A Pucking Wrong Christmas: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series)

I was playing with her.

But it was torturing us both.

It had taken all of my control to play it cool for the rest of the game.

And now as we headed to dinner.

My hand was on her thigh as I pretended to listen to the story Ari was telling, my finger slowly stroking higher inch by inch.

Her body was tense as she sat next to me, her gaze constantly flicking towards me, wondering when I was going to make my move.

I had to torture her…at least a little bit.

I’d once promised her if she ever wore another man’s jersey…I would kill him.

Unfortunately in this case…I loved the fucker.

Or maybe I could just control myself from killing Ari because I knew how obsessed he was with Blake.

More obsessed than she could even comprehend.

As if he could sense I was thinking about him, the bastard winked at me while he continued on with his story.

I couldn’t kill him. But when we played next I would probably maim him…at least a little bit.

I played with a piece of her hair, picturing myself wrapping it around my fist as I fucked her from behind. Shifting in my seat because my dick was all of a sudden like a rock.

“So, where are we going?” Blake asked as Ari slid her from her seat onto his lap.

“Mmmh, what’s your favorite fancy dinner in New York, sunshine?” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair.

It was still a little weird to see him like that. How he acted with Blake was completely different than how he’d acted with anyone in the past. They’d been nothing, and he’d treated him like that–cold and distant so they didn’t get the wrong idea. He treated Blake like…she was everything.

I could understand the feeling.

“Yo Disney, can you get some “Christmas Tree Farm” playing? I’m in the mood for a little…Tay Tay.”

Walker was manning the music for the drive, but so far he was mostly just playing all of Ari’s favorite songs.

“What about “Tis The Damn Season”?” Walker asked, scrolling through some songs.

“Is that a Christmas song?” asked Blake. “It’s kind of depressing.”

“It’s the greatest Christmas song there is,” said Walker, aghast.

“Okayyyy,” I drawled slowly. “Tell me you’re not getting laid, without telling me you’re not getting laid.”

Walker literally growled at me before slapping a hand across his mouth. “Sorry! I didn’t mean that,” he said frantically.

There was a moment of silence as Ms. Swift began to play her depressing “Christmas” song…and then we all burst into laughter.

Just then the St. Regis popped into view and Blake gasped before staring at Ari with big moon eyes. Monroe stared out the window interestedly, probably wondering what the big deal was. My girl was still pretty naive about expensive things, and it was going to be a blast giving her this experience tonight.

I helped Monroe out of the limo, shooting the hovering doorman a look when I saw him staring at her legs. He blanched and quickly glanced away. I didn’t blame him for wanting to look, but it didn’t change that I wasn’t going to allow it to happen.

When I stared down at Monroe—my Monroe—my breath caught in my throat. She was wearing a tight, crimson dress that clung to her every curve, accentuating the graceful lines of her body. Her long, silky hair cascaded down her back, framing her delicate features. My fingers itched to rip that dress off and it—combined with the jersey incident—was making me feel a little feral at the moment.

“Down boy,” Ari muttered to me as he passed by.

I growled at him and he snorted.

“Nick Soto,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to think of the carrot topped troll who played in LA., to make sure my hard dick didn’t scare the maître d’.

But then Monroe smiled up at me, and I was fucked.

“Did you just say Soto?” Walker asked, staring at me confused.

I rubbed a hand down my face, wanting to hit him with a hockey stick. “Don’t worry about it, Disney. You must have misheard me.”

“No, I think I heard that, too,” said Ari innocently. “You fantasizing about Soto again, golden boy?”

“I hate you both,” I growled as I flipped them off with the hand that wasn’t holding Monroe. Their laughter followed us all the way through the grand lobby as we made our way to Astor Court, the hotel’s famous dining establishment.

As we entered the restaurant, a hostess greeted us with a flirty smile. I sighed and glared at her until she got the point that I wasn’t interested. Monroe’s face was bemused when I glanced down at her, but she didn’t get upset anymore when women came onto me.

She knew I was all in, that no one existed but her.

I had her name inked on my dick for fuck’s sake.

She owned me.

We were led to our table. The ambiance was impeccable as it always was, with crisp white linens, gleaming silverware, and crystal stemware that caught the candlelight.

“This place is nice,” Monroe whispered as I pushed her chair in.

“Wait until you taste the food,” I whispered back.

We ordered their holiday three-course dinner, complete with butter-poached lobster risotto, dry-aged prime rib, and pan-roasted wild striped bass–and yes, I’d gotten that description from the menu.

Ari was even quiet for once, shoveling the delicious food into his mouth because it was so fucking good.

Monroe’s smile lit up the room, especially when they brought out their famous Buche Ispahan yule log and Grand Marnier panettone bread pudding. I didn’t eat much of the dessert though…

Because the part of the night I was hungry for was about to start.

Monroe

He was teasing me.

Or maybe torturing me was the right word. I was in a gorgeous hotel, eating food that almost rivaled Mrs. Bentley’s…and I could barely concentrate on any of it.

The soft glow of candlelight played upon his perfect features, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more of an otherworldly creature—a god among men.

I’d finally realized he was up to something, and I was more than willing to play along.

His fingers, warm and teasing, brushed lightly against my skin, tracing a tantalizing path along my arm, as I tried to taste my lobster bisque.

I squirmed in my seat, struggling to keep my composure, and taste my damn dinner. But I was starting to crave something else.

Who needed food when you had Lincoln Daniels?

I took a sip of my Diet Coke, my lips touching the glass just as his fingers grazed my cheek. I shivered into my glass, my eyes locking with his in a silent dare.

Lincoln continued his seductive assault, his fingers now drifting lower, playing with a strand of my hair. He wound it around his fingers, tugging ever so slightly, and I couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped my lips. His eyes gleamed at me wickedly.

“Behave,” I mouthed, but he just winked at me.

His touch ventured further as dinner progressed, his hand finding its way to my thigh beneath the table. His fingers danced along the fabric of my dress, inching upward in a maddeningly slow ascent. Each caress was deliberate, sending sparks cascading across my skin.

I feigned interest in the story Walker was telling, but my attention was solely on Lincoln’s touch. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered, ‘What do you think, Monroe? Should we try the prime rib?’

His voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I had to bite my lower lip to stifle a moan. All I could do was nod.

Somehow no one else at the table seemed to notice what was happening.

Thank fuck.

Lincoln chuckled softly, his fingers now tracing the curve of my inner thigh. My pulse quickened, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft, longing sigh.

As the evening progressed, Lincoln’s little game only intensified. He fed me bites of our exquisite meal, his fingers brushing against my lips as I savored the flavors. Each bite was decadent, but it was his touch that left me craving more.

By the time dinner was almost over, my nerves were shot.

I forced myself to take some bites of the bread pudding, my foot tapping in an anxious rhythm, wondering how much longer Lincoln was going to make me wait.

Finally he stood up, grabbing some folded bills out of his wallet and throwing them on the table.

“We’ve got to go,” he said through gritted teeth, desperation finally leaking through.

Ari smirked at us. “What’s the rush? I was thinking we should get some drinks at the bar after this.”

“We’ll have to pass,” Lincoln answered, grabbing my hand and all but dragging me out of my seat and away from the table.

“Bye,” I called out feebly as our three friends cackled at us.

Lincoln didn’t say a word until we were in the elevator. And then all he did was crowd me into a corner, his hand gently grabbing my throat as he leaned in close.

“Mine,” he growled.

And all I could do was nod, my breath coming out in gasps.

It was so true.

“Take it off,” he ordered the second we’d gotten into the hotel room he’d booked for the night.

“What?” I asked, a little out of sorts from that elevator ride where he’d pushed me against the mirrored wall and finger fucked me.

And hadn’t let me come.

“Take that fucking dress off that’s been torturing me all night…before I rip it off.”

“Oh,” I murmured, immediately pulling on the dress because I really liked it and didn’t want it ruined. Although staring at the feral glint in Lincoln’s gaze…it would be worth it.

I slid the dress off, enjoying the look of pain on his face as he watched me like his life depended on it. I hadn’t worn a bra or underwear because I hadn’t wanted…lines. So once the dress was off, I was completely naked.

I tossed it onto a nearby chair. I went to step out of my heels, but he held up a hand. “Keep those on.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I whispered, and his eyes burned for me.

“Now on your knees,” he said roughly.

I kept his gaze as I fell to my knees, as gracefully as I could in four inch heels.

“Good girl,” he murmured, taking a slow step towards me. “Now put this on.” He threw me a jersey that I hadn’t noticed him grab. I lifted the fabric, smirking when I saw that it was obviously his.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” There was an edge of madness in his voice that sent shivers down my spine.

“It wasn’t my idea…” I said lightly.

“Obviously I knew that. Because we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we, Monroe? About whose jersey you’re allowed to wear?”

I nodded as he took another step towards me, sliding off his suit coat and slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“I want your words,” he pressed.

“Yes,” I whispered, pulling the jersey over my head. Before I could pull it on all the way, he caught the fabric, holding my hands above my head.

“I like this view,” he purred, and a second later I felt his warm mouth on my nipples, suckling and biting them until I was writhing against his face.

He moved away abruptly and I cried out. Lincoln pulled the jersey the rest of the way down until it pooled to the floor.

“Please,” I murmured.

“Please what?” he asked mockingly.

I squeezed my eyes closed and rubbed my legs together, trying to ease the ache.

“Please fuck me,” I finally whispered.

“I think it’s time for the next part of your education for one of the great things about Christmas, actually,” he answered.

I bit down on my lip and shivered at the darkness in his gaze. “And what’s that?”

“The color red.”

Lincoln pulled a red ribbon from his pocket and dangled it in front of my face. “Hands behind your back.”

I hesitantly obeyed him, reaching my hands behind me, and he swiftly tied my wrists together with the ribbon. My breasts jutted out, and I could just imagine how obscene I looked at the moment.

As if he could sense my thoughts, he spent a moment kneading and massaging my breasts before he cursed.

“Up,” he growled, making no move to help me as I struggled to my feet.

Lincoln went to one of the big velvet armchairs that sat by the floor to ceiling windows that looked out at the city, and he sat down in it with the ease of a king who had claimed his throne. His posture was relaxed, and he sprawled out, commanding the space around him.

He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

The room seemed to bend to his presence, as if the very furniture had been arranged to accommodate his aura of dominance. His gaze, sharp and focused, surveyed the surroundings with a hint of amusement, as though he were privy to a secret that the rest of the world had yet to discover.

He was magnetic, captivating, and it was moments like this that I couldn’t believe he was mine.

“Come here.”

I walked unsteadily towards him immediately, stopping hesitantly in front of him.

“On my lap.”

Oh, that sounded fun.

But as I went to straddle him, he instead pulled me forward until my chest was on his legs and I was bent over him.

Lincoln rubbed my bare ass and I finally understood what he’d meant by “red”….

“I think you need a little reminder about whose jersey you wear, dream girl,” he said in a thick voice that told me just how much this was affecting him. His dick told the rest of the story, hard and thick against my chest. “Now count.”

There was sharp pain as his hand suddenly slapped down on my bare cheek and I squeaked in surprise, thrashing against his legs. His arm braced over me, halting my movements. “What number was that?”

“One,” I whispered, a flood of heat dripping from my core.

He soothed the sore spot. “That’s my sweet girl.”

Lincoln’s hand came down again.

“Two!”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

His hand cracked down on my ass again and again and I did my best to count.

But my insides clenched with every sharp sting of his hand, and confusing pleasure was building in my core.

Lincoln’s fingers traced through my folds and he swore viciously. “This is turning you on. You like it,” he murmured delightedly.

All I could do was moan against his lap.

“You’re not allowed to come, Monroe,” he ordered sternly, and I whimpered in response.

“Three more. I think a perfect thirteen should do it. Don’t you think?” he asked wickedly.

Of course he would pick that number.

Another spank. “Are you ever going to wear another man’s jersey again?” he taunted.

Crack.

“No,” I whispered as need surged inside me.

Two more spanks and I was coming, my cries filling the room as an orgasm burst through me, my vision going in and out from the extreme pleasure.

I laid there on his lap as I came down, my breath coming out in gasps.

“Red is such a perfect color,” he murmured as he caressed my skin. “But you’re a naughty girl, coming when you weren’t supposed to.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“I think you need to make it up to me, Monroe.”

“And how am I going to do that?”

“Get on your knees and suck my big cock,” he growled.

I was on the edge of coming again, just from thinking about doing that.

He helped me off his lap and I pushed between his legs, gazing up at him as he pulled out his dick and leaned back in the chair.

I stared at it hungrily, my gaze devouring the sight of my name on his beautiful cock. I’d never get over the crazy, unhinged perfection of it.

My tongue darted out and licked at his tip, sucking in the flavor of him—my favorite. I didn’t play any more though, I was too turned on. My lips locked around him and I feasted, taking him as deep as I could.

His groans filled the room and minutes later, his cock twitched, and my mouth was filled with bursts of warm, thick cum that I drank down desperately.

Lincoln gathered me in his arms, pulling me into his lap. His mouth slammed against mine and we both groaned as our teeth and tongues tangled with each other. He stood up and carried us over to the bed, undoing my wrists before he laid me down gently and wrapped his body around mine.

“How do you like Christmas colors now?” he murmured contentedly as his hands stroked down my skin.

“I love them,” I whispered as I snuggled against him. And seconds later, I was asleep.

And visions of sugarplums might have just danced in my head.