Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

The sight of her in my jersey has me hard for her. Aching. And her sitting on the Zamboni like a princess just does something extra to me, too.

I step up the rest of the way and move her to sit on the hard ridge above the steering wheel. I saw someone sit on that flat top last year at one of our charity events, and I won’t lie—I used to climb all over the Zamboni when I was a kid. It’s sturdy enough to hold us.

She parts her legs, but I just shake my head and sit in the driver’s seat. It’s plush, not terribly uncomfortable. After the game, I changed into dark jeans and a dark-blue pullover, intentionally matching my jersey colors.

Now I have Aspen alone, and there are too many thoughts running through my head. Too much energy. I want to claw her shirt off and ravage her, I want to savor her slowly. I want her to kneel between my legs and suck me off. I want to kneel between her legs and eat her cunt like I’m starving.

I lick my lips.

She makes the decision for me. She scoots back on the top, testing its weight. The hard plastic flexes under her, but not enough to scare her. And I doubt it would break even with both of us.

She keeps her eyes on me as she wiggles out of her jeans. Her panties come with it, and she tosses them at me. I catch the pink satin and raise it to my mouth, inhaling slightly.

Smells like her.

Sweet, musky.

Smells like how she tastes.

My mouth waters.

“You’re too easy prey,” I comment, although my heart is beating out of my chest.

“I’m not prey,” she answers, spreading her legs slowly.

It gives me the perfect view of her pussy, which is glistening wet already. And I haven’t even touched her.

Her throat works. “I’m the reward.”

Fuck.

“How can I argue with that?” I stand and shove my jeans down, kicking them off. I don’t hesitate to climb up over her, hovering until she grips my sweatshirt and drags me down.

Aspen touches my cheek. The pain that burrows through the bone is deep and aching. The bruises formed quickly—and no doubt my father will be equally quick to point out my failure. At getting hit at all, at getting lured into a fight.

Not that he needs to know it was me goading him the whole game, shit talking like my life depended on it. Pushing him into fighting me, fucking finally.

Her thumb touches my lip again, and I try not to wince. She digs her nail into the scabbed-over cut suddenly, and fresh blood wells to the surface. I taste it when I lick my lip.

“There,” she murmurs. “Kiss me.”

I do.

My blood coats her lips. Her mouth. Her tongue sweeps out and runs along the cut, probing it, and then into my mouth. The coppery taste is different on her. I kiss her harder, my tongue forcing hers out of my mouth and back into hers. They tangle. Our teeth clash. She grips the back of my neck hard and lifts her legs around me, her heels digging into my ass.

I get the silent message.

I shift my hips, adjusting my angle until my cock slips through her slick center. She moans and tears her lips away. She drags her mouth down my jaw, to my neck. Little chills race down my spine.

When’s the last time anyone kissed me like that?

She sucks at my skin, marking me, and I let her. My cock twitches, and I can’t fucking wait any longer. I slide into her, cursing at the way her cunt grips me. She’s wet, she’s tight. She’s perfect—and she doesn’t even know it.

Her teeth score my neck, then she moves lower. Shoving aside my sweatshirt. Kissing a path across my collarbone, and the deer skull ink. Her fingers trace my abdomen, over the tattooed eagle that says, Be Free. As if it’s that simple.

I grip her by her jaw and tow her back up, burying my face in her throat. She gives me a hickey—I’ll give her several. My blood leaves a trail on her skin, too. She tastes like sweat, she smells like heaven. Some scent I can’t identify. I rock my hips back, pulling out of her for the first time, until just the tip is still inside her. Then I thrust back in hard enough to bow the cold plastic beneath us.

She shudders, her thighs tightening around my hips.

Her fingers slide into my hair.

I raise myself and watch her beneath me as I stroke deep inside her.

“Pull the jersey up,” I order.

She does, and those breasts, fuck. She’s wearing the barest strip of a bra. It’s just lace and underwire, I think. It does nothing to hide the way her nipples harden. I lean down and take one in my mouth through her bra, biting and sucking. The fabric is a barrier that I ignore.

Her back arches, pushing her breast harder into my face. I take it in my teeth and tug, and she cries out.

The noise is sweet.

I fuck her harder, rolling my hips and eliciting a whimper every time I drive back in.

My balls tighten.

I switch to her other breast and slip my hand between us, rubbing her clit with quick, short strokes. I want her to come with me. At the same time, crashing into oblivion together.

I don’t know why.

It just feels right.

She gasps and moans above me, her nails raking against my scalp. Tugging, trying to get me to move. My control is fluttering away, just the barest thread still in my grasp. Enough to listen to her directive and kiss her again.

“I’m going to come inside you,” I say against her lips. Each word feels like a kiss of its own. “You like that, huh? You like living on the edge with me.”

I stroke her clit faster. She makes a noise, a wordless plea. Her eyes shut, and her head tips back, trying to evade me.

I’m not avoidable.

I bite her neck, hard, and her whole body jolts. She glares at me through her pleasure, and I smirk through mine. Because I’m about to blow, and she’s not there yet.

But then she gasps, and she says, “I’m going to come. Don’t stop, don’t stop.” She chants it, repeating the words.

I have no intention of stopping.

Her cunt tightens around me, an orgasm cresting through her. One more pump, two, and I slam fully inside her as my balls tighten and I come harder than I ever have. She squeezes my cock to death, and her nails dig into my neck, my scalp.

We stay like that for a minute, locked in that embrace.

And then the sound of something vibrating brings me back to earth.

Slowly.

“Phone,” Aspen says beneath me, her body limp. She doesn’t even seem to mind that I’m still inside her.

My cock is half-hard and slowly losing steam, but I keep her filled for another second.

The vibrating stops. Then starts up again.

It’s my father. I know it, she knows it. And it immediately sours my mood. He’s out there, probably waiting to introduce me to his new bride. The rage returns like an old ache. But when I pull out of Aspen and see the evidence of what we did, it soothes it.

A fraction.

I accept that knowledge and climb off her, holding out my hand. She stares at it for a second, then takes it. I help her slide to the edge of the Zamboni’s top, and I retrieve her panties from my jeans pocket. I pull them up her legs and secure them against her pussy.

“Steele—”

“The thought of my cum between your legs right now is the only thing keeping me from losing it,” I tell her in a low voice.

The vibrating stops.

Then starts again.

“Fuck!” I kick my jeans off the Zamboni, my phone with it.

“She’s not that bad.” Aspen crosses her arms over her chest. The jersey is back in place. Her jeans are on the seat, and I hand them to her wordlessly.

She very well could be that bad.

“She raised you,” I allow. “So…”

“Exactly.” Aspen stands, shimmying the fabric up her legs. She makes a face. “I don’t like the feeling of it between my legs. My underwear is going to be soaked—”

“Good,” I snap.

Her eyebrows rise.

“I hope we smell like sex, too,” I add. “I hope your gold-digging mother sees right through us, because she does the same to my father—”

Slap.

It hurts worse that she went for my bruised side.

I clench my jaw.

“Stop calling her that,” she hisses. “If you knew anything, then you’d just drop it.” She pushes past me and climbs off the Zamboni. She fishes out my phone and answers the call, turning away from me. “Yeah,” she says loudly. “He lost his phone, so I was helping him search for it. We’ll be right there.”

Aspen hangs up and turns around, frowning at me. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Why the fuck do I feel like an insolent child right now?

Snap out of it.

“Let’s go meet the executioner.”

I know she’s being sarcastic. But in a way, that’s what it feels like.