Taking a Shot (Montana Wolfpack)

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  He reached down and grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, and she raised her arms obligingly as he tugged it off.

  Her breath came faster as he balled the gray cotton between his big hands, his eyes roving over her curves. “There. I fixed it again.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well, I think you look pretty sexy.”

  “In that case, maybe you should take yours off, too. Just so I’m properly motivated.”

  God, she could watch him pull his T-shirt off over his head all day and never tire of it.

  “You’re right. That’s definitely sexier. I wonder what would happen if I undid your jeans?”

  Brett licked his lips. “Only one way to find out, I guess.”

  “I’ll do it then. For science.”

  “Is this science?”

  “Of course it is. This has biology written all over it.”

  She kissed her way down his sternum, down his abs. Brett tipped his head back against the wall, and when she was on her knees, she undid his pants. His hips jerked as she pulled down his zipper. “With a little chemistry thrown in,” she added, tugging his jeans down his thighs.

  “I really should have paid more attention in school.”

  Chelsea looked up at him, his shoulders braced against the wall. She inhaled the scent of Brett and chlorine and humid air, and she really wanted this to be everything she’d built it up to be in her mind.

  Nerves trickled through her stomach. Dustin had never been that into blowjobs, and suddenly she wondered if it was her.

  “You’ll tell me what you like, right?”

  “I like everything you do to me. I like just seeing you down there so much that I might come before you touch me.”

  Brett had a way of saying the most perfect things. She was pretty sure her heart should not be melting right before she gave him the dirty lip service she’d been envisioning.

  She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and licked up the length of him. He groaned as she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock.

  “Jesus, Chels. That’s so good.” He shoved his fingers in her hair, but unlike last time, this time the tug of it felt organic, and real, and oh so sexy.

  His hips started to rock a little under the suction of her mouth, not taking over, but as if he couldn’t help it, and it turned her on, the fact that she was making him lose control.

  When she glanced up, he was looking down at her, and it made her feel special, like she was the whole world to him right then, on her knees, giving him pleasure. She was wet and aching just from touching him like this, and she wriggled her hips, a little shimmy, as she squeezed her thighs together, searching for the pressure she needed, something to take the edge off the ache building between her legs.

  Chelsea took her hand off his thigh. Maybe if she just…

  Brett’s fist tightened in her hair, and the sharp sting of her scalp startled her into looking up at him again.

  “Shit. Sorry. Fuck, Chelsea, if you touch yourself right now, I’m gonna lose it.” He let go of her hair, his chest heaving. “You have to stop or I won’t be able to.”

  “You don’t have to. You can…” She was trying to be dirty, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say, “come in my mouth,” but she thought the words, and tried to convince herself that was a start, anyway. “I want you to.”

  His body went rigid, and his breath got raspier, so she figured he’d understood well enough, even without her saying the words outright. But he shook his head and was already reaching for her, helping her to her feet.

  “Maybe next time. Right now, I need to be deep inside you, so get naked.”

  He took his own advice, donning a condom as Chelsea slid her panties off.

  “Can we…” She took a deep breath. “Can you take me against the wall? Ever since that first night when you picked me up in the elevator like it was nothing, I’ve been fantasizing about—oh!”

  “Yeah.” He already had an arm around her and was pulling her up his body so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. “I can do that.”

  Yeah he could. Why was that so damn hot?

  He reached down with his free hand, positioning himself at her entrance so he could slide all the way in, even as he pressed her back against the tiles.

  Oh, man.

  He groaned at the delicious friction. “You’re so wet for me.”

  Chelsea was lost in him—his brute strength, the plunge of his cock, his lips on her neck. An erotic trifecta of sensations that had her mindless with need. She tightened her legs around him, grinding against him, desperate for pressure.

  “Brett, I need…”

  She shoved a hand between them.

  “Yes, baby. Touch yourself for me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

  Dirty words. For her. That, combined with the press of her fingers against her clit, had Chelsea coming so hard, she would have fallen if Brett wasn’t holding her up.

  He swore as he came a few strokes later, and her stomach muscles fluttered in time with the jerk of his hips.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, standing there as the two of them panted, letting their heartrates mellow, his fingers flexing against the backs of her thighs.

  “Holy shit.”

  A laugh bubbled up inside her. “What you said.”

  “I’m not sure I can feel my legs right now. I need to sit down.” Instead of letting her down, like she expected, he tightened his arms around her and carried her over to the closest pool lounger, taking a seat with her still wrapped around him.

  She sighed contentedly, tucking her head against his shoulder as he stretched out beneath her. “Let’s just stay here forever,” she suggested.

  Brett ran his fingers up her spine. “If I didn’t have a road trip starting on Monday, I would lock the door right now.”

  “I suppose we’ll probably need to eat at some point, too,” she conceded. “Stupid real life, always getting in the way of hot sex and pool lounging.”

  “Well, our flight back to Billings doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. There’s still time to slowly reintegrate ourselves into life outside this room so the culture shock isn’t so jarring.”

  She smiled against his skin. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We could start with hot sex in my really nice shower, to kind of bridge the pool-room-to-dry-land gap, and then we could follow that up with some hot sex in my king-size bed. And then, just to make the transition as easy as possible, we could try some hot morning sex in my king-size bed. Really ease into our first day back in the real world.”

  Chelsea pretended to mull it over. “Seems like an okay plan, but I have one question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “This shower you speak of. How nice are we talking?”

  “Ceiling-mount rain head fixture, staggered-height side sprayers, and a hand-held shower head. I’m talking the Lamborghini of showers.”

  “Ugh. Real life is going to be hard.” Chelsea pushed herself up off his chest. “But I guess we should probably give it a try. No sense in putting off the inevitable.”

  Brett smiled at her as he pulled her down for another kiss. “That’s my brave girl.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Chelsea sat in the smallest of Wolfpack HQ’s boardrooms, across from the door, watching the on-screen version of her father check his watch for the umpteenth time.

  “I thought Shanna was joining us for this.”

  “The meeting doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, Dad. I told you not to Skype in this early.”

  If the Wolfpack won their game later tonight, they’d clinch a spot in the playoffs for the first time ever. Her father had flown to Nashville early that morning so he could watch his team do battle live.

  “She’ll be here,” Chelsea assured him as he glanced at his watch again. And she would be. Shanna was always very punctual. Nerves writhed in Chelsea’s stomach like a pit of snakes at the prospect of seeing
her friend again. Carefully, she reorganized the presentation notes she’d spent all morning rewriting, letting the act of organization calm her.

  She was so intent on the notecards that she jumped in her chair when Shanna burst through the door less than a minute later.

  “I don’t want to fight anymore. Please forgive me for being an awful friend.” Shanna dropped her bag and two binders on the conference table, her words bursting forth like a torrent. “I did think you and Dustin were perfect, and I know that’s probably why you never told me what an asshat he was after you broke up. I just want you to be happy, and if you and Brett need to screw each other’s brains out for you to achieve serenity, then I am fully supportive of that.”

  Oh. God.

  Chelsea surged to her feet, shaking her head. “Shan, now’s not the best time.”

  Her friend didn’t even pause for breath. “You were just so intent on it being a one-night stand that seeing him again at your house really threw me off and—”

  “I’ll kill him.”

  Shanna whirled around at the threat, stumbling backward at the sight of the screen. “Mr. L! I didn’t… I wasn’t… I’m totally talking about a different Brett. You don’t know him. He doesn’t play hockey, he…does something else. So, yeah. Are you excited for the game tonight?”

  “Shanna, if you’ll excuse us, I think my daughter and I need to have a chat.”

  “Yes, of course.” Shanna turned to her, mouthing I’m sorry as she backed out of the room.

  Chelsea did her best to smile reassuringly. Much as she dreaded the coming “chat,” she was relieved that she and Shanna were going to be okay.

  She glanced at her father. His complexion was as red as his tie.

  Provided she survived this tirade. She lowered herself back into her chair and waited for it to begin.

  “What in the world were you thinking?”

  “Dad, I—”

  “No. Don’t answer that. This is not the Q and A portion of this diatribe.” Her father raked a hand through his graying hair. “Do you know why Brett Sillinger is currently playing defense for the Wolfpack? Because his personal fuck-ups are the stuff of legend and his last team didn’t want him there anymore. He almost threw a promising hockey career away on tabloid bullshit. And you deserve better than that.”

  The last part went a long way toward cooling the venomous response that had been cobbling on her tongue. In fact, when she spoke, her voice was soft and firm and sure.

  “He makes me happy, and what more could you want for me than that?”

  “A man who sticks around and—”

  “No. Don’t answer that.” Chelsea shook her head, throwing her dad’s words back at him. “I’m sorry you found out this way, but honestly, my personal life isn’t up for discussion. It’s not something you would be dissecting with any of your other employees. Especially not during work hours, and definitely not over Skype. Now, if you need some time to cool off, that’s fine, but otherwise I’d really like to tell you about the new direction I have in mind for the Wolfpack Charity Foundation next season.”

  Her father harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Chelsea did her best to look coolly professional as she waited for his decision. But no matter what it was, for the first time in a long time, Chelsea was excited to be at work. Because she was finally going to be doing something that mattered.

  “Well?” her father finally growled. “Go get Shanna. I haven’t got all day.”

  …

  Life didn’t get better than this.

  Brett glanced around the plane full of his teammates, celebrating the fact that the Montana Wolfpack was playoff bound for the first time in franchise history, thanks to a big win in Nashville.

  He couldn’t wait to get home and indulge in a little private celebration of this momentous occasion with Chelsea, and then again, with Chelsea naked. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, unless you counted their X-rated video chat after he’d netted the game-winning goal in their OT battle against St. Louis four days ago, but he didn’t, since touching himself paled in comparison to having her hands on his body.

  His phone buzzed against his chest, and he pulled it out of his suit jacket and glanced at the screen. His social media was blowing up with fans wishing the team well, so he disconnected from the plane’s wifi to avoid the constant notifications and shoved his wireless headphones in his ears, drowning out his teammates’ conversations with his playlist.

  He was feeling a bit contemplative. He’d made the post-season every year since he’d been drafted to the NHL, even had the privilege of hoisting hockey’s biggest honor above his head twice, but this moment was satisfying on a completely different level.

  He wasn’t just a punk kid, lucky enough to be drafted by a team with enough skill and talent to make the playoffs on a regular basis. With the Wolfpack, he was a veteran, and he’d played an integral part in getting this team to the playoffs. He’d proven that Craig London and his management team had been right to take a chance on a screwed-up defenseman. Brett hadn’t let them down, and it felt pretty fucking amazing. It had been a while since hockey had been his focus, and it reminded him how much he loved the game. How important this was to him.

  With a smile, Brett closed his eyes and savored the moment.

  …

  Two hours later, Brett was jarred awake when Jason Decker flopped into the seat beside him. “Sills. Wake up.”

  Brett winced at the punch in the shoulder and straightened up from his slumped position and popped his wireless earphones out, tucking them back in his suit jacket. “Jesus. What?”

  He shoved his phone in Brett’s hand. “You need to watch this.”

  Dragging his hand across his face, Brett dug the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to get his brain in gear as he glanced down at Decker’s phone. The thumbnail was a pair of wet, bikini-clad boobs, and the screen had the blue-tinged lighting that made him think of indoor pools. Which made him think of Chelsea. Which made him feel…content. A sense of rightness. Like everything was okay.

  “What is this? I don’t want to watch your creepy tentacle porn on the plane.”

  Jason’s expression stayed serious, and a little tingle of warning slithered across Brett’s skin.

  He shot Decker a frown but put on the Beats headphones the left winger handed him before he hit the on-screen play button.

  The video had shitty lighting, but he’d been right about the pool, and he watched the self-shot footage of the boobs in a black bikini as they broke the surface of the water. The woman kept the camera pointed down, so her face wasn’t in the shot, but as more of her body was revealed, water streaming off her as she climbed the stairs that led up to the deck, Brett’s spine locked with eerie premonition.

  Please no.

  “Baby, smile for the camera,” said the woman’s voice, and the on-screen view swung wildly as she turned the camera away from her, tracking the gray pool tiles until she arrived at the lounge chair, and the camera panned up a dude’s legs, black board shorts, abs, and an arm with far less tattoos than it had now.

  Brett couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

  “What are you doing, J?”

  His own voice detonated through him. He sounded kind of drunk, which he had been, confirmed as the camera jerked up to his face, all glassy-eyed, as he shot the camera a quizzical look.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” she asked flirtatiously. And though the camera didn’t show it except for the jerky movement and the lowered sightline, Brett remembered the way she’d straddled his lap, her wet bathing suit soaking through his dry one. The phantom smell of chlorine and beer and Janelle’s perfume made him feel sick.

  “Is that my GoPro? I was looking for that,” on-screen Brett said.

  “It’s our anniversary. I, like, thought we could do something special.”

  “Whatever you want, but no camera, okay?”

  “Awww, are you shy? ’Cause you’ve got a great cock, bab
y.” She dipped the camera down to where their bathing suits were pressed together. “So big and thick.” It was her trying-to-be-sexy voice. The one she used when she wanted to get her way. It had worked on him for a long time. In retrospect, he was embarrassed it had worked at all.

  Her left hand appeared in the shot, tugging at the drawstring of his trunks. The sight of the three-carat pink diamond on her ring-finger made him queasy.

  “J, be serious for a minute.”

  “I am being serious.”

  That was her exasperated voice, and she used it when he was pissing her off. He knew it well.

  “God. You’re, like, such a buzzkill! A sex tape would just make you more famous, you know that, right?”

  “Little kids ask me to sign their jerseys. I hang out at the children’s hospital once a month. We’re going to a fundraiser for the Boys and Girls Club tomorrow night.”

  “So? I want to film us getting a little dirty. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  “Nude selfies get hacked all the time. I just…I can’t take the risk. I’m already on probation with the team. You know that.”

  “Oh please. As if you’re a big enough deal to get hacked. There are, like, at least five guys on your team who are higher profile than you, never mind in the league.”

  He winced in time with his on-screen self. Jesus. Why had she posted all this shit?

  “Janelle, come on. I love you.” His hair was flopped over his forehead. He looked young. And stupid. Had he still believed he loved her then? Or was he already starting to suspect that they were fooling themselves? “We don’t need a camera to have a good time. Right?”

  There was a quaver in his voice that let him know he already knew this wouldn’t last, though they were still about six months out from the bad fights at this point.

  “Fine. Spoilsport.”

  The screen swung wildly again as she leaned forward and set the camera on the table beside his beer. And that had been the end of that.

  At least, that’s what he’d thought when he’d let her reach down and undo his swim trunks.

  But he’d been wrong. It wasn’t the end of the video.