Page 29 of Pucking Never
“Good girl.” Jensen’s deep voice washes over me. I squirm under his gaze, toeing the edge of my release. “Cum for me, Grace. Cum for me hard.”
His words are the last bit of stimulation I need and I hit my peak with such force, my hips shoot up off the bed and my legs start to shake.
I keep rubbing myself, harder and harder, my eyes squeezed shut as I hold onto the image of Jensen leaning over me, his gaze drinking me in as I come completely undone beneath him. When I can’t take anymore, I yank my hand from my panties with a whimper.
Holy shit. That was intense.
My breathing is heavy as I stare up at the ceiling, stunned. My body is still shivering from the aftershocks of my orgasm, and yet, I’m not fully satisfied. It wasn’t enough. I need more. I need Jensen. Groaning, I drape my arm over my eyes, as if I can hide from the realization that I might actually be falling for Jensen Reece.
“You can handle this,” I murmur to myself, as I make my way into the stadium the next day, my camera bag slung over my shoulder. “You’re a goddamn professional. You can be around Jensen without acting like a total idiot. Stop freaking out!”
I realize that I probably look like a crazy person, muttering to myself as I flash my security badge and make my way through the metal detectors. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to make an absolute fool of myself.
Despite my harsh pep-talk, my heart is hammering when I reach the rink. I feel like a teenager again, about to see my crush after spending the night fantasizing about him. Reaching the penalty box, I start to get my equipment set up when Carson and a few other players suddenly skate out onto the ice. I frown when no one else on the team joins them.
Carson spots me and waves and my face feels like it’s on fire. I had sex with his best friend two nights ago, and played with myself as I fantasized about him last night. This is so goddamn awkward. I try to keep a cool and collected expression as Carson skates over to me.
“Good morning, stranger,” he teases. “How was your hockey-free day yesterday?”
I clear my throat and fight to sound casual. “I wouldn’t say it was exactly hockey-free. I was still stuck looking at pictures of your stupid face all day.”
“Uh, twins,” he says. “My stupid face is your stupid face, remember?”
I grin, feeling a little more at ease.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, glancing around the ice at the scant number of players.
Carson shrugs. “It’s goalie-only practice this morning.”
Relief crashes through me and I almost sway on my feet. "Really, goalie-only practice?" I ask, trying to mask the too-eager note in my voice.
Carson nods, "Yeah, yeah. Coach wants us to run some specialized drills since we've been letting in a few too many goals lately. It’s a special day of torture just for us."
“Better get your shit together, then,” I tease.
Carson rolls his eyes. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know? Anyway, I need to go get warmed up. Stay out of trouble.”
“You too,” I reply, giving him a wink. He salutes me as he skates away.
Thank God. Goalie-only practice means no Jensen. I can relax a little bit and focus on my job. As I finish setting up my camera equipment, I feel lighter. I’ve got a little more time to think about how I’m going to approach Jensen the next time I see him.
Practice gets underway and I focus my camera on Carson. I watch as he expertly blocks shots, one after another. The other goalies don’t hold a candle to him. Carson really is a fantastic goalie, and I hope my photos and video reels can do him justice. I lose myself in the rhythm of my work, the click of my camera shutter marking time alongside the scraping of skates on ice and the satisfying thud of pucks slamming into the boards.
“My, my,” a voice suddenly speaks next to me. “I’m not really a sports fan, but even I can see that these boys are impressive.”
I jump, startled, and whirl around to find a gorgeous blonde woman in a black jumpsuit, with a gold-buckle belt tight around her slim waist. Her emerald green eyes flash with interest as she looks me up and down.
“Um… hi,” I stammer. Who is she? She doesn’t look like the type of person who frequents hockey stadiums all that often.
“Hi,” she replies, her smile polite but not warm. “I’m Camille.”
“I’m Grace,” I murmur. “I, uh, haven’t seen you around before.”
She nods, looking out at the ice again. “No, you wouldn’t have. I’m just here to meet one of the players, but I don’t see him here.”
“It’s a goalie-only practice,” I explain lamely. “Who are you looking?—”
Before I can finish, her phone suddenly rings. She holds up a finger to me and pulls it out of her pocket.