Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

I’M the closest I’ve ever been to hauling this girl over my shoulder, taking her home, and forgetting all the rules I’ve made for myself.

Her mouth curves up and her eyes glitter with teasing as I replay the words she just said.

The ultimate revenge would be fucking you.

I wish.

In the car, I’d push this dress up, tear her panties off, and bury my face between her legs. I’d do it right there in the front seat. I wouldn’t care if anyone saw.

No—I’d do it here in front of Zach. I’d make her scream my name in front of all of these people. Drinks would get knocked into laps, people would stare as I thrust into her and made my pretty assistant mine. The girl I’ve wanted for-fucking-ever would come so hard on my cock.

My erection presses into her backside as I rein in my thoughts. From the second she walked out of her room in this dress, I alternated between fantasizing about tearing it off her and being irritated that she was dressing up to impress the fuckwit who’s desperate for attention.

Pippa’s eyes are locked on mine, gauging my reaction, and my teeth clench. I need to get my shit together. I do one of my mental centering exercises from hockey—deep breath, focus on the feeling of my lungs expanding and not the way my balls ache, listen to the music around us, the chatter and conversation, and try not to inhale the sweet scent of her hair. My thumbs brush the soft velvet of her dress, and I let that steal my entire focus.

I open my eyes. I’m still rock hard. I still want to fuck her.

“Pippa,” I start, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. I can’t think around her.

She shakes her head, looking embarrassed. “I don’t know why I said that.” The long line of her throat moves as she swallows, looking at her hands. “I owe you for this. Thank you so much.”

“For what?” My tone is flat with tension.

She gestures around the party, and then between her and me. “For this. For letting me sit in your lap. For going along with this whole charade.”

Letting her sit in my lap? I actually feel like laughing. Pippa’s ass pressed into me is the most erotic thing I’ve experienced in years, and I’ll be jerking off thinking about it for weeks. Also, the poisonous look Zach gave me the moment Pippa wasn’t looking made the whole night worth it.

Whether she realizes it or not, Pippa doesn’t need him anymore. Zach realizes it, though. A burst of smug male satisfaction hits me in the chest as I lock eyes with Zach across the party. He pauses mid-conversation before resuming, and I know I’m right.

Fucking asshole. The urge to protect Pippa expands tenfold.

She squeezes my knee, and sparks shoot up my leg, straight to my cock. This is sweet torture, having her in my lap like this. The only reason I’m not moving her off to give my dick a break is because I’ll never get this chance again.

I glance between her eyes and her mouth. “Promise me you’ll never sleep with Zach again.”

She chokes. “What?”

“Do it,” I demand. I sound like an asshole, and I don’t care. “Promise me, Pippa.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “I promise. Oh my god. After what happened? I’m not that stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

“Well.” She shrugs, giving me a lopsided, self-deprecating grin. “I did stay with the guy for way too long,” she says in a low voice, leaning in. Her breath tickles my ear. “And he was terrible in bed.”

“Really.” My nostrils flare as I picture them together—him on top of her. No, he’d probably make her go on top each time because he’s a lazy fuck.

I fucking hate that image.

“Ow,” she says, shifting on my lap.

My fingers dig into her hips, and I loosen my grip immediately. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She gives me a small smile.

“Why was he bad in bed?” The question falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. I can’t help it. I need to know.

She gives me a look. “I’m not telling you details.”

“I put on a suit for this.”

“You put on a suit multiple times a week for games,” she argues back, smiling, and my chest feels pressurized like a pop can.

I love that she isn’t afraid of me, and that she likes to argue back.

The side of my mouth tugs up. “It’s past my bedtime.”

She chuckles. “Fine. Okay.” Her gaze slides to Zach before coming back to mine. “He would do this thing with his hand,” she whispers to me, and I lean in, even though I can hear her just fine. She flattens her fingers and then shifts them back and forth fast, like she’s a DJ, and she’s baring her teeth.

A rusty laugh scrapes off my chest. “What is that supposed to be?”

She laughs, and when her sparkling eyes meet mine, my pulse trips. “That’s Zach rubbing my clit.”

My stomach churns. I don’t like her using his name in the same sentence as my clit.

“It always felt rushed, and I’d worry I was taking too long and then I—” She shrugs with a wince. “I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere.”

With us, it wouldn’t be rushed. I’d take my time. I’d take all fucking night. When the sun rose, she’d still be coming, exhausted from countless orgasms in every conceivable position.

“The whole thing felt like a chore near the end.” Her gaze flicks to mine. “Sorry. Too much information.”

A feeling surges in my blood, electric and determined. I’ve been competing in sports my entire life. I thrive on competition. It’s woven into my DNA at this point, and it’s the best way to motivate me.

Hearing that Zach couldn’t make Pippa come? It lights my blood on fire.

I’d make her come. I’d make her come so fucking hard.

My pulse beats in my ears, and in this moment, there’s no one here but me and her. I hold her gaze, swallowing with difficulty as I picture sliding my hands up her dress here in the dark restaurant, pressing the pads of my fingers over her damp panties. Maybe she’d grip my knee, maybe she’d bury her face in my shoulder while she shook on my lap, unraveling.

I need to make her come.

“It’s not too much information,” I manage, and my voice is hoarse. “Was it just with him?” I ask for some stupid fucking reason. “That you couldn’t get there?”

I like the pain, I guess. I like the torture of hearing about her struggles with orgasms, even though I can’t do a fucking thing about it.

She bites her lip and I follow the motion. I want to bite her lip.

Our eyes meet again. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with,” she admits.

I drag a deep breath in as competition roars in my veins. Me, my subconscious shouts. I’m the one who can change her mind.

She shifts on my lap, and I clench my jaw as she brushes against my cock again.

“Sometimes I’m successful, um, by myself.”

Even in the restaurant’s moody, dim lighting, I can see the flush across her cheeks. I wonder if they flush like that while she has her hand between her legs.

“Why are you blushing, songbird?” My voice is low.

“I’m not,” she says, breathless. She won’t look at me, but her pulse jumps in her neck.

The pretty songbird is thinking about something naughty, and I need to know what it is. One hand is still gripping her waist, but I lift my free hand and press the backs of my fingers against her cheek. Her lashes flutter.

“You’re burning up. You don’t have a fever, do you?” I arch a brow at her, teasing her.

“I don’t think so,” she whispers, eyes darting to mine.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes are wide.

Now I have to know. I turn her in my lap so she can’t avoid my gaze. “Tell me.”

She huffs, half-amused and half-annoyed. “Jamie.”

“Now.”

She groans. “Bossy. Okay, fine. Last week…”

“Go on.”

“This is embarrassing. Okay. Whatever. I usually have a tough time even on my own, but last week I was able to really quickly.” Her expression turns mortified. “Oh my god. Why am I telling you this?”

“You were just following orders,” I say, but my voice sounds far away because all I can think about is Pippa across the wall that separates our rooms, stroking herself. Gasping. Her toes curling as she comes.

Fuck. I’m so hard right now.

“Jesus,” she mutters as my cock pulses into her.

“Stop moving,” I grit out.

She gives me a look. “Stop stabbing me with that skyscraper.”

I choke out a laugh. Only Pippa could make me laugh in this moment. Maybe I’m lightheaded because all my blood is straining in my dick right now.

“What about you?” Pippa looks at me. “Everyone says you don’t date.”

“I don’t.”

“Never?”

Erin’s face flashes into my memory—happy, smiling, and I’m flooded with guilt all over again as I remember reading about her pulling out of all of those fashion shows.

“I had a girlfriend when I was nineteen.”

Pippa’s head tilts as she listens.

“Erin.” It feels weird to say her name out loud. “She was nice but…” I shake my head, unsure of what to say. “My schedule is intense, even in the offseason, and my mom needs a lot of attention.”

Pippa nods, and her eyes are full of warm compassion. She’s the only person who knows the full extent of things, I realize as I study her face.

“I can only handle those two things.”

She nods again. “Right.”

I meet her eyes, and something shifts in my chest. Playing pretend like this feels too easy. It’s different from dating Erin, who always felt more like a friend, and that realization is a sharp kernel in my chest. My hands stroke up and down Pippa’s sides, and her eyelids fall halfway, like it’s either relaxing her or turning her on, or maybe both.

My attention is pulled to my cock. Again.

Hard. Again.

I’m letting myself act the way I want to with Pippa, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop once we leave. Touching her is fucking magic.

Behind Pippa’s back, Zach stares at her while his friend talks.

My cock throbs, and I get an idea. I’m an evil asshole, and I’m taking advantage of Pippa when I’m supposed to be helping her. There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t do what I’m about to, but I don’t care. The second we walk out the door, everything goes back to normal. We both know this isn’t real.

“You really want to drive the stake into his chest?” I murmur, leaning in and letting my mouth brush her ear. She shudders against me.

I wait until she meets my eyes. Christ, her eyes are pretty.

“Kiss me,” I tell her.