How much less subtle can you get?
“I don’t know.” My mom takes another one, too.
It’s a small box. I don’t want to continue to share, especially if you can only get them in Canada where maple trees abound. I guess I could ask Alex to get me more. Knowing him, he’ll send me a year’s supply. Not that I’d complain.
“You should ask Alex.” She goes in for a third.
“Hey.” I smack her hand, gathering the half-empty box close to my chest.
“Aren’t they playing in Toronto this weekend?” Charlene gives me the perfect segue.
“Oh!” My mom gets all excited and bounces up and down. Hint dropped. “We should go! Can you get Friday off, Violet? I’m sure Sidney will be all for going. Any excuse is a good one to go see Buck play!”
I’m shocked at how easy this is. I fully expected Charlene and I to have to work for a minimum of ten minutes to get to this point. Instead it takes one question. Some of the credit should go to the maple sugar candies.
“What about you, Charlene? Would you like to take a trip to Canada with us? Maybe we can find you a hottie hockey player, too! This is going to be so much fun!” She claps her hands together and bounces some more. “I’ve only been to Canada once. We should get as much of that maple stuff as we can.”
My mom takes out her cell phone and starts texting away. Her texting skills are terrible. She’s forever shortening words you can’t shorten.
Her phone pings. “I’ll chat with Sidney and report back!” She gulps the rest of her martini, hops around as she puts on her shoes, and disappears out the door.
Twenty minutes later I get a text from my mom confirming that we’re indeed going to Toronto. I have some idea as to how she managed to make it happen so fast.
My mom is convinced it will be more fun if I don’t tell Alex I’m coming. Charlene isn’t quite as enthusiastic about the plan, but I’m a fan of surprises—as long as they’re the good kind. Despite her reluctance, Charlene helps me fabricate a bogus excuse about a meeting I can’t get out of on Friday and a presentation I have to prepare for first thing Monday morning. I call Alex and give him the “bad news.” He’s so disappointed he doesn’t even want to have phone sex. I feel awful for withholding the truth and for the absence of dirty talk on the phone. I’m hoping the surprise factor will be worth it.
Preparing for a weekend away is a boatload of work, especially when one is packing for a whole lot of sexin’ with a superhot hockey player. Charlene, my boobs, and I head out on a shopping expedition to Victoria’s Secret. I buy three bra and panties sets of the sexy, frilly variety—all of them with red featured somewhere. Beyond the sexified undies, I hit up Target and splurge on a selection of new fun ones since Alex seems to be very interested in seeing me in them.
Thursday is the slowest day on the face of the earth. I’m busy with meetings and Alex has practice, so a few quick texts are all we manage first thing in the morning.
This time I’m much more prepared, having packed the night before; Charlene’s bag and mine are already in the back of Sidney’s SUV. She makes a quick trip to the staff bathroom at the end of the work day to change since we’re being taken directly from work to the airport. Charlene comes out of the bathroom dressed like she’s ready for a night of clubbing instead of a flight.
“Is this too much?” She adjusts her pleather skirt.
“Not if you’re planning on being in a music video.”
Charlene flips me the bird as she struts to the elevator. “I look hot.”
My mom loves her outfit. I'm not surprised.
Our seats are first class, as usual. Charlene has never flown with the entitled before.
“There’s so much legroom! I can’t believe we drink for free!” She rubs her palms up and down the leather armrests.
As soon as we’re in the air, I order shots to settle my nerves. All it does is loosen her lips and mine.
Charlene yammers away about the game and how she plans to introduce herself to Darren. Bad friend that I am, I’m not paying close attention. I’m too focused on what the weekend with Alex will entail, besides sex.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Definitely.” I nod emphatically, pretending I’ve been listening the entire time.
“So you think scaling the boards and jumping onto the ice so I can blow Darren in front of a crowd of thousands is a good way to introduce myself?”
I stifle a giggle. “On second thought, no. I don’t think you should do that.”
“Violet, I need some help here.”
“Just be yourself. If you end up in his room, making out, don’t tell him you love him or his cock or anything. Not the first time you . . . do whatever.”
“You told Alex you loved him when you met him?” Charlene’s expression is incredulous and a little hurt, probably because this is the first disclosure of such information.
“No. I didn’t even know who he was. I may have professed my love to his man unit when I was coming, though.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” I promised myself I would take that gem to the grave.
“Wow. It really must be huge.”
My mom’s head pops over the seat in front of me. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Alex,” Charlene says at the same time.
“I’ve heard some interesting rumors about him, but this one is tight-lipped.” My mom inclines her head in my direction.
“Apparently they’re true,” Charlene says with zero consideration for my privacy.
“Char!” I smack her arm.
“What?”
“You had an awful lot of trouble walking the day after your sleepover,” my mom says.
“I’m not discussing this with you, especially not on a plane.”
“Fine, fine. Charlene and I can talk later.” She winks at Char and drops into her seat. I can hear her talking to Sidney. There’s a lot of giggling. I wish she wasn’t such a fan of the overshare, especially with Sid.
We go directly to the stadium upon our arrival. Downtown Toronto isn’t much different than Chicago—full of skyscrapers and horrendous traffic. I’m not sure what I thought it would be like. Maybe I expected elves, like the North Pole, which is ridiculous since it’s only an hour north of the US border. Apart from his monster cock, Alex is just like regular people. If all Canadian men are that gifted, I can understand why people would be willing to deal with the frigid winters.
We make it to the stadium with only minutes to spare. Charlene is shocked by the outfits—or lack thereof—on some of the hockey hookers. Her pleather skirt is modest in comparison.
“Should I have dressed like that?”
Charlene eyes a girl wearing a Waters jersey that’s been converted into a mini-dress, complimented by eight-hundred-inch heels.
“No. Definitely not. Your cooter would freeze and fall off. Then what would you have to offer Darren?”
Our conversation is put on hold as the Hawks take the ice. Even in all the padding and loose-fitting hockey gear, Alex is hot. I can’t wait to get my hands on him post-game. I’m going to molest his fine ass, Buck’s reaction be damned. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him; my beaver is hungry for some wood.
The Hawks are up by the end of first period, but something is off with Alex. He’s irritated. I can see it in the set of his jaw and the overly aggressive way he deals with the opposing team. On the bench he’s antsy, following the action of the game with his lips mashed in a thin line. He yells when one of the Hawks defense gets knocked down by a Toronto forward. It’s like he’s looking for a fight.
Buck is playing like he owns the rink. He deflects four goals in the second period, allowing the Hawks to stay ahead. Darren scores a goal at the end of the second period, giving the Hawks a solid two-point lead.
At the beginning of the third period, Alex faces off at center ice. Just as the ref blows the whistle his head snaps up. The puck hits the ice, and Al
ex’s gloves are off. Toronto’s center doesn’t even see it coming. Alex grabs his cage with one hand and punches him in the stomach with the other.
Alex knocks him down and straddles him, pulling at his helmet. It pops off and rolls across the ice. Then he starts slamming his fist into the center’s face. Toronto guy manages to get a couple of shots in. They’re relatively ineffective. Alex is just . . . kicking the everloving shit out of this guy.
Finally, the refs get their shit together and break it up. His opposition is bleeding all over the ice. I shouldn’t find this level of violence hot.
“What are they doing?” I ask as refs escort a raging Alex off the ice.
Sidney gives me a dubious look. “He’s being ejected from the game, Violet. He just kicked the shit out of someone.”
Of course he has, but what happens now? Alex is fury incarnate as he stomps awkwardly down the hallway in his skates, disappearing from view. Someone needs to calm Alex down. I’m hoping it will be me.
“I need to pee, I’ll be right back.”
I make my way through the stands toward the locker room, aware I may not get past security. I must have a horseshoe stuck where the sun don’t shine because security is too busy chatting up a couple of puck bunnies to notice as I slip inside the locker room.
I can hear a low thud followed by Alex swearing. I peek around the corner.
Alex’s uniform is strewn across the floor, along with his padding and most of his gear. All he has on is a jockstrap, highlighting his package, which appears larger than usual. It could be a figment of my imagination caused by two weeks of his absence.
His muscles are tense, his jaw flexing, and his nostrils flare with his wrath. He hurtles his skate across the room. It slams into the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall.
I’m nervous and my panties are damp. My thought is singular: angry, hot, locker-room sex.
“Alex.”
His eyes are vibrant with ire. His back expands and contracts with every heavy exhalation of breath. He rolls his shoulders, his gaze moving over me in a hungry, feral sweep.
Oh. My. God. He’s terrifyingly hot. Like The Hulk, but sexy, not green.
I’m so going to get laid in a locker room.
Go me.
ALEX
Toronto’s center must have hit me harder than I thought because I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating.
“Alex, baby, are you okay?” My hallucination takes a tentative step toward me and touches my chest. Her hand warms my already overheated skin.
You can’t feel hallucinations. At least I don’t think you can, which means Violet is really here. I’m almost naked and extremely pissed. I hope she hasn’t witnessed too much of my temper tantrum.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
She bites her bottom lip. I reach out to skim the plush curve. Fuck, I’ve missed her mouth. I’ve missed her everything.
“I wanted to surprise you. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea.” Her fingers slide from my sweaty shoulder to my neck. “You beat the hell out of that guy. He was bleeding, and you hardly have a mark on you.”
“He pissed me off.” As if it wasn’t obvious from the ass-kicking I served. That’s what happens when an asshole makes derogatory comments about "tag-teaming my newest puck bunny." I didn’t handle it well. Especially since I was under the impression I wasn’t going to see Violet for several more days. Cockburn and I have had a long-standing dislike for each other ever since I was traded to the Hawks instead of him. I’m a better player, and he knows it.
“I could tell. What happened out there?”
“Cockburn was being a dick. I told him how I felt about it with my fists.”
“Cockburn? His last name is almost as unfortunate as Butterson. He must have done something pretty awful to make you so upset.”
“He was running his mouth. It’s what he does best.”
“I’m sorry they kicked you out of the game.” She rests her palm against my chest, right over my heart. “Watching you . . . it made me—” Her head drops, and she peeks up at me through her lashes. “You were so angry. I really shouldn’t find that sexy, should I?”
The rage that’s been rocking my ability to make rational decisions ebbs in the wake of her question, only to be replaced with a different, acute need.
“I missed you,” Violet says softly as she pushes up on her tiptoes, and I bend to meet her.
I have no restraint. At all.
Two weeks with only the uncomfortable chafing of my own hand is a poor replacement for Violet. The way she tastes, the way she feels against my body and in my arms, combined with the frustration over being ejected from the game and the fight, is like an emotional, hormonal, adrenaline bomb.
“Fuck, I missed you.”
I grab her ass and pull her in tight. Her lips part and I seek out her tongue with my own. There’s no softness in this kiss; I’m pent up and on overload. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I lift her off the ground. Her feet dangle a few inches above the floor as I cross the room, away from the entrance and the security detail—who clearly aren’t doing their job since Violet is in here.
I set her down in front of the lockers and she shoves her hips into mine. “Ow!”
“Cup.”
She feels around between us. “Of course, good idea. Protect your snuffie.”
“My what?”
“Your snuffie. Your cock.”
“Huh?”
“You know. Like Suffleupagus.”
She nibbles my lip, probably as a distraction from the comparison of my most prized body part to a children’s show character.
“My cock in no way resembles a fuzzy, make-believe elephant.” I take care of my shit.
“It’s uncut, so it’s a snuffie, and it’s like a mythological creature, being so monstrous and all.”
“You’re not nicknaming my dick Snuffie, just so we’re—” I yank her shirt over her head.
I’m met with the most amazing bra I’ve ever seen. Ever. It’s awesome. It’s red and white and frilly and mesh so I can see her nipples through the fabric. Her boobs are nestled in there, just waiting for my hands and mouth to be on them.
“I missed you, too,” I tell them as I press my face into her chest and taste her warm skin. Violet makes those fantastic sounds I love.
“I love this bra,” I say from between her boobs.
“I thought you might.”
I walk her backward until she hits the lockers. She pushes her chest out, gripping my hair. As much as I want to admire the way she looks in this bra, I want her naked more. I can take my time later this weekend, when I have a bed, the privacy of my condo, and unlimited hours in which to enjoy every inch of her body. I need to get inside her. Now.
The cup is a problem, and if I don’t get it off soon, I’ll end up with a sprained dick. I have no desire to be relegated to mouth and finger duty for the rest of the weekend. My cock will not stand for it. The cup is secured with snaps; I struggle with them while still trying to kiss Violet.
“Let me help.” Violet sinks to her knees, unclasps her bra, lets it drop to the floor, and moves my hands out of the way.
My dick kicks behind the cup, trying to get free. I wanna fuck. Bad.
Violet frees the snaps. “I was a Girl Scout,” she says as though her skills in cup removal require an explanation. She tilts her head to the right as she frees me to avoid getting hit in the face with my twitching, swinging, super hard erection.
She gives my cock a soft, slow stroke. “I missed you.” Leaning in, she nuzzles my dick against her cheek. Violet looks up and brushes her lips over the head.
“Fuck. Baby, don’t do that.”
“Why not?” She gives me another stroke.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but—”
She runs her tongue across the slit. I’m sweaty and disgusting, but if it tastes bad, she doesn’t let on. I think I love her. My cock jerks in her hand, and I hit my head against the lockers, the heavy thud echoing i
n the room.
If she puts her mouth on me, I’ll come. I can’t let that happen. Sex in the locker room is my number one fantasy. Well, maybe not my number one—that’s boob sex. Anywhere. This is a close second.
I haul her to her feet and drop to my knees. I unbutton her jeans and discover her panties match the bra: red mesh I can see through with the same white lacy ruffle.
“I know the gift card was for my boobs, but I didn’t want my beaver to feel left out.” She traces the lacy waistband with a fingertip.
“Totally understandable.”
I slide her jeans down her thighs, taking a moment to appreciate her soft skin. Running my hands up the back of her legs, I cup her ass with one hand and the back of her knee with the other. The motherland is right in front of my face. While I can’t wait to be inside, I’m well aware no matter how turned on she is, getting in there without a warm-up is inadvisable. Plus, I promised to eat her, and I keep my promises.
Hooking her leg over my shoulder, I kiss my way from her knee up the inside of her thigh, nipping a little on the way.
She tries to be quiet, but her hushed whimpers are my favorite sound in the world.
“Is this okay, baby?” I can tell it is. I still want her breathless, panted words. The ones that make me ache for the warmth of her body.
She exhales sharply as I place two small, wet kisses just above her pussy. “Please, Alex.”
I don’t need further invitation; I stroke her with my tongue. And then I do it again, and again. She writhes against my face, her eyes closed, biting her knuckle to keep from making too much noise. Her palm slams against the lockers as she comes on my mouth.
Her other hand is twined in my hair, yanking. It takes me a while to realize she’s trying to get me to come up for air. Her eyes bug out, and she swipes at my chin with her palm. “Oh, God. That’s . . . I’m so leaky.”
“I love the way you taste.” I’m egotistical enough to believe I’m the reason she gets so wet. I stroke myself a couple of times with my slick fingers, and then I grab her ass, pinning her against the lockers.
“Two weeks is too long to wait for this.”
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