by June Winters
“Hi Kayla, hi Sara,” I greeted them.
“Hi Honor,” they answered.
Their eyes grew huge as handsome Hunter Rockwell stepped in behind me, all six-feet-plus of him, superbly dressed in a sharp suit.
“This is Hunter. He's, um, a co-worker. Hunter, that's Kayla and Sara.”
“Hi ladies.” Hunter stepped forward and shook their hands. Their tiny hands disappeared into his bear-like paw, which was a strangely satisfying sight.
I led Hunter away from my dumbfounded, gaping-mouthed roommates and took him on a tour of our small place: a kitchen, a bathroom, two closed doors that were Kayla and Sara's rooms, which led us to … of course …
“Welp. This is my embarrassing life,” I said, waving my hand over the small square room that now contained all my worldly possessions: a mattress and box frame that rested directly on the carpet, my painting supplies, and, well, a bunch of books and clothes still packed in boxes. “Exciting, isn't it? Aren't you glad you came?”
Shockingly—cough, cough—Hunter didn't care about the contents or the sorry state of my room.
“I am glad,” he said, too smoothly. He stepped behind me and clenched his hands around my waist and pulled me into him. I let myself wilt ever-so-slightly in his grasp, snug against his rock-hard chest.
But Madison's raspy voice grated through my head: No fraternizing! I'll find out!
I quickly jerked myself free from Hunter's grasp and put space between us. Not that Hunter seemed bothered by it—he spotted a stack of my watercolor paintings that sat on my desk. He neared the desk, stared, and pointed his thick finger at the painting that rested on top.
“You did this?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It's a sunset by the lake at my grandparents' house. Corny, right?”
I studied his face anxiously as he stared at my work. I hoped he wouldn't hate it—I wasn't very good, and honestly, pretty embarrassed by it. So my painting had always been sort of a private thing. Something I hadn't really shown anyone else besides my family. And Todd, but he never showed much interest.
“Corny? No way. This is awesome. I don't even know anybody who paints.”
“Well, that's not too surprising … you eat, sleep, and breathe hockey …”
Hunter lifted the sunset painting and looked at the one underneath it. Another one of my mundane landscapes.
“Oh, God,” I laughed anxiously, rushing over to him. “Don't. I'm terrible.”
“You're not bad at all! These are good—” he protested, but I grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him away with all my might.
But then I had a new problem: all that space between us was gone again. Hunter easily wrestled his arm away from me and put his heavy hands on my shoulders and squeezed me gently.
“You're kind of amazing, aren't you?” he asked with that damned charming smile of his.
“No. Not at all.” I blew out a self-conscious breath. “God.”
“You have all these interests.”
“What, painting? Which I'm not even good at?” I laughed, self-deprecatingly. “And, what else, I figure skated once upon a time? Please, Hunter. You're just—”
Trying to get laid? I thought to myself. Yes, Honor. You know that's exactly what he's after.
“Hey. You're way too hard on yourself, Honor.”
I gulped. I wrapped my hands around his meaty forearm and tried to pry his hands free from my shoulders—but it wasn't any use. He was too strong, and some part of me didn't truly want him to let go in the first place.
“Hunter …!” I panted in warning.
“Honor,” he answered. And he spoke my name so softly, so reverently—as if my name alone could bring him untold pleasure.
“We really shouldn't …” I hoped he couldn't detect the fragile weakness in my voice that betrayed my desires. But of course he could. Hunter's eyes darted down and looked at my lips. I knew then he wanted to kiss me. I couldn't help myself. I looked at his lips, so full and pretty … but also manly as hell—especially with how his lower lip was a little swollen and busted from his fight with Cunningham.
One of his giant hands went to the small of my back and pulled me nearer. His other hand gently stroked the hair out of my eyes, until the job was done—and then his hand cupped the back of my head, and his face began to near mine.
No no no! I thought … but I didn't stop him. I couldn't stop him.
I held my palm softly to his cheek. The bristles of his coarse stubble scraped against my fingers as he leaned in.
At last, his lips met mine, and he stole his kiss.
Oh, God.
His lips were so big and soft, but his demeanor—so rough, so hungry. He didn't just kiss me, he claimed me, all of me. He didn't just want me to kiss him back: he demanded it.
Feeling like I didn't have any choice in the matter, that he could just take what he wanted? It went against everything I believed, but … I couldn't deny that I liked it. A lot. It made it easier to forget about stupid Madison and her rules. And it made my stomach knot and churn with a forbidden excitement. A dangerous longing throbbed between my thighs.
I knew I had to be careful—I was playing with fire.
But still I kissed him back, my mouth melting into his juicy and tender lips. His tongue searched my lips, my mouth, filling me with his electric taste. With a whimper of surrender, I gave him his answer: my own tongue.
Hunter pushed, and I pulled, and our dance led us in a slow retreat for my bed. The back of my legs hit the mattress and I tumbled backwards. Seeing me prone, on my back, in missionary? Hunter didn't waste any time. He threw himself right on top of me, his huge body mounted between my legs. Rearing back, he shed his suit jacket and stamped his massive hands into the bed on either side of me.
“Hunter,” I gasped, grabbing hold of his tie with both hands.
“Shh.”
He quieted me with his mouth. His large hands ran up and down my torso, teasing me, until every inch of my skin tingled with pins and needles.
Then his hand found the bottom hem of my shirt. His finger-tips slithered up my belly slowly, tortuously, as if he could taste my bare flesh with his touch. My nipples, pathetically eager for him, hardened and strained against my top.
But I slapped his hands away.
“No, Hunter,” I moaned. “We shouldn't.”
“That's what'll make it so hot, though.” Undeterred, he smirked, and then his mouth was sucking at my neck—Oh God.
I wrapped my legs around him and pulled. Through his trousers, I felt him, stone-hard and impressively long. He rubbed his thickness against the crotch of my jeans, his body thrusting slowly against mine, the mattress creaking rhythmically beneath us, as he crashed into me with rolling, sensuous waves.
I want him so fucking bad.
His cock felt so big, so strong, so right as it stroked against me. My pussy clenched, yearning to really feel him—not just against me but inside me.
It would've been so easy to let him tear me out of my clothes and fuck me. Right here, right now.
But I knew I shouldn't. For so many reasons.
“Hunter!” I gasped—and finally, at last!, I found the strength and willpower. I pushed and shoved and punched at him until he backed off and sat up on his heels.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“We shouldn't,” I panted, scooting out from under him. “We really, really shouldn't.”
“Why not?” he asked, a tilt to his head. He didn't believe me. And he had every right not to.
“Because! I have to see you at work! Don't you get it? Those girls already think I'm up to something with you … and hell … now, technically, they'll be right. But I'll only make that worse if we do something. I'll feel all guilty and self-conscious.”
“Hey. Like I told you earlier. If anything happened to your job, I'll make sure you're taken care of.” Hunter tried to lean in again, but once more I fought him off.
“But that's not me, Hunter, that's not
who I am. I barely know you.”
He raised an eyebrow at me as if I were nuts.
“Seriously, Hunter.” I paused. “Thanks for the ride … but you should go. Seriously, I mean it. Go.”
“Oh.” He looked away. An eternity seemed to pass. “Yeah, uh, you're right. It's late, anyway. And we've got an early flight tomorrow. Road trip.”
I tried to help salvage his ego, forcing a cheery smile. “I guess I'll see you at that commercial shoot when you get back, then.”
Hunter winked. “Yup.” He stood, grabbed his jacket from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. He gave me one last look. “I'll show myself out.”
“Goodnight, Hunter.”
“G'night.”
I watched that tall, handsome stud—and professional athlete—leave my small, crappy bedroom with a heavy sinking in my stomach.
Did I really just turn that guy down …? Is something wrong with me?
Chapter 10:
Change Sticks
Rockwell
“Night, ladies. Nice to meet you,” I said to Honor's roommates as I trudged through their living room like the walking dead.
“You too,” they answered, their stunned eyes locked on me. Like they couldn't believe I was leaving, either.
Where did I go wrong? I didn't know. I wasn't sure if Honor hated me or what. I thought all that fuss she made over her job was her way of playing hard to get. Because, like I told her earlier, if anything happened to her job because of what we did? I'd gladly give her some cash to get by.
What girl would turn that down? Getting to have your cake and eat it, too?
Well. Honor, I supposed.
And now, as I climbed into my Maserati, I was overwhelmed by the hot, embarrassing burn of rejection. That was something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Call me crazy, but I liked it. For too long, all I'd known was a void in my stomach—deeper, maybe, a hole in my soul. It was a hunger that mercilessly consumed anything and everything it ever wanted. And that hunger got what it wanted. It always did.
Things come easy when you're rich and good looking and play a sport for a living. But somehow, it was never truly satisfying. Something I didn't quite realize until I sat in my fucking Maserati, in my expensive suit, feeling more confused than ever.
I really thought I could have Honor tonight. And I really thought I wanted her. And yet … when she turned me down? Hell. As much as it stung, as hot under the collar I might have felt, I couldn't help but think she made the right call.
Because now? I just wanted her that much more. Damn—her kisses were so unbelievably hot. She made me so hard, my dick ached. I wanted to see those luscious lips, so delicate and pink and plump, wrapped around my cock. I was sure I'd see it, too.
But she said she barely knew me. When you're a famous athlete, it sure seems like everyone knows you—or at least, they think they do.
Not Honor, though.
I fired up my engine and, as I backed out of Honor's driveway, remembered our little chat about that goal of mine that used to be automatic, but hadn't been working for me lately.
Maybe it's time to change sticks.
Huh. Yeah. Maybe.
Chapter 11:
Jump Through the Hoops
Honor
Two days later.
The Blizzard were scheduled to play tonight in Montreal. The ice girls don't fly with the team on road trips, of course; we stay behind in Denver. But a road trip for the team doesn't mean an off day for us. Instead, we're often tasked with promoting the team, or attending charity and public events.
And that's an aspect of the job I've really started to enjoy.
Today, our good deed was that we took a group of youths from an after-school program bowling. The kids were great, and a real riot! And they were so happy to go bowling and pose for pictures with us and eat the catered food and desserts. It was so good to see them enjoy themselves—sometimes, a little can go a long way.
***
Honestly, bowling was more than a good deed for the kids. For me, it was a much-needed distraction. Especially after what happened the other night with Hunter.
My new roommates now thought I was insane, by the way. After I heard Hunter's car drive off, I walked into the living room and they stared at me, slack jawed.
“Who is that man?” Sara asked.
“And why isn't he spending the night?” Kayla added.
Of course, they thought he was the hottest guy ever. Thankfully, they're not sports fans, so they didn't know he was a hockey player—and I wasn't about to tell them, either.
All I could do was explain that we worked together, and I didn't want to get myself into any hot water at work … and they seemed to understand.
But ever since that night? I dunno. I don't regret what I did. I think it was the right decision. I think. But … I just feel empty. Like I was built up for something. And then it didn't happen.
Worse—I felt like it would've been easier if I'd just gone ahead and fucked Hunter that night. Because then it would've been over between us. After we fucked, he could go straight to ignoring me, because that's what important guys like him do when they hook up with small-time girls like me. And then I would despise him, and he wouldn't respect me. And that'd be that. We could both get on with our merry lives.
But I hadn't fucked him. Instead, I'd stopped him. And ever since, I couldn't stop thinking about him.
In fact, I couldn't stop playing the same scene through my head: his hulking body between my legs, rubbing his big, long, hard dick against the crotch of my panties—until I was dripping wet. Then, arrogantly, he'd yank my panties to the side and rub his throbbing cock along my slick folds.
Gulp. That was hot. But it was hot precisely because it couldn't happen, because it wasn't what I really wanted, and because it was incredibly wrong. And even in my dirty fantasies, he never actually fucked me—he just teased me with his penis. Cruel and delicious irony.
Still. That didn't change the fact that I'd been so worked up and horny since that night. Nothing could satisfy me. Playing with myself just made me want the real thing—which I knew I couldn't have. In the end, I was one big, frustrated ball of sexual tension.
Besides. After I rejected Hunter? I figured he'd never talk to me again. He'd probably do what most guys did when they were turned down—flip a switch and suddenly loathe me with every fiber of his being.
***
“Honor? Honooooor?” Madison sang. “It's your turn to bowl, sweetheart. You're holding everyone up.”
“Oh! Sorry, kids.” I jumped out of my seat and grabbed a bowling ball. I heard Madison not-so-quietly whisper to another girl while I readied myself,
“Honor's head sure is stuck in the clouds today, mm? I bet it's about a boy—don't you?”
And yeah. Unfortunately, she was right. But at the same time, she was so wrong. I hated that no one could know the true story. I hated that none of this was my fault; I was only trying to do the right thing. Yet, I was constantly being treated as if I were doing the wrong thing.
My eyes burned into the pins as I readied my bowling ball. I imagined Madison's blonde head, tangerine tan, and absurdly fake smile sitting at the top of each pin. Grr. I hurtled the ball down the lane, wanting to smash those pins into splinters.
Alas … bowler I am not. The ball made a quick detour straight into the gutter. The kids laughed so loud and hard, some of them fell out of their seats and rolled around on the floor. I didn't mind. I hammed up my disappointment to make them laugh even harder.
But Madison? Her cackling … that hateful look she held for me … grrr.
Didn't she know? You shouldn't punish a girl for a crime she didn't commit. Because if she's already doing the time, she starts to think she might as well commit the crime.
***
We bowled one game after another, the kids so full of soda and stuffed with pizza, that they were practically bouncing of the walls. At last, it was time to wrap up and say goodbye, a
nd the kids boarded their bus.
I checked my phone and noticed a text from a number I didn't recognize.
“Hey Honor,” it read.
Hm. I tapped out a reply. “Who's this?”
“Hunter.”
When I read his name, my heart raced with an ominous dread, and a wave of relief, all at once. Confused? Yeah. So was I. And I wasn't sure how to reply to him, either. But then my phone buzzed with another message.
“Watching our game tonight?”
I replied: “Hi Hunter. I wasn't planning on it.”
“You better watch. Tonight's game is for you.”
I rolled my eyes. The hell did that even mean? I wasn't sure. But apparently, rejection only made Hunter more cocky and aggressive.
I replied, simply: “lol.”
“Seriously. I've been thinking about you all day long. Just watch the game.”
Even over a text message, Hunter Rockwell had a way of stealing my breath away and leaving me all sorts of confused about what to do or say … my throat tightened, and I gasped for air, but with a deliriously happy grin on my face.
And then there was a presence right behind my shoulder.
“Who ya texting?” It was Madison, of course.
I shut the screen off in a hurry and stuffed the phone under my thigh.
“Nobody.”
Madison chuckled. “Just so you know. You definitely wouldn't be the first.”
“… First what?” I muttered.
“Don't play dumb, Honor.” Madison shook her head. “Say, did you ever hear anything about Allison?”
“Who?”
“Allison. She was the girl you were hired to replace.”
Oh, god damn it. Did Hunter fuck this Allison girl and get her fired? Was I just another Allison, in a long line of Allisons? A shamed heat boiled in my neck. I felt like such a sucker.
“Um … no.” I blinked at Madison, hoping she hadn't noticed the way my cheeks had caught fire.