Page 42 of He Has Pluck

“Fuck no. No one else knew I was crying. Thank fuck for helmets with cages because I could hide my tears, and later, the tears blended with the sweat.”

“A macho hockey guy in the making,” she says as she drags her hand, fingernails first, down the length of my torso, scraping the sensitive skin below, all the way past my navel into the trail of hair leading to my erect and ready cock because it knows no other way to behave in her presence.

I tightly wrap my arms around her. “Before you get me off track, it’s your turn to share a secret.”

“Fine. If you must have your salacious curiosity appeased before your salacious body, I’ll tell you my deepest darkest secret.” She pauses, licks her lips for drama, or to distract me because it does. But she goes on before I prompt her. “I don’t talk to my mother. Haven’t talked to her since high school.”

“That’s too bad,” I say, meaning it. “What happened?”

She shakes her head. “No. I shared my secret. The what happened part is my mother’s secret, not mine.”

“At least give me a hint.”

“We don’t need to discuss my tragedies. We have enough edge to our sex tonight, don’t you think?”

I tug at her hair, shaking my head at her pretense of cool distance because I saw the look in her eyes, the flash of vulnerability when she mentioned her mother, before she squashed it.

And then we start up again even though it’s after two am, and I trail my fingers down the column of her neck to the silky mound of her breast.

“I need some sleep,” I say. I know it’s true by every objective measure, but sleepiness doesn’t register in my head or my body. All I feel is that live pulse of excitement as her hands roam my body and her breath tickles my ear, her voice, low and filled with sex and the promise of edge-of-the-world bliss.

“Your cock tells a different story,” she says. “You know I love your cock.” She squeezes and moans, and my body shudders under the weight of that elemental draw, the thing that is so deep under my skin, the thing that attaches us to each other and makes me crave another orgasm high like a heroine junkie.

Pulling her face to mine, my hands cup her delicate jaw though I’d swear there was nothing, not one molecule of fragility to her, and I stare at those extraordinary eyes until my chest tightens to the point of burning and my cock stiffens to the point of no return because she has what I need, gives me something I had no idea was possible, no idea the mix of two bodies could produce a bliss as loud and shattering as we have.

“We’re like the clash of thunder and lightning,” I say as my lips cover hers, the raspy words getting lost in her mouth. But she hears me and doesn’t argue the truth.

“Which one of us is thunder and which is lightning?” she murmurs back as she sinks onto me, as I sink into her, shuddering with the need and the knowing of where we’re going and never wanting the trip to end.

Like an addict.

* * *

In the morning I don’t feel as chipper as I did yesterday, don’t have that spark telling me I can conquer the world. But I look at her, asleep, her hair a tangle covering her face, her perfect silky limbs tangled with mine, and I groan out loud as I sit up. I reach over and shut the alarm on my phone so I won’t wake her and kiss the exposed shell of her ear, whispering that I’ll see her in a while and force myself from the bed like I’m a rusty old man with achy joints protesting, telling me this is where they want to stay, where it’s warm and comfortable and…fuck.

Slamming my feet to the cold floor, I grab my clothes and throw them on, get my keys and my wallet and head for the door without allowing myself to look back. On the way to the practice facility, I stop and get a black Grande at Starbucks because no way can I wait until I get there. I need to shake all the distractions and fog from lack of sleep from my head before I see or talk to anyone on my team. As I order my coffee, I stifle the impulse to buy her one too, because it would speak volumes about our relationship. It would shout that I know her coffee choice, that I knew she was arriving right behind me and that I care enough to wait for her before I take the ice to give her a damn coffee.

It’s all true, but hell if I know what it means. I only know it’s not something I’m sharing with the team. Or with her.

As I push into the locker room, I crush my empty coffee cup and toss it into a nearby trash barrel. Carlos catches my bucket on camera, and Finn shouts, “Two points.” We exchange grins and high fives, and I get to business grabbing a fresh practice jersey and stockings from the stack on the table then head to my locker, which is more like a cubby, to undress.

Juliette shows up five minutes after me. Carlos stops her as she enters the room.

“Where were you all night?” My head snaps up. He’s talking loud enough for some of the guys to hear. Finn catches my eye and shakes his head like he’s warning me to stay out of it.

Tony G turns around to listen for her answer. The rest of us go about our business, dressing. I bend over to check the blades on my skates and to keep from saying something to the bastard for calling her out in front of the team.

She says something to the asshole quiet enough so I can’t hear and whatever it is causes him to back off. When I stand to pull my shirt off, Carlos gives me a look that says you’re a fucking ass, like he knows where she’s been. But he keeps his mouth shut. Maybe because I harden my stare to intimidate him. It’s a dick move, but he deserves it, and I don’t owe him any explanation. And I don’t like him having any right to question Juliette.

Not that I have to worry about her because she walks around the room with her camera up and no sign of apology or wear and tear. But I do worry because I’ve seen her vulnerable side. She shared her secret, and it’s not that she’s not talking to her mother, it’s that she feels deeply hurt and betrayed by her mother. I know she’s hiding it, somewhere deep down. Fuck.

I get my breakfast sandwich and take it with me into the training room, finishing it by the time I get there to stretch.

“Your muscles are tight this morning,” Vicky Vorano, the head trainer says. “No surprise after that ridiculous day you had yesterday in practice.”

“Yeah? You watched that?” She laughs at me as she puts her considerable full weight on my bent knee until my thigh is pressed against my chest and I can feel every muscle and tendon screaming as they loosen, breaking the rust off from the strains of yesterday. And last night.

“I think I’ll sit in the whirlpool for a while,” I say. She nods as she pushes on my other leg. I need to avoid injury above all else.