Pucked Love

by Helena Hunting

  “Yes, Darren. I understand.”

  His smile turns soft and his lips are softer still as they brush over mine. He releases my wrists and steps back, setting me free. I feel like I’ve been shot up with adrenaline and tranqued at the same time.

  “Come on, baby. The girls are waiting for you, and I’m going to be in trouble with my team if we don’t move our asses.” He extends a hand and winks.

  “You’re an asshole,” I gripe, but take his hand because I don’t think I’m capable of standing on my own.

  His chuckle is dark as he pulls me to my feet. I stumble and end up mashed against his chest. I might try to rub myself on him during that brief contact. He kisses my temple. “But I’m your asshole.”

  I snort, but he’s right. He hands me my purse and phone, then pockets his own and grabs his bag. I’m less than coordinated as he opens the door and ushers me into the hall. I have to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other rather than slamming him into a wall so I can hump him until I come.

  He punches the elevator button, and I stare at the numbers as they rise. The churning in my stomach grows the closer it gets to our floor. I don’t know what I want more—the elevator to be empty or full. If it’s empty he’s going to torment me, as he sometimes likes to do. I’m aware that this is tied to his stress level over the game tonight.

  The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Shit. It’s empty.

  “Come on, firefly.” Darren links our pinkies and tugs. I stumble forward, my mouth dry. Expectation and anxiety make the ache between my legs flare. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored walls. My eyes are wide and glassy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kisses.

  He presses the button that will take us to the lobby, and I watch as the doors slide closed. Darren drops his bag on the floor and crowds me into the corner, pressing his hips into mine.

  I groan and let my head fall back against the glass, waiting for him to do something, anything. His lips find my neck and trail up to my ear. “Feeling trapped?”

  I shake my head.

  “Still needy?” Now his lips are on my cheek.

  I exhale a shuddering breath and nod.

  His smile makes the harsh angles of his face even more severe rather than softening them. “I bet your panties are already soaked through.”

  I swallow hard and clench my thighs harder. His knee presses against mine, and I open, letting him in. I glance up. We have thirty more floors, but the elevator could stop anytime to pick up people. He rolls his hips, his erection pressed against my stomach, his thigh providing the friction I’m so very desperate for.

  The orgasm is like an aura in the air, the glitter of a sunrise on the water—close but not quite within reach.

  “What are you waiting for? Chase it. See if you can catch it before it’s too late.”

  I fist his shirt and grind shamelessly on his leg, not caring how desperate I must look and sound as I whimper and roll my hips while he stands immobile, one hand gripping the bar on either side of me, eyes fixed on mine. He’s not helping, but he’s giving me a chance to help myself.

  I glance over his shoulder. Shit. Only fifteen more floors to go. I grind harder, moaning loudly as sensation builds and funnels, a tornado gaining momentum.

  His gaze follows mine in the mirror. “Better hurry. Time is running out.”

  I’m right there—bliss a lit firecracker ready to explode in my clit—when the elevator dings. Darren covers my hand with his and steps back, even as I try to follow his thigh. He shakes his head, his expression almost remorseful, and he uncurls my fingers from his shirt and brings my knuckles to his lips. He kicks his bag to the wall and leans against it.

  He’s quick to wrap an arm around my shoulder and pull me into his side. He drops his head, lips finding my temple as he whispers, “Sorry, firefly, you almost had it.”

  The doors slide open and a family enters, giving us half smiles while their kids press their faces against the glass and the youngest one tries to push all the buttons. My knees feel weak all over again, and I want to cry. My clit is still singing “I was that close.”

  When the elevator finally reaches the lobby, Darren laces our fingers together and guides me to where his bus is waiting and the girls are huddled around their phones.

  “Finally!” Violet holds up her phone, showing us the time. “They were about to leave without you.” She thumbs over her shoulder to where Alex is standing outside. Darren’s phone rings as Alex brings his to his ear.

  “I gotta run. I’ll see you tonight. Have fun today.” Darren brushes his lips across mine in a very uncharacteristic public display of affection.

  I stare after him as he heads for Alex, who throws his hand up in the air. All I catch is “What the fu—” before the doors close and cut him off.

  Darren holds up a hand, probably telling him to settle down. He claps him on the back and Alex shakes his head, shoulders rolling as he turns and climbs onto the bus. Darren looks over his shoulder as he brings two fingers to his lips and holds them up in my direction.

  I smile until I realize it’s the fingers that were inside me not that long ago—the same ones that did not provide me with an orgasm. As my grin falls, his rises. And then he disappears onto the bus.

  As soon as he’s out of sight, I turn to the girls, ready to issue a somewhat insincere apology for holding them up. They’re all staring at me, eyes wide.

  “What?” I touch my face and pat my hair, making sure it’s not all messed up.

  “What the hell was that?” Violet makes wild hand gestures.

  “What was what?” Why are they all looking at me like I’ve grown another head? I look down to make sure I’m not flashing a nipple or have a wet spot on my crotch.

  “I didn’t think Darren was big on PDAs,” Violet says.

  I shrug. “He usually isn’t.” Until now, I guess.

  “Well, I think it’s sweet,” Sunny says, rubbing her bump. “Can we get something to eat before we go shopping? I’m starving.”

  I’m grateful that she takes the attention off me.

  “I second that!” Violet says, and we pour out onto the Toronto street.

  We stop at a breakfast place that has vegan options. Violet orders a full breakfast and a side of bacon and devours everything. We stroll down the street, stopping at a candy store, and then of course we find a sex shop, so it’s imperative that we go inside, at least according to Violet and Skye.

  Violet’s eyes light up as she rummages through the penis-themed party favors. “Oh! Poppy, we need to start planning your bachelorette party!”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary quite yet since we’re not getting married for at least another year, maybe two, depending.”

  “Unless Lance knocks you up,” Lily wags her brows.

  Poppy rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to knock me up. I’m on the pill.”

  Sunny raises her hand. “I was on the pill, and I got knocked up.”

  “Yeah, but you were on antibiotics and forgot that makes the pill ineffective,” Lily reminds her.

  “Oh, right. Oh well, at least this time around it was planned. Might as well have them all now so they can grow up together.” She pats her tummy.

  Lily smiles softly, but there’s a sadness there, too. Her mom got pregnant by an NHL player when she was eighteen. He took zero responsibility and never paid a dime in child support. Randy’s dad, a former NHL player, had a bad habit of sleeping with women who weren’t his wife while he was on the road.

  While Lily and Randy seem to have a great relationship, they’re both a little skittish about marriage and kids. She’s still young and not in a rush to start a family of her own, but I think part of her is sad that if she does end up having kids, they’ll be much younger than Sunny’s.

  I can relate, I guess—not that I want to get married and have kids. I mean, I guess maybe I would eventually consider the kid part, but marriage seems a lot like a prison sentence from my experien
ce growing up.

  On the way back to the hotel, we’re forced to stop again because Sunny needs more food. The game doesn’t start until seven, but we arrive back at the hotel around four in the afternoon. It appears housekeeping has been by to tidy up, and Darren has come and gone. On the bed is huge black box tied with a red ribbon and a small black card with my name written on it in silver ink.

  The ache between my legs that finally dulled into something tolerable this afternoon becomes sharp again as I consider the contents of the box.

  I’d message Darren, but I don’t like to distract him before games. I pick up the card and flip it open.

  I shiver at the memory of what he said this morning when he left me hanging. It’s been a long time since he’s brought me to the edge like that—twice even—and kept me wanting all day. What if it’s some kind of sex toy in there? How the hell am I going to make it through the rest of the night without an orgasm?

  I’m still standing at the edge of the bed, staring at the box, when there’s a knock at my door.

  I glance through the peephole, thinking maybe he organized room service—which is totally something he would do—except it’s Violet standing in the hall with the rest of the girls.

  I flip the lock and open the door. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “We’re getting ready for the game, and you weren’t answering your messages, so we all came to you,” Violet replies.

  They file into the room toting bags. Lily has champagne, and Sunny is carrying a bottle of that sparkling grape juice she’s in love with.

  All of them are already dressed and ready for the game, wearing their jerseys and leggings.

  “Ooooh! You have a present!” Violet picks up the box and shakes it around. It doesn’t make a sound, so clearly there’s nothing metal in it. She thrusts it at me. “Open it!”

  “Uhhhh . . .” I look around at their expectant faces.

  “Oh, come on, we already know you and Darren aren’t nearly as freaky as you pretend to be. How bad could it be?” Violet reasons.

  “Remember you said that if it’s something you don’t expect.” I take the box from her.

  “You don’t have to open it in front of us if it makes you uncomfortable,” Poppy says softly.

  I wonder if it makes her uncomfortable. She was pretty quiet when we were at Sexapalooza, and she mostly looked at the funny condoms when we were in the sex shop. For as horrible a reputation as Lance had with women, he’s incredibly tender with Poppy. He treats her like she’s a delicate flower, even though I think she’s kind of a badass with the way she handles him.

  I take a seat on the end of the bed and pull the red ribbon, then nervously flip open the box. I press my fingers to my lips and suppress a grin. Now the note card makes more sense.

  Inside is a brand new jersey to replace the one I’ve had for nearly two years. There’s also a pair of leggings covered in a team logo and WESTINGHOUSE 26 pattern. He even went so far as to get matching socks. But it’s what I find under the jersey and leggings that makes me fight back a thick swell of foreign emotion. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry.

  I pick up the small card sitting on top of the bra and panties set and flip it over.

  I run my fingers over the pretty pale yellow cheekies, edged in lace and decorated with not only the Chicago logo, but a tiny firefly print. I have a feeling they might be glow in the dark. I flip them over and laugh. They read WESTINGHOUSE on the butt. The bra is the same fabric, minus the text.

  “He really is sweet, isn’t he?” Poppy says.

  “He is,” I agree.

  He’s always been big on gift giving. Mostly it’s been lingerie and sometimes more practical things, like upgrading the alarm system in my house and buying me that reading chair. But these kinds of gifts are new. And I think I like it, even though it scares me. I should be bracing myself for the possibility that he’s going to be traded at the end of the season, not holding on tighter.

  “You look like you might need this.” Lily hands me a glass of champagne, which I gladly accept.

  I take a small sip at first, then a much larger one since it’s so delicious, and she’s right. I do need it. This whole coming to away games with Darren isn’t new. I’ve been invited plenty of times. It’s how the dynamics have changed that’s freaking me out.

  I’ve always come prepared and with a plan. Or Darren has mentioned specific lingerie or toys he’d like me to bring. This time he offered to pack the leggings and shirts he purchased and keeps at his place—in the third drawer he cleared out for me. The first and second contain all the lingerie he or I have purchased over the past two years.

  I chug the rest of my champagne and head to the bathroom so I can freshen up a little and change before I start the whole makeup process. The bra and panty set are adorably perfect. If I’d brought my phone in with me I’d consider taking a selfie and sending it to Darren, but that’s not something I’ve done before, and I’m not sure if he’d appreciate it or be put off by it. Besides, I have a feeling it will be more impactful if he sees this on me in person.

  When I come out of the bathroom, fully dressed in my brand new, freshly washed outfit—I know this because the clothes smell like Darren’s laundry detergent—Lily hands me another glass of champagne.

  Violet and Sunny are arguing over what color eye shadow will look best on Poppy. Well, not arguing so much as holding up different color palettes and debating what will look more natural. Poppy doesn’t need to wear makeup at all, and neither does Sunny. They have those natural, flawless faces that look best with a hint of lip gloss and maybe a coat of mascara.

  I don’t go crazy on the makeup, but pictures from the games often end up online, so I won’t go out with a naked face, either. While my relationship with Darren got a lot of press and questions when we first started dating—which was unnerving for a lot of reasons—it was difficult to really qualify it since physical contact in public has never been our thing. It kept everyone guessing as to what was going on.

  If Darren pulls another PDA like he did this afternoon, that could change things again. So of course I want to look decent if my picture ends up splashed on hockey sites for the bunnies to rip apart.

  At six we meet Alex and Violet’s parents in the hotel lobby and head to the arena. It’s a short walk, but it’s clear both Daisy and Skye have been drinking already—and possibly engaging in other activities that are legal in Canada.

  The champagne has loosened me up a little, but I’m still nervous about the game. I root around in my purse for one of my mom’s candies. I’m grateful when I find several at the bottom. I pop one in my mouth and sigh as the minty flavor coats my tongue. I know it’s probably the placebo effect, but I immediately feel the tiniest bit better after a couple of sucks.

  The stadium is full of blue and white jerseys, so we stick out like sore thumbs with our screaming red and black. Not that any of us gives a flying fuck. Violet figures Toronto would’ve picked Alex up—as a Canadian player—if they’d been on their game and realized what a formidable opponent he was going to be. Even with an injury he plays better than most, though he’s been a lot more cautious recently, and I see that now in a way I wouldn’t have before the conversation with Darren.

  We have the kind of seats people want to shank you for. We file down our row, drinks in hand, and settle in while we wait for the teams to be announced. While the girls were in my room I’d almost forgotten about the discomfort between my thighs, but it’s back with a vengeance. Part of it comes from knowing I’m wearing those pretty panties with his name on the ass.

  I reach into my purse for another one of my calming candies.

  “Are you coming down with something?” Lily asks from my right.

  “Huh?” I pop the candy into my mouth and try not to groan out loud as the minty taste coats my tongue for the second time in the past hour.

  “Is that a cough drop?”

  “No. Why? Do you need one? I might have some.” I don�
�t want to part with my mom’s candies.

  “I’m good. It probably won’t taste great with my beer.” She clinks her can against mine, and we both take a sip.

  Yeah, it’s not all that delicious when you combine mint and beer.

  A few minutes later, the teams take the ice, first Toronto, then Chicago. The apprehension I’ve been holding on to all day drops from my stomach to settle lower, between my thighs, making the pervasive ache that much worse. It’s going to be a long game.

  We all wave as the boys skate past, warming up before they take the bench. Violet’s knee is bouncing, and she chews on her thumbnail.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She nods. “Just nervous. I want them to win.”

  “Me, too.”

  Alex and Darren have their heads together as they take the bench and wait for the ice to be cleaned, Darren’s hand on his shoulder. I lift my pearls to my lips as Darren glances in my direction.

  He raises two fingers, the hint of a smile appearing as he taps his lips. I drop the pearls and mirror the movement.

  The buzzer sounds, and his smile fades. He puts on his helmet and gloves and takes the ice. The first period isn’t great. Darren passes the puck instead of taking shots, and Alex can’t seem to get it past the net. Toronto steals the puck from Alex more than once, and by the end of the first period, Chicago is down one.

  In the second period, Alex narrowly avoids getting slammed into the boards by Cockburn, the same guy who took him out last season and nearly cost him his career.

  Darren puts himself in the way and takes the hit for Alex. He and Cockburn crash into the boards, the sound echoing through the arena.

  “Fucking Cockburn!” Violet jumps out of her seat and starts yelling at the ref to call the dirty play.

  Darren shakes it off, and Toronto takes a penalty, giving Chicago a two-minute power play. They switch out Alex for Randy, and he takes control when the puck drops, barreling down the ice toward the net with Darren on his right. At the last second, Randy passes to Darren who takes the shot, sliding the puck past the net, tying the game.