Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)

“Uh-huh. Yeah, for nine people.” I tuck my phone between my shoulder and my ear, unscrewing the cap off my chilled bottle of rosé. I’ve been on the phone for the last hour, making plans for a rental house and arranging activities for Violet’s impromptu bachelorette weekend that I’m now suddenly in charge of hosting.

Listen, do I want to do it? No. Should I do it? Probably not. Am I going to do it? Abso-freaking-lutely. Because the more I ponder it—and trust me, I’ve pondered the heck out of it—the more this is all starting to feel like one big test. Like, maybe they want to see if this will be the thing that finally makes me crack. All the secrets and the lies and the sneaking around behind my back for two years wasn’t enough. Let’s add a little public humiliation. Let’s put Poppy front and center at the “wedding of the season.” Let’s stick her in a bright red dress and put her right behind the bride, reminding everyone that she had her chance to matter, and she blew it.

Not enough? Then let’s put her in charge of planning the bachelorette party so she can fondly remember the night of her own party…to the same man. The night when one of the drunk groomsmen sent her a grainy video of a stripper deep throating her fiancé.

Well, call me petty, but if this a game, I am not going to let them win. I’m not giving anyone from that life a reason to pity me or call me pathetic. I know, down to my bones, that walking away from Anderson Montgomery was the best decision I ever made.

I pour myself a glass of wine as the restaurant hostess rattles off a list of available dining times. “Yeah, eight o’clock sounds perfect.”

A loud knock at my front door has me turning. I check the time on my stove. It’s a little after ten. I’m standing in my kitchen in my silky pink shorts and a cropped tissue-thin cross country T-shirt. The neck is cut too, so it hangs off one shoulder. It might be my favorite scrap of cotton I own, but it’s not exactly the right attire for visitors.

Another knock, softer this time.

“Yeah, so we’re good?” I say into the phone.

“Yes, ma’am,” says the hostess. “I have you down for eight o’clock.”

“Great, thanks so much.” I don’t wait to hear her echoing “thanks” before I’m hanging up and hurrying over to the door. Glass of wine in hand, I tip up on my toes, peeking in the peephole.

I smile.

Colton is standing outside my door.

I was wondering when he might show up. We had sex in the elevator two days ago, and since then it’s been total radio silence. It took me until midway through my lunch today to realize the only reason there’s radio silence on his end is likely because he doesn’t have my cell phone number. The team directory only lists my office number, which still doesn’t work.

Still, he’s my neighbor. He could have tapped on the wall or slipped a note under my door, something to indicate we were more than a one-and-done. All his pretty words in the elevator are starting to ring a little hollow.

He’s about to leave, muttering something under his breath, and I’m still just standing here on my tiptoes, leering at him through my peephole. I twist the lock and fling the door open just as he’s turning away. “Colton—hi,” I say on a breath.

He turns back, his expression warming as he takes me in from head to toe. I do the same to him. He’s dressed casually in a Rays T-shirt and athletic shorts. His hands are full of a bunch of reusable shopping bags, fit to burst with groceries.

“A little late for grocery shopping—”

“I was in Orlando,” he says at the same time.

“What?”

“Orlando,” he says again. “Helping my mom move. That’s where I’ve been, in case you were wondering.”

I smile, feeling a little lighter. “I was, actually.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t get out of it,” he goes on, his tone apologetic. “She’s moving down from Canada. I promised I’d go back down tomorrow morning too. And I didn’t have your number, so I couldn’t tell you.”

I take a sip of my wine. “Is she retiring?”

“Nah, I think she’ll retire when she’s dead,” he replies, shifting his hold on the bags. “She likes the work too much, and she’s good at it. A hospital offered her a crazy good contract, and she was ready for a change, you know, after Dad’s death.”

“Fresh starts are always good,” I say. I should know, having taken two myself. I nod to the bags. “Those look heavy. Why don’t you go put them away and come back?”

“Actually, they’re for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, I uhh…I may have gone a bit overboard with this.”

“Well, now I’m curious.” I try to peek inside the closest bag.

“I wanted to get you stuff to make that granola again. But I didn’t know what recipe you use, and I wanted it to be a surprise, so I didn’t ask. I looked up seven recipes on the internet, all with really good reviews, and I got you the stuff for all seven. I figured, if it’s not in one of these bags, it doesn’t belong in granola,” he finishes with a shrug.

Okay, I think I might cry. “You want me to make you more granola at…” I check the time on my phone. “Ten-thirty at night?”

“No, I want you to teach me how to make it,” he corrects.

Heart skipping, I swing the door open wider. “You wanna come in?”

“Yes.”

I step back, letting him in. He fills my entryway, closing the door behind himself. I wait as he slips out of his Rays-branded tennis shoes. Now two pairs of his shoes wait by my front door. I pad on bare feet backward into my kitchen, unable to take my eyes off him. The energy between us is charged. He follows me into the kitchen, only breaking his heated gaze away when he turns to heft the bags onto the counter. Heavens, he bought enough stuff to feed a small army…or a hockey team. He stays facing away from me, shoulders tense, like he’s trying to decide what to do next.

Please tell me he’s as nervous as I am.

I step back, my hip hitting the edge of the sink. My heart is racing. There’s so much we should say first, right? Ground rules we should establish. But all I can think about is him standing here, close enough to touch, and we’re not touching. Why aren’t we touching?

I set my glass of wine aside. “Colton…”

He doesn’t turn around. “What?”

“Before we make granola…would you like to fuck me?”

That has him turning. He reaches back to grip the counter with both hands as if it’s the only thing keeping him from coming over here and ripping my clothes off. I let my gaze trail down his muscular body. I stop at his athletic shorts, where I can see the clear outline of his hard cock tucked against his leg. My eyes dart back up to his face.

Holding my gaze, he smiles. “Yes.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.”

We crash into each other, our lips meeting in a fevered kiss as I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him. He reels me in, hands on my hips. “Fuck, I want you so bad,” he says against my mouth, all pretense of awkwardness forgotten now that I’m back in his arms. “Can’t breathe for wanting you. Can’t think. I could barely fucking drive here—only want to be where you are.”

I whimper against his mouth, desperate for him. I do the only thing I can think to do and jump. He catches me, his hands wrapping around my thighs. I laugh as he rushes out of my kitchen.

“Couch or bed?” he asks, his lips still searing mine with hungry kisses.

“Mmph, bed. Left,” I add, pointing over my shoulder toward the open door. I squeal as he carries me inside my bedroom, kissing me again before he drops me onto the bed.

“Get naked.”

I stifle my giggle as I prop myself up on my elbows. “Eager, are we?”

He towers over me, wasting no time stripping off his shirt. “For you? Always.”

I slip my silky pink sleep shorts down my legs, tossing them on the floor. My panties go next, then my ratty cross country crop top. I scoot back on the bed, unashamed that I’m fully naked, laid bare for this beautiful man.

I watch Colton’s ab muscles flex as he drops his shorts to my floor. He slips his socks off last, then he’s standing over me at the side of my bed, fisting his hard cock. I look up at him through my lashes, heart hammering.

“You are so goddamn beautiful.” He wraps his hand around his tip, squeezing it tight. “I don’t want to blink.”

“You’re beautiful too,” I reply, taking in the sharp lines of his chest.

“Do you have lube?”

I nod, pointing. “Bedside table. Top drawer.”

“Touch yourself,” he commands. “Show me your pussy.”

Swallowing my nerves, I part my legs for him, pressing a finger to my clit. I hum, biting my bottom lip as I feel my clit warm under my fingertip, the heat spreading across my skin and coiling deeper into my core.

Colton steps over to my bedside table and rattles open the top drawer. He’s such a masculine presence in such a frilly, feminine room. I didn’t pick any of these decorations. I didn’t pick the pale blue bedspread or the seashell lamps. I certainly didn’t pick the pillow covers that look like my Nana’s lace doilies. I’ve just been too busy to bother getting anything else.

He holds up my favorite magic wand with a grin. “Should I introduce myself, or does it already know my name?”

I smile, dipping the tip of my finger inside my pussy. “Oh, it knows you very well.”

He brings the wand and the lube over to the bed, tossing them down beside me. “Deeper,” he commands, his hand back to fisting his cock.

Someday, when I’m not feeling so ravenous, I think I’d like to watch him stroke himself to completion. But now I need him closer. I need him touching me. “Please,” I whimper, sinking two fingers inside myself.

“So beautiful.” His eyes are locked on where I’m teasing myself. His gaze travels slowly up to my face, taking in every inch of me. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Come show me.”

Dropping to the floor on his knees, he grabs me by both ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed.

“Oh my—” I shriek, fighting the urge to squirm as he laughs, flipping my legs over his shoulders, his breath warm on my thighs. After one teasing lick of his tongue, I’m digging my heels into his back and grinding my pussy against his chin. He’s ferocious, his hands wrapping around my thighs to brace my hips as he growls.

“Oh, don’t stop,” I chant. “Don’t stop—”

Colton reaches up with his long arm, cupping my breast, pinching and teasing the tight little bud of my nipple. I arch into him, arms thrown back over my head as I sink into the floaty, warm feeling of a clitoral orgasm.

“Yes,” I cry. “There.”

I drop a hand down to his head, holding him to me as I grind with my hips, not releasing him until my legs are trembling and I feel boneless. He kisses down my thigh as I sink back to the bed, my orgasm leaving me feeling like a glass of bubbly pink champagne. “You taste so good,” he says.

He slips my legs off his shoulders, and I sit up on my elbows, smiling down my naked body at him. “Let me return the favor.”

“No fucking way.” He gets to his feet.

“But—”

“You can show me how well you swallow my cum later. Right now, I need to be inside you. Turn over. Hands and knees, baby.”

I sweep my eyes up his body again. “Can you…” Too embarrassed to ask, I let it lie, turning over for him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He senses my hesitation and folds himself over me, cupping my face. “What is it?” His walnut-brown eyes search my face.

Lost in those dark pools, I dare to ask, “Can you call me your queen again?”

His smile lights up his entire face as he kisses me. I melt into it, my body half-turned like a twisty pretzel. He smooths his free hand up my thigh and over my ass. His every touch and kiss are so possessive and claiming. “You wanna be my queen, baby?”

I nod as he kisses down my jaw.

“You want me to worship you? Pledge you my fucking fealty?”

“Yes,” I say on a breath. His head drops lower so he can suck on my breast. He palms the other one. My breasts are small, barely enough to fill a hand, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You like being owned, but you’re possessive too, aren’t you?”

My body shivers as he flicks at my nipple with his tongue. “Yes,” I say again.

“Don’t I fucking know it.” He moves to my other breast. He didn’t get to play with them in the elevator. There was no time. My bra never even came off. “My queen has sharp claws,” he teases. “Fuck, I’d love to watch you shred anyone who tried to touch me. I’m getting harder just thinking about it.” He takes me by the wrist and tugs my hand down, letting me feel how hard his cock is for me, how ready.

I wrap my hand around his tip. “Colton…”

“Yes, my queen?”

I smile, lost in my bliss. “Will you please fuck me now?”

His laugh is warm against my skin. “Yes, my queen. I’m gonna use some lube this time so you feel good, okay?”

I nod and he kisses me again.

“Perfect. Now, be a good girl, and get on your hands and knees for me. Let me show you how you deserve to be worshipped, body and fucking soul.”