Page 38 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

Right?

Yes. Of course.

Doubt creeps in as I wait.

Have I pushed him too far? Is he trying to get over me by getting under Olivia?

A heavy wash of paranoia erodes my confidence.

Is she better than me?

As if on cue, Mason texts to see if I want to go somewhere while Vin and Trick wrap things up. He adds a shower dick pic that’s clearly fake with the caption, “come lick me clean.”

After a bit of banter that boosts my spirits, we agree to head to Fluke’s with the other players. He tells me he’ll come get me so we can both give goodbyes to the guys on the ice and adds a sly winky face as if I wouldn’t have gotten his meaning.

Ten minutes later, Mason struts through the inner arena doors. His hair’s still wet but he fills out the polo and slacks like they were tailor-made. He makes it to the lower edge of the rink and marches in my direction with that sly grin affixed to his face. He tilts his head as if to ask, well?

Rushing to my feet, I bolt for my favorite fuckboy. I get a solid hop in my heels and send a silent prayer he can catch me. He drops the bag and is already swinging me around before I realize I’ve succeeded.

My player-of-a-player grips my ass and fists the back of my shirt as he pulls me in for one hell of a kiss.

With my bare legs wrapped around him, I grind my center against him and release any hesitation I’ve been having.

If Mason wants to put on a show, then we’ll put on a show.

We kiss like we’re trying to defeat the other in a game of dominance. Most alphas would hate that, but Mason sees it for the challenge it is. I wrap my arms over his shoulders and run my hands through his short hair. His tongue spears into my mouth as he groans.

Mason loses balance but catches us before we can canter off to the side.

He smears lipstick across both our faces and nips along my jaw despite my foundation, then continues down the column of my neck.

When he gets to the junction with my shoulder, he kisses the still-present brand with his initials and drags his teeth to the other side.

A guttural growl, feral and threatening, reverberates as I throw my head back to bare my skin to him. He opens wide, his teeth sinking in enough to pinch without breaking the skin.

Fuck, I like him doing that.

I want to be marked so badly. The urge is a living, breathing demand pacing in my chest like it controls my heartbeat.

Every thump is another demand to let him bite me.

Give in, the thing whispers. Good mate. Strong mate.

I want him. It’s been too long since Trick crept into my room. My body demands what’s so easily available around me now. I can suppress it with the pills, but that old scar is twitching like a motherfucker and demanding my attention.

Mason loosens his teeth and moves back to my mouth, thank the stars.

That is, until an explosion of sound and air erupts beside us.

The glass pane only inches away spiders into a thousand tiny fractures and implodes as a hockey puck rockets a foot to our left.

Glass showers down, and Mason swings me away from it while hovering over me to protect me with that imposing height and those magnificent shoulders.

Mason kneels, cradling me in his arms and taking the worst of the glass spray. Shards scrape fine lines across my exposed forearms still circled around his neck.

“Cameron, what the hell?” Coach Adelard screams. “I expect better from our captain!”

“I was aiming for the net,” Brad hollers back. “Not my fault your goalie can’t catch for shit. If anything, you should be penalizing LaMille and Vinson for fucking with practice.”

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