The Pucking Proposal (Maple Creek)

The only way I make it home is by reminding myself that if a deputy pulls me over and my cock’s out, it’ll be front-page news and Coach would definitely bench me over pending charges.

But I still speed like a demon, pulling into the driveway of my little three-bedroom, two-bath starter house on two wheels. I virtually run for the front door, barely closing it behind me before I drop my bag and rip my shirt off, letting it fall to the floor in a very Joy-like move. Leaning back against the door, I shove my sweats down to release my cock.

I hiss in pained pleasure as I grip myself tight, stroking up and down. Pre-come is already leaking over my crown, and I use it to glide along my length, adding spit when I need more to pretend it’s Joy’s wetness coating me.

“Fuuuck,” I grunt, banging my head back against the door. My legs are shaking, both from today’s long practice and with the explosion building in my balls. I hope the door can hold me up because if I collapse and hurt myself in a jacking-off mishap, the guys will never let me live it down. But I’m too far gone to move anything other than my hand.

And my hips.

I thrust into my tight fist, staying on the edge as long as I can to enjoy that sharp hint of nearly falling over. But it’s too much.

She’s too much.

And I jump off the edge into ecstasy, ropes of hot cum covering my hand and running down to my balls as I grit out her name.

Joy . . . in more ways than one.

And pain.

I’m still catching my breath and using my rescued T-shirt to wipe away the mess I’ve made when my phone dings in my bag. I’d ignore it, but it’s one of the few special ringtones I assigned to important people.

And that’s Joy’s sound. Dua Lipa’s “New Rules.” She’s dangerous, but like the song, irresistible.

I dive for my bag, grabbing my phone with shaky hands. Even seeing her name on the screen makes my spent cock start to grow hard again.

I open her text message and see two little words that pierce me all the way to my soul.

Every time.

I groan. This woman is for sure going to be the death of me, but I hit the button for FaceTime anyway, praying she answers. When she appears, she looks pink-cheeked and hazy-eyed. And surprised to see me even though she answered.

“Again, Joy. I want to see you this time,” I demand.

She hesitates long enough that my heart drops, but then the phone moves farther away from her face. She’s in her bed, pillows fluffed behind her head and the same T-shirt she had on when I left still covering her breasts. For a second, I mourn that, but then I can suddenly see her pussy and my brain short-circuits.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” I rasp. Her bare skin is gleaming with the juices of her orgasm, and her pussy is contracting, looking for something to fill it.

I could fill her better than she’s ever felt before.

I move to the couch, falling to it and pulling myself out once again. The moment gives me a chance to see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. You’re there, I’m here, and we both know what this is, yeah?”

She nods, biting her bottom lip like she’s trying to not say anything or not make noise.

Truthfully, I have no idea what I’m saying, and I damn sure have no idea what this is, but I want it, whatever it is. I don’t think I could stop stroking myself now if Shepherd himself walked into my living room and asked what the hell I’m doing with his sister. I shove that thought away, pushing it to the deep recesses of my mind. He’ll never know. It won’t ruin our friendship. Besides, Joy and I already did this once before.

Not like this. Not where I could see her sweetness spilling onto her fingers. Not when I could see her teasing her clit.

“I barely made it through my front door tonight before I was jacking off,” I confess.

She whimpers. “I could still hear your truck out front when I slipped my hand inside my panties. I was already soaked.”

“God damnit,” I grunt, pumping myself harder and faster. “Why didn’t you answer me when I asked?”

Her fingers pause as she takes a deep breath. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if you were here.” She looks at me clear-eyed and present in the moment, and I understand exactly what she means.

She might want me physically. But she doesn’t want me. Or doesn’t want to want me.

Because of Shepherd? Or because of who I am?

It’s a question for later because her fingers start to move again. That’s what this is. All that it is. We’re using each other to get off, with a side of good luck for tomorrow’s game. But that seems so distant when she throws her head back and her eyes flutter closed.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers. Slide them inside and let me see how wet you are, baby.” And though I told her to do it, I’m not prepared for what seeing Joy’s fingers disappear inside her pussy does to me. It’s the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen.

Except then, she holds them up to the screen, pulling them apart, and I can see the strings of arousal coating them, and I have an entirely new definition of what sexy is. “I’m so wet, Dalton.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “I’m hard as fuck and about to blow even though I already did a couple of minutes ago. I said your name.”

I shouldn’t tell her that, but it’s the truth.

“Show me what I do to you,” she says.

I angle the phone so she can see all of me—from my balls, up my shaft, my abs and chest, to my face. “Imagine it’s my cock fucking you.” She whimpers, slipping two fingers back inside herself easily. “More. If it’s me, you need at least three fingers. Or a toy that’s bigger.”

The phone goes wonky, bouncing all over the place for a second, and I see the ceiling of her bedroom. But then she’s back, holding up a vibrator with a sexy smirk. It’s still smaller than me, but I want to see her fuck herself with it so damn bad I nearly beg.

She moves around, setting the phone up somehow because then I can see her teasing the toy along her entrance and her other hand spreading her lips to give me a clear view.

“Do it. Fill that pretty pussy and pretend it’s me.”

Her mouth drops open in a gasp as she pushes in the tip and then a couple of inches, never breaking eye contact with me. “Mmm,” she moans, going deeper and deeper. “I dream about you stretching me, wonder what your piercing would feel like—in my throat, in my pussy.”

Pre-come leaks out of my cock and I slip my hand over it, gathering it to spread down my length. “I dream about fucking you hard, my hand around your neck to feel the vibration of you crying out my name as you come. Your pussy’d squeeze me so tight, sucking me off so good.”

Joy moves a hand up to her throat, playing at choking herself the way I said I would.

“You want to go soft for me, baby? Lay back like a pillow princess and let me fuck you rough and raw while you take it, knowing I’ll make you feel good?” I have no idea what I’m saying, but Joy’s earlier words about wanting a soft woman chapter come back to me. But she’s more than that too. “Or do you want to be in control? Ride me, use me for your pleasure, and not let me come until you say I can? Edging me over and over until I’m crazed for you.”

Her eyes light up equally with both options, and honestly, both have me about to explode too.

“I’m close, Dalton,” she moans as she returns her hand to her clit, fucking herself hard and fast with the toy.

“Me too.”

Silently agreeing, we go quiet, focusing on our own pleasure as we watch each other intently. I wish I was there to see it in person, but this is good. So fucking good.

I can see her body getting tenser, every muscle going tight as her head falls back to the pillow. I force my hand to slow, not wanting to miss the sight of Joy’s orgasm. I wouldn’t miss this for a damn championship cup.

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby. Let me see you. Show me how you shatter,” I growl. My face is nearly pressed to the phone screen, and if I could, I’d crawl through the damn thing to be with her as she comes.

Her cry is loud and stuttered as she spasms violently, and I can see her pussy pulsing around the toy that she’s pushed in deep and held in place. Her fingers tap at her clit, drawing out her pleasure. “Yesss . . .” she moans.

I’m done for.

I tried to simply watch, but my hand has a mind of its own, jerking my cock hard and fast. When she meets my hungry eyes with lust-filled ones of her own, I feel heat rush down my spine, through my balls, and up my cock. “Uhhh,” I grunt as cum erupts over my hand and shoots onto my stomach.

“Fuck, I want that,” she whispers, and though I’m still coming, I see her little grin as she watches me blow for her.

Catching our breath, we smile at one another.

“That was . . .” she pants.

“Fucking awesome?” I offer.

She laughs, slipping the toy from herself, dropping it off to her side, and relaxing heavily into her pillow. “Yeah, that.”

“Next time, I want to see your tits,” I tell her.

“You assume there’s going to be a next time?” she teases, but she draws a finger down her sternum, and even through her T-shirt, I can tell her nipples are hard as diamonds.

I throw her one of my signature arrogant smirks, hoping she’s as charmed by it as everyone else is. “Hoping and crossing my fingers and toes for it.” I hold up crossed fingers so she can see I’m telling the truth.

Her smile melts at the edges, going softer and less sure, but all she says is, “We’ll see.”

The buzz is wearing off, and she’s starting to think about what we’ve done. Or more likely, overthink about it. I can see it all over her face, but I don’t want to see her regret, so I jump up from the couch, taking my phone with me as I head to the bathroom for a towel to clean up.

“Wait! Is that where all the magic happens?” she asks as I walk through my primary bedroom. “Show me!”

“Hang on. I’ll give you the full tour.” In the bathroom, I clean up and then move the phone around. “This is my bathroom . . .”

A few backtracking steps and I show her my bedroom.

“Your bed looks inviting,” she says.

I look at it again, imagining what I’d think if I’d never seen it, slept in it, or spent lazy mornings sprawled out across its king-size width. Truthfully, I haven’t given it much thought. “I let my mom pick out everything. I’m not really into that stuff.”

“You say that so confidently, as if it’s not a car dealership–size red flag.” Her brows are lifted like she’s teasing, but she might have a point.

“When I bought this place, it felt like a huge risk. I was smart and didn’t overbuy for what I make with the Moose, but there was this looming question of, What if I get cut tomorrow? So, if it were up to me, I would’ve bought the cheapest shit I could find and probably ended up with dollar-store sheets and folding chairs in the living room.” I grin, remembering my mom’s trip to Maple Creek when I closed on this place and how proud she’d been of me. “Mom made sure I was setting up a home to come back to. Told me it was good luck because if I lived transient, I’d be transient. She was right.” I look around my living room and the couch I was sitting on not ten minutes ago. “This is home. I have roots here now. The team, the town, the people. It’s home.”

“What would you do if a major team came calling and you had to move?” Joy wonders.

“I’d go, obviously. But I’d keep this place as home base. I’d have to.” I haven’t really thought about that in a while. The less likely a pro contract gets, the less often I think about it, but it feels strange to not be hustling for that dream.

“You could rent it out as an Airbnb and make bank,” Joy suggests. “People would pay extra if they knew it was the infamous Dalton Days’s place.”

I chuckle. “You trying to get rid of me already?”

“Nah, but I have faith in you. You’re having your best season ever, thanks to me.” The light in her eyes tells me that she’s waiting for me to argue, ready for the banter and anticipating my curse word–filled response so she can verbally spar back.

But she’s right.

“Absolutely thanks to you.”

Her grin morphs into a surprised smile as her eyes soften. “Your talent, hard work, and willingness to throw your body in front of a bullet-like object help a little,” she concedes.

I hold up my finger and thumb an inch apart, grinning slightly. “A tiny bit.”