Page 80 of Pucking Revenge

More than happy to please, I give her a thumb.

“Holy shit, yes,” she pants.

I push my thumb deeper, stretching her tight asshole, all the while fucking her cunt with my fingers. When she goes over the edge, her body milks me, sucking me deeper. In response, I curl my fingers and press harder.

I’m rewarded when she christens the desk with her cum.

Holy shit. My hunger for her is nowhere near satiated, so I dip back in and lick her up and down until she’s begging me to stop.

“Please, Brooks. It’s too much. Too sensitive.”

Eyes closed, I lap at her once more. Then I pull back, drop my arms to the leather armrests of my uncle’s chair, and admire the view. Sara, spent and still on her knees, face pressed to the desk, chest heaving, legs wide, my jersey bunched up. Her blond hair is a wreck, and her skin is glowing.

But it’s always her smile that gets me.

When she slides off the desk and turns it on me, blue eyes the color of turquoise waters on a sunny day, pure happiness aimed in my direction, that’s when I know I’ll be walking out of this office a happy man.

Everything else is just icing. But Sara happy because of me? That’s the damn Stanley Cup.

TWENTY-EIGHT

BROOKS

“Do it again.” Fitz turns up the music and motions for me to get back into position.

Now that I don’t spend my mornings before games going over plays with my uncle, I need some new rituals. I asked my goalie coach to work on drills with me before today’s game.

I’m keyed up. Touching Sara is the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, but without finding my own release, I’m edging closer to bursting. With any luck, these drills will quell the torturous ache plaguing me.

“You’re dropping your shoulder too early,” Coach calls from off the ice.

I take a deep breath, set on tuning him out. But Fitz is watching me, his hands on his hips, waiting for me to acknowledge Seb.

I stand taller and get back into position. Then I run the drill.

“Again,” Seb shouts.

Fuck him.

Thirty minutes later, I’m more keyed up than when I started, and now my shoulders are sore from all the anger I’m holding inside. I glide off the ice, keeping my focus set on anything but my uncle.

Only he doesn’t understand how not interested I am in his feedback.

“It’s clear you should have gone to bed early instead of hanging out with your friend.”

I stomp forward on my skates, ignoring him.

“At least I kept her hidden when I got her naked. You have her splayed out like a hooker everywhere you go. Thought I raised you better than that.”

I don’t stop to check our surroundings, whether we’re being watched. Hell, I don’t even toss my stick. I just turn, and with all the force I can muster, channeling all the anger and tension that have been coursing through me, I punch the man I once considered my mentor straight in the fucking face.

The force of it knocks him to the ground. He hits the floor, sprawled out on his back, his head smacking the concrete.

I stand over him, one finger pointed at his face, rage tunneling my vision. “You speak a fucking word about her again, and I will step on you with my goddamn blade and end your life.”

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t even see him. He might be bloody. It’s possible he’s completely fine, though that’s doubtful. With blood whooshing in my ears and my heart pounding out of my chest, I stomp off and don’t look back.

As soon as I hit the locker room, I toss my stick and smack the wall, desperate for an outlet for all the anger burning me up.

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