Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Willow’s fucking killing it.

She looked terrified until she stepped up to the mic, and it was as if all that fear just dissipated. My girl rose to the challenge.

Her voice is sweet like honey, but there’s power behind it. Her eyes are half-lidded, and I think she’s on autopilot as she sings her fucking heart out. She’s so fucking sexy, her face on the big screen. My hand is pressed over my heart, and I should have my eyes on the flag. But all I can focus on is her.

The last huge notes swell, and my chest loosens at the harmonic melody.

Holy shit.

I thought she was going to stab me for a minute there, but this is totally worth it.

The crowd goes absolutely fucking nuts for her. She pulls out her in-ear monitors and lets them drape down around her neck, and she stares in awe at the packed arena.

Yeah, they’re cheering for her.

She turns and comes back, and I take both her hands. She’s staring at me with a mixture of giddiness and guardedness.

I reel her in and kiss her. Her lips move against mine, so she’s not mad enough that she’s going to become a statue. A little stiff, sure. But when I nip her lower lip, she sags into me.

“You were perfect,” I tell her.

The assistant is at her back, removing the battery pack and wires. And then she’s gone, and I lead Willow back to the elevator. Well, almost. There’s a storage closet that I spotted on our walk from her dressing room, and I drag her into it.

She lets out a squeak, and I slap the light switch. The single bulb over our heads flickers on, casting us in odd shadows.

“You’re so impressive,” I tell her. I back her into the door and duck down, kissing the corner of her lips. Her cheek, along her jaw.

She tilts her head, and her hand slips up the side of my neck. Her fingers dip into my hair, nails catching my scalp. I groan and nip her sweet skin, flicking my tongue out and tasting the slightly salty tang of sweat.

“Leggings off,” I order. I undo my jeans. “Turn around, put your forearms on the door.”

Her lips part, but she does exactly what I say. She spreads her legs and braces, sticking her ass out at me.

I slap it, the smack resounding in the small space, and she gasps. I soothe the area, then spank her again. I resist the urge to lean down and bite her ass cheek, although a bite mark there would help erase the sight of her in my friend’s jersey.

You’re wearing his jersey, too, I remind myself.

I part her ass cheeks and stare down at her pink asshole, and my dick twitches. I should’ve brought the plug with me. Fucking her with it in, with it vibrating… shit. Precum leaks out without even touching myself. I press my thumb to the puckered hole, and I slide the head of my cock down her center.

She groans, shifting and arching her back. I do it again, watching for her shudder.

“The game is about to start,” she pants. “Just fuck me already.”

I snicker, teasing her for another long moment before pushing slowly inside her pussy. Her head bows forward, and she moans. I don’t know how one girl can feel so fantastic, over and over again.

I’m never going to get tired of her.

I pull almost all the way out, leaving her clenching at the tip of my cock.

“Say thank you,” I tell her.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, then glances over her shoulder at me. “For what?”

“For making you sing.”

I inch forward, then draw back.

Torture—for both of us.

She scowls at me. “If I show you gratitude, you’ll do something like this again.”

My eyebrows lift. “Will I?”

“Yes. Oh, fuck—”

I fully seat myself inside her. But I don’t stay still. I pull all the way out and drag my wet cock higher. I spit on her asshole, and she lurches. Well, she tries to get away from me.

I tsk at her, not giving her time to think before I’m pushing past her barriers. Her muscles grip me harder than her cunt, and I let out a hiss. I spit again, and I slide in deeper.

“Holy fuck, Miles,” she cries.

“Just relax, wild girl,” I murmur, stroking her side. I lean over her and reach around her leg, my fingers finding her slippery clit. I rub it and fuck her ass, ignoring her groans that seem borderline pain. The pleasure is there, waiting for her.

When she comes, I wrap my other arm around her abdomen and keep her upright. It’s the only thing that stops her from falling face-first into the door, her whole body trembling. I wait for it to stop, my fingers light on her clit, and then pull back slightly. My grip on her hip tightens.

“Hold on.” That’s the only warning I give before I begin to move. Hard. I chase my own high and take out a little of my annoyance that I agreed to put her in my friend’s jersey, by fucking her so hard, she’ll feel me in her ass for a week.

But fuck if she doesn’t push back at me, meeting my thrusts head-on.

I wrap my fingers around her short hair, tugging her head back.

“Fuck, baby,” I groan.

She stiffens—and I fucking realize my mistake.

The one where my brother calls her baby.

You know what? We’re eradicating that.

“Whose dick is fucking your asshole?” I bark, yanking her head back farther.

“Yours.”

“Who am I?”

“M-Miles.”

I growl.

“Stop it,” she whimpers.

“Who do you think of when I call you baby?” I breathe in her ear. I slide my hand from her hair around to her throat. My fingers catch her hummingbird pulse, and I relish how fast her heart is beating. “Tell me as I’m taking your sweet ass, who’s on your mind, baby?”

“You.”

“Good girl.” I kiss her jaw.

I resume fucking her—but I don’t last long. Not with the noises she’s making. I explode inside her, and I stay there until my dick loses some of its hardness. I slowly draw the back of her jersey down and her leggings up over her hips. She straightens and spins around, immediately grabbing my face.

Her lips land on mine, and my heart lurches.

I could get used to her initiating contact like this. I waited—painstakingly—for her to kiss me first. Although that feels like months ago at this point. Her tongue touches my lip, and I open my mouth for her.

Her kiss is hungry, insistent.

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to be ready for another round,” I warn.

“Maybe I just want you all messed up inside like me,” she replies.

Is she messed up inside?

Well, yeah. But I mean, from this?

Before my mind can catch up, she’s stepped away and tamed her wild hair. I adjust my jeans and chuckle to myself, then follow her back to the hallway. Down to the elevator, and up a floor. I take her hand, unwilling to be parted from her again, and we walk the path ’til I spot the right section.

Our friends left the two aisle seats open for us, and we quickly slip into them. We’re at the glass, directly across from the Titans’ bench. Perfect seats for when one of those fuckers gets thrown in the penalty box.

“You missed most of the first period,” Aspen says, then immediately hugs Willow. “You sounded amazing.”

My girl laughs nervously, leaning into me. “Thanks. It was nerve-racking.”

“We knew you could do it,” Violet says. “Sorry for tricking you to get to the arena, I just couldn’t bear the thought of you unhappy. We came up with that scheme for a date afternoon. But then Miles told us his plan for you to sing, and you crushed it.”

“I never heard you sing.”

My gaze lifts to my brother, all the way at the other end. He hadn’t come to find us when we arrived, and I kind of forgot that he didn’t return on the bus with the rest of the team.

Of course he wouldn’t. He’d do anything for me… except give up a bet, of course.

Willow gives him a brittle smile. “Some things aren’t meant for flings.”

Knox narrows his eyes at her. My smile widens.

“How’s the game?” Willow asks.

Greyson points. “Rhodes is pissed about something.”

We turn our attention to our friend. He’s on the ice, and the set of his jaw is a familiar one. His laser focus is directed at the puck, and he races toward the player skating toward him. He checks him into the glass in front of us, the whole wall bouncing and reverberating with the force of it.

He steals the puck and passes to a teammate, then throws his shoulder into the other player’s gut when he tries to stand.

Then he’s off.

“Wow,” Aspen murmurs. “Um… is he okay?”

Steele shrugs. “Never seen him quite so angry, but maybe he’s just blowing off steam.”

I glance up at the clock. Six minutes left of the first period.

At the five-minute mark, he starts a fight. Gloves off, helmet tossed, it’s more of a brawl than anything else. I have no idea what he says to the other guy to bait him, but suddenly they’re both swinging and bleeding.

Jacob gets his opponent down on the ice, but he doesn’t stop punching. The refs and linemen swarm him, and it takes three of them to drag him up and away.

Well, shit.