Grudge Puck: A Hockey Romance Page 7

  Fuck one kiss. I can't stop.

  I melted right in his stupidly thick arms and in his trash-talking mouth. Slowly, I climbed into bed, and Beau prowled after me—his lips locked on mine every step of the way.

  He wedged his big body between my legs. We traded tongues. I whimpered and mewled, hoping we wouldn't wake Piper, as Beau began to thrust his long bulge against my crotch.

  Fuck, this is so wrong.

  When he ran a hand over my breasts, my nipples were already eagerly straining for him.

  “Oh,” he sighed with approval.

  He swiped at the bust of my dress with his massive paw, and my bare breasts bounced out. His greedy hands groped my boobs. He jiggled them and tested their weight in his palm.

  “God, you've got great tits,” he growled. He wore the arrogant smirk of a man who knows he doesn't deserve what he's touching.

  “Fuck you,” I panted breathlessly.

  Beau tweaked and tugged at my swollen nipples with his fingers. I thought they couldn't get any more erect—but for him, sure enough, they grew longer and fatter.

  God, I whimpered. Why's he so good at this?

  I reached for Beau's waist and unclasped his belt buckle.

  “We have to be fast,” I said, and not without a heavy dose of self-loathing. And I wondered if Beau could hear it in my voice—the shame that I was doing this here, and with him.

  “Works for me.” He gave a careless shrug.

  “I bet,” I muttered. “Asshole.”

  He sat up on his heels, peeled the suit jacket off his broad shoulders, and threw the discarded item to the floor.

  I bit my lip as I watched Beau pull off his shirt and throw it aside. Admiration and disgust swept over me as I laid my eyes on a body carved and sculpted by years of hard work, training, and discipline. Thick arms, jutting pecs, a sizzling six-pack. The body of a champion, built with blood sweat and tears.

  Beau stepped out of his trousers. His cock, girthy and long, throbbed in his boxer-briefs. I stared at the sizable bulge, dead-on, unable to break my awed gaze.

  He'd felt big at the club, but … wow.

  I nearly choked on the words: “You're, um, big.”

  He laughed vainly. “Yeah.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you are. It's always the biggest jerks with the bigg—”

  “Shutup,” Beau said, vaguely annoyed.

  I stifled a laugh. Was he serious?

  He pointed at the bedroom door. “It's open a crack. Want me to shut it?”

  “Doesn't matter. She sleeps through anything.”

  Beau laughed out loud. “Wow. Even for me, that's crass. See, I knew you had a wild side.”

  “Just get over here and fuck me, you jock moron.”

  Beau slowly strutted over and stood at my side of the bed. He grabbed hold of my jaw—not forcefully, but sternly, as if he were correcting a misbehaving puppy. He raised my gaze to meet his.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You don't talk to me like that anymore. Understand?”

  Outrage flooded my blood—who the hell did he think he was? He was lucky I was doing anything with him at all—he didn't get to determine how I talked!

  But some selfish and pitiful part of myself knew that if I protested or grew righteous, he might walk right through that door. And the idea of him walking out on me now, after we'd come this far, was somehow even more shameful than what we were about to do in my friend's bed.

  Swallowing my pride, I quietly answered him, obediently.

  “Yes.”

  And with those words, a small part of me withered and died. And another part of me now felt like it belonged to Beau. As terrible a realization as that was—somehow, it was also insanely liberating, even if it went against everything I believed.

  “Good girl,” he said, pleased with me.

  Beau pulled his boxer-briefs off his waist and down. His giant cock sprang out, bobbing in front of my face with an intimidating heft. “Now you're going to suck me. Suck me on all fours like the dirty girl you are.”

  Indignation bubbled in my throat as I stared at his cock. Waves of his sweltering masculine heat radiated against my face and mouth, like the blistering fire of a blast furnace. His scent crept into my senses—fresh, nutty and male.

  God damn it. I hate it, but it's true, I want him.

  Reluctantly, I climbed on all fours, like he wanted me.

  Hesitantly, I wrapped a hand around his balls and pulled him closer to the bed. He staggered forward and pushed his muscled hips toward me, presenting his cock to me in all its veiny and girthy glory.

  I let out a sigh.

  My loathing eyes locked on his, I stuck out the very tip of my tongue. Disinterestedly, I ran the smallest point of my tongue up the side of his shaft. Up and down, up and down, without much care for rhythm or pace or his pleasure.

  Beau shook his head and rebuked me. “Awful. You blow your boyfriends like this? Suck it like you mean it.”

  Miffed, I blew out an angry gust.

  But I obeyed. Instead of holding it back stingily, I gave him more of my tongue like he wanted. I ran my entire tongue up his length slowly, tenderly.

  Beau sighed, his features softening. “That's better.”

  I had to admit it—as much as it bothered me deep down, earning his praise was a deeply infectious feeling. I wanted more. I wanted to please him.

  With my lips wrapped around his nuts, I sucked.

  With my fist wrapped around his cock, I stroked.

  “Fuck yeah,” Beau groaned.

  His soft groans and manly moans of pleasure were a natural aphrodisiac. With every vulnerable grunt and sigh he made, my pussy clenched with a rabid need.

  I wrapped my lips around his throbbing glans and slid him in; his salty flesh filled my mouth.

  “Yes,” Beau quietly groaned. “Harder. Faster.”

  Again, I obeyed. I sucked him the way he wanted. Buried between my cheeks, his cock turned as hard as steel. I savored the taste of his essence, his swollen texture, his throbbing pulse.

  “C'mon, dirty girl,” he taunted, with a handful of my hair tightly held in his fist. “Suck it like you've always wanted to.”

  Always wanted to?

  An indignant fire rose in my belly; gusts of hatred blew from my nostrils like an angry bull.

  And then something took over me, some urge possessed me, something terrible that I'd never even thought about doing with any other lover—

  I spat.

  I spat right on his cock.

  Watching tendrils of my saliva drip from his wet, chiseled cock? I growled with a wild, animal satisfaction.

  A dark smile twisted Beau's mouth. “Fuck yeah. That's more like it.”

  I threw my mouth against his length, taking him deeper, faster, sloppier. My throat opened for him completely, and his swelling manhood filled me totally, throbbing deep in my neck.

  “Fuck yeah, Camille,” he gasped.

  I felt him growing harder between my cheeks. Aggressively, I deep-throated him. I refused to quit, even as his abs began to clench and strain and tremble and he quietly panted,

  “Wait wait wait! Slow down, slow down!”

  “Mm-nn!” I refused, my voice muffled on his cock.

  “You're gonna make me come,” Beau panted.

  Beau pulled out, shooting streaks of his cum high through the air. His cream splattered into my mouth, against my face, and sailed high over my shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” Beau panted. After making a mess with his impressive load, the last drop dribbled from his head and rolled down down his shaft.

  I slurped that last drop up before it dripped to the floor—much to his delight.

  “That was hot,” I whispered with a crazed smirk, “but I thought you were gonna fuck me?”

  Beau scooped me up and threw me on my back. “I've got another load for you.”

  “Oh,” I sighed.

  He grabbed hold of my thong and slid it off my legs. He
gave a coy look when he bunched my intimates up into a small ball and squeezed them, as if he could wring my juices from them.

  “These panties are sopping wet, Camille.”

  Why is it that I only get wetter when he tells me things like that?

  “Lemme see those.” I wrestled my panties from his big hands.

  He wants me to be dirty? I can be dirty.

  I wrapped my drenched panties around the base of his cock and balls and tied the panties into a neat little bow. “There.”

  Beau let out a deep, horny growl of satisfaction. “God damn, Camille. I fucking love that.”

  With my panties tied around his cock, Beau spread my legs and mounted me in missionary. I dug my nails into the muscular athlete's wide, sweat-slicked back.

  “You want me to fuck you?” he teased, rubbing his hard cock between my folds.

  “God, yes,” I grumbled throatily, desperately.

  With my dress still caught around my mid-section, he set his cock at my entry and pushed in. Slowly, his thickness parted my lips and slid right into my wet grip.

  He was content to let his massive, solid manhood rest inside me—for just a second. I loved the feel of him inside me, and I squeezed him, demonstrating my strength.

  “Fuck, your cunt's so wet and tight,” he growled in my ear. His hot cock twitched vulnerably inside me.

  “So go ahead and fuck me.”

  He eased in slowly, as if he wanted to taste every last inch of my flesh with his cock. With each thrust, he tunneled deeper and stretched me wider.

  “I'm so wet for you,” I moaned.

  The creaky springs in Piper's mattress grew squeakier as Beau's pace began to build.

  “Yes,” I moaned. “More.”

  Beau gave me what I wanted. The bed began to knock against the wall; first with gentle, rhythmic bumps—thump, thump, thump.

  “Fuck me harder, Beau,” I moaned in his ear.

  He began to rock into me, faster, harder. His muscular, sweaty waist clapped against my pelvis, and the bed banged against the wall, loud and rapidly, like a jack-hammer.

  “Yes!” I screamed, forgetting about our history, forgetting about Piper, forgetting about everything else but the fact that I'd never been fucked this good in my life. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Deeper, longer, his big dick bore into me. My cream pooled on his cock and soiled the panties that were still wrapped around him.

  The air in Piper's room grew humid and musty as we slammed our bodies together and fucked each other harder, angrier, faster. Beau tossed me around from one position to the next, like his personal play-thing, posing my body however the hell he wanted to use it.

  And I loved every second of it, even if I'd never admit it.

  “I'm gonna come!” Beau roared once he'd sampled my flesh in every position once, twice, or three times. Beads of sweat shook free from from his chiseled torso and splattered my belly, my tits.

  “I'm coming too!” I whimpered. “oh my God, Beau! I'm coming!”

  Beau pulled his big dick out—and the act of his withdrawal triggered my climax. Waves of bliss and ecstasy unleashed over me, crashing up and down my core and tingling in my extremities.

  Beau scrambled to kneel over me. Gasping, grunting, dripping with sweat—the hockey player let go and shot his load.

  He blasted his hot cum all over me, all over my dress and all over the bed sheets, too.

  We panted for breath while the storm clouds rolled by.

  “Shit.” Beau gasped at last. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah,” I laughed, delirious over what we'd just done. I wished Beau would fall on top of me, smoosh me with his solid weight, hug me, lay next to me, cuddle with me. Anything. Whatever. Because I didn't want to face the reality of what we'd done just yet. I only wanted to bask for a second longer in the orgasmic glow we'd created.

  What I didn't want him to do was what he actually did.

  With a fist to his forehead, Beau looked like he'd just swallowed a gallon of ice cream and was now paying the toll—a painful brain-freeze. “Whoa.” He staggered off the bed and fetched his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Shit,” he hissed. “Holy shit, I gotta go.”

  My eyes narrowed angrily. “Right now? Seriously?”

  “That was amazing, Camille. No joke.” Beau hurriedly started dressing, hopping around the room as he stepped into his trousers. “We should've done that a long time ago.”

  I laughed bitterly. “No, we shouldn't have. And we shouldn't have done it now, either.”

  Beau gave me a look and raised his palms, as if to say, well, whaddya gonna do about it now?

  I stared at him, rage boiling in my veins.

  “What?” he asked, faking an innocent laugh. “Do you want me to bring Piper in here before I go, or something?”

  “Considering you just drenched her bed sheets with your disgusting cum? No, asshole, I don't.”

  “Sorry?” Beau shrugged. “But I really have to go, Camille. I've got curfew to make.”

  “Curfew.” I blurted out with a cynical laugh.

  “Yeah. Life of an athlete—we got that game tomorrow, remember?”

  “Right. How could I forget.”

  “Maybe I'll see you at the game?” He turned that stupid charming smile on—only now, the effect it had on me was absolutely nauseating.

  “Trust me, you won't,” I said with a sigh. “Fucking prick.”

  He bent over to tie his shoes. “Well. It'd be a shame to let the seats go to waste. First row, right behind the glass.”

  I didn't say anything; I only seethed.

  Beau finished dressing. Without a word, he gave me a half-hearted peck on the forehead and left the room in a rush.

  I stared at the space he'd just occupied.

  Fuck. Fuck, I'm so dumb.

  I laid in a puddle of cum and sweat. Beau's cum, my fluids, and our sweat. In Piper's bed.

  And I wondered how the hell I could've possibly been so stupid and naive to do what we just did.

  What a colossally bad idea.

  Chapter 11

  Curfew

  Beau

  I rushed down the apartment building stairs, burst through the front door and immediately hailed a cab.

  Luck was on my side tonight. A vacant cab was right outside the building, waiting for me. I whistled and hopped right in. I gave the cabbie the address to the hotel in Mid-town. I slipped him a $100 bill and told him to hurry.

  Money motivates any man, and sure enough, the cabbie stepped on the gas like a bat out of hell. I relaxed into my seat and watched New York City roll by in a blur.

  Filthy memories of what I'd just done played through my mind's eye:

  That 'one last kiss' that we both knew would lead to more.

  The way she reached between my legs and fondled my cock while we tongued.

  The sight of those perfect, perky tits spilling out of her dress.

  The look in her eyes when I told to her suck me like she always wanted to.

  Yeah. That's what really got her. It was like a switch flipped in her head. And the girl I knew she'd been hiding from the world finally came out.

  She spat on my cock and buried me in her throat. She didn't let me go until streaks of cum were painted up and down her face.

  Damn.

  My cock swelled fondly at the memories. My waist and thighs were still sticky and coated with her fluids. I sniffed at my fingers like a dog, desperate to find more of her essence. Sweet and musky, a touch of spice. She smelled damned good.

  That was the hottest sex I've ever had.

  Normally, I'm a one-and-done kinda guy. I find things get a little too complicated after the first time you've slept with a girl.

  She starts wanting things … expecting things … and it all gets to be too much, especially for a busy guy like me.

  But … there's something about Camille. I dunno what it is, but there's a little extra something, a kinky spark, that I don't get with other girls.

>   I'd do her again, is all I'm saying. Ab-so-fucking-lutely.

  Judging by the look on her face when I left, though? Ha. For some reason, I don't think I'm going to be seeing Camille again—not at the hockey game tomorrow, not at the club, not ever.

  A sour streak of loneliness sank into the pit of my stomach. But I did my best to squash it and ignore it.

  Who cares?

  I've fucked a lot of girls. Not once have I cared about how much they'll end up hating me the minute after we're done. So why would I care now?

  Besides, I think we both needed that. She likes to make me out to be some terrible bad guy, but conveniently, she forgets how mean she was to me back in the day.

  The cab pulled up at my hotel and I jumped out. I checked the time as I sprinted into the building—I had to hurry.

  I waited for the elevator, nervously pacing back and forth for what felt like an eternity, until the doors finally opened for me.

  I burst through the door of the hotel room I shared with Hunter exactly at 11:59 PM. He was in bed, and though the TV was still on, he'd obviously been sleeping a second ago.

  He eyed the alarm clock. “Well god damn,” he mumbled sleepily. “I didn't think you were going to make it in time.”

  “Close one, eh?” I said as I hurried over to our phone and dialed the coach's room.

  Hunter chuckled. “You're out of breath, dude. So where were you? What were you up to?”

  I winked at him while the phone rang. “Just having some fun.”

  Hunter grimaced. “Please tell me you didn't—”

  I held up a finger to quiet him as Coach answered the other end of the line.

  “Cutting it awfully close, Beau,” Coach said with a disapproving sigh.

  “Just keeping you on your toes, Coach.”

  That was that. I'd made curfew in time, so I wouldn't be punished. Still good to play tomorrow. I hung up the phone.

  “So?” Hunter asked.

  “What are you so curious about?” I asked, giving a little chuckle.

  “Vinny told me you guys met those bakery chicks at the club. He said you went home with them.” He raised an eyebrow, and I knew what he was asking.

  I took off my jacket. “Look at you, wanting to gossip. You really oughtta start coming out more, Hunter.”

  “I'm good, thanks. I just think it's funny. Normally, you're bragging about your conquests, whether I want to know about them or not.”