bills, bills—oh. Hey.” He held one particular envelope up. “The results of that paternity test.”
He held it between his hands as if he were about to tear it in two.
“No! Don't just rip it up and throw it away,” Paige laughed. “Take a look at it. I told you, I'm 100% certain you're the father. I won't be mad if you look. In fact, I want you to.”
“If you say so.” Lance shrugged, tore it open, unfolded the letter and began to read.
Paige studied his face and waited.
And waited.
Until Lance's features grew heavy.
Slowly, his eyes raised to hers.
Paige's heart raced in her chest. Why did he look like he had bad news? Did the doctor's office screw the test up and come back with a false negative? She knew he was Irie's father, damn it!
“I'm not the father?” Lance muttered, stunned.
“What?! That's impossible!” Paige stammered, gasping. “Let me see that!”
And then, Lance's heavy features suddenly lightened. He clutched at his sides and laughed. “Haaaaa! Got ya!”
Paige's face turned bright red. “Oh my God! Lance! That's not funny!”
He sat on the couch next to her and passed her the results. “I'm totally the father. Gave you a scare though, didn't I?”
“Yes! Ugh!”
“I'm sorry, but I had to! But I told you that I never doubted
you, babe. Come here. Gimme a kiss.”
Still mad, she tried to push him away. “No!”
But he wouldn't let go.
“I love you, Paige,” he said, his stupid voice warming her cold heart.
“Lance Couture—” she began, shaking her head.
“Tell me you love me,” he said with a devious grin. He squeezed her with his big, hunky arms. Damn it all, his warm, thick and snuggly arms had a way of sweeping all her perfectly justified outrage away.
She stuck a finger in his face. “Don't you dare trick me like that again,” Paige scolded him, a playfulness seeping into her voice.
“I won't.”
“Promise me you won't.”
“I promise, I won't.”
“Then … fine.” She grinned. “I love you too.”
Lance kissed her on the forehead, hugged his girls tight, and gave a happy sigh.
My little happy family, Paige thought, letting herself melt in her hockey player's burly arms.
###
THE END
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Lance burst through the door, holding four-year-old Irie by the hand. She was dressed in her adorable pink tutu and still chattering about her ballet class.
Yep—ballet class, not hockey practice, which secretly broke Lance's heart just a touch. Lance had been so certain that Irie would follow in his footsteps, thanks to the early interest she'd showed in playing hockey. But truthfully, shortly after the move to Boston, Irie stopped showing any interest in hockey—even when the family adopted a Jack Russell terrier who loved to play fetch. Paige and Lance liked to joke that young Irie's interest in hockey was only a ruse to find her Dad and bring him back into her life.
But like a good Dad, Lance supported Irie's interest in ballet nonetheless, even though she tortured him with hours' long retellings of what they did in class.
Paige smiled, greeting her husband with a kiss. “Thanks for taking her to class tonight, honey.”
“No problem, babe,” he said, spanking her ass on the sly. “Dinner smells great. How was volunteering?”
Ever since Paige earned her nursing degree, she began volunteering at a community health center. It was her way of giving back to the community and keeping her skills sharp.
“It went great!”
Lance cocked his head and admired her from head-to-toe. “Man, you look hot.”
Irie stamped her feet. “Daddy! Listen!”
“Sheesh! I am listening, sweetheart! Can't I say hi to your Mom? Okay, go on, go on …”
Lance went to the closet to put away his coat. Irie followed him around like a puppy, like she always did when he was home. The fact that he spent so much time on the road meant that when Daddy was home, Irie made sure to pester him every waking second of her day.
On the ice, he was the talented captain of the Boston Brawlers, widely regarded as one of the best players in the game. But at home, he was simply a great Dad; so beloved by his daughter that he couldn't possibly get a free moment away from her.
It never failed to make Paige laugh.
Lance finally escaped Irie. He hurried into the kitchen and pressed himself into Paige's rear, his hands greedily groping and grabbing at her curves.
“What's with you?” she giggled, wrestling with his feisty hands.
“I am loving you in this outfit. You look so—mmm.”
She bit her lip. “Well. Enjoy it while it lasts …”
He chuckled. “Wait, what the heck does that mean?”
She grabbed his hand and guided it to her tummy. There wasn't anything there to feel yet, but Lance knew exactly what she'd meant.
“You serious, Paige?”
“Yup.” She smiled. “This time, you won't have to miss a thing.”
“Paige!” He mashed his mouth against her and kissed her with boundless excitement. “That's amazing—I'm so excited!”
“Maybe it'll be a boy who wants to follow in your footsteps …?”
His eyes sparkled with the thought.
He wrapped his arms around Paige. “Whatever it is … I wanna put some more in you. Right now.”
“Lance!” she squealed, laughing, wrestling against him.
He nibbled at her neck and whispered in her ear. “I love you, Paige.”
“I love you too,” Paige said with a contented sigh, ready to start a new journey with her hockey husband.
About the Author
June Winters believes every romance is hotter on the ice. Born in Minnesota, June grew up knee-deep in hockey and quickly learned to love the sport – but especially its strong and sexy heroes, who will do anything for their teammates … and the women they fall for.
Keep your eye out for more hockey romance from June!
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Also by June Winters
Forbidden Puck (Boston Brawlers Book 1)
Ella Couture didn't mean to save herself for this long. But success runs in the family and Ella, a fiery and self-made interior decorator, never wanted to settle for anything less than a quality man. But another disappointing breakup has her ready to reconsider, because this whole v-card business has gone on for way too long.
Now that he's a rich and famous hockey player for the Boston Brawlers, Radar has his pick of the city's hottest girls – and it's all thanks to his unlikely chemistry with team superstar, Lance Couture. You'd have to be a moron to screw this gig up.
Radar's tall, chiseled and gorgeous – but Ella's only flirting with him because it drives her brother crazy. Okay, maybe there's a hint of attraction between them ... but they both know it could never happen.
Right?
Excerpt from Forbidden Puck (Boston Brawlers Book 1):
Chapter 1
Too Much
Ella Couture
I rifled through my wardrobe for clothes while my boyfriend, Matthew, watched from the bed. Through the open window and 50 stories down, we could hear the distant honking and humming of stop-and-go New York City traffic.
Matthew chuckled. “I can't believe you're seriously packing a bag three weeks early.”
“I can't help it. I'm so excited,” I sang. “Key West! A real vacation. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had a vacation? Or, heck, since I've taken a day off?”
Matthew didn't answer. I peeked over my shoulder and saw he was multi-tasking with his phone, thumbs busily tapping and swiping away at the glowing screen. I'd come to accept his constant phone use as a hazard of trying to date a lawyer—the poor guy never could get away from the office. I could relate! But at least I don't have an office I need to be at, because I'm self-employed.
I think we'd make a good husband and wife duo, the lawyer and the interior decorator, both successful in our respective fields and enjoying a luxurious life together. If anything, this trip to Key West was just a taste of our lavish years to come.
With Matthew distracted with his phone for the moment, I nervously bit my lip and quickly stuffed some racy lingerie into my suitcase. I'd bought it just for our trip together.
Matthew never even looked up. I'd gotten away with it.
Whee! It's the small thrills in life that always get your heart going.
Most of all, I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn't want Matthew to suspect that I was finally, well, ready. I could picture it so well—watching the sunset on the beach, a romantic candle-lit dinner, the two of us going back to our hotel, our hands clasped, butterflies in my stomach as I knew the magic moment was about to happen … the look on his face, of true love and pure desire, when he took off my little black dress and saw my white lingerie for the first time.
The poor guy had already waited almost four months. Which was a lot longer than most other guys I've dated. There's a funny thing about being a virgin: every guy you date thinks it's insanely hot at first. That's only because he assumes that he'll be the guy with the magic touch that
makes your panties smolder, and after a date or two, you'll be begging and screaming for his cock. But the first time his hand starts to wander up your legs, and you clasp your thighs shut and tell him no, the realization smacks him like a brick wall: he'll have to work for this.
And that is the precise moment when they stand up, mumble a few niceties, and run for the door.
I'm not even waiting for marriage or anything like that. I never even meant to be a virgin. It just sort of happened, or I guess didn't happen, and here I am—still lugging around a v-card at age 22. But since I've waited this long? I feel like there's no point in rushing to lose it. The first time might as well be special, right …?
All I'm looking for is a guy who can prove that he's willing to work for it. And most importantly, be honest with me—because honesty is the most important thing in the world to me. But those two things are way too much to ask in this day and age, apparently.
Until I met Matthew.
Matthew. A 32 year old lawyer with his life together. Matthew is a big kid at heart, and if you looked at the two of us together, you'd never know he was a decade older than me. Truth be told, I'm surprised his firm never lectures him about his messily-tousled hair, or his suits that look like they could use an ironing …
But the point is, Matthew is taking me to Key West for a week. Just the two of us. Which was a big step in our four-month relationship. He's not yet ready to make us Facebook official, but hey, he wants to take me to Key West. Which is a pretty big deal, in my opinion. Some people are just weird about social media, right? So what if he doesn't want all his friends and family on FB to know we're an item. That's not something I should be concerned about … right?
But if I won't sleep with Matthew—what was I waiting for anymore? Did I even know anymore? What if I missed out on a real quality guy?
I finished packing my bag, zipped it up and let out an accomplished and musical sigh. Matthew was still texting when I jumped on the bed next to him and curled up to him.