Page 60 of The Puck Player

Alexander is surveying his surroundings like he is the devil himself, setting his eyes on a place like this for the first time, and I can’t help but wonder what he sees. “First time?” I ask gently, and his amused stare meets my own.

“Why, yes, love, for the first time, you are the more experienced one of the two of us,” he winks, and I roll my eyes, as I lead him to one of the pews.

“You can stay here, I won’t be long,” I tell him, hoping I’m right, but given how long it’s been since the last time I atoned for my sins, I can’t say for sure.

“Take all the time you need, Trouble, I won’t burn, don’t worry,” he winks, and I huff a laugh, as I turn on my heel and approach the front of the church.

We haven’t seen a priest anywhere yet, and I know it’s late, but I’m sure I won’t have to wait long. So I let myself into the confessional to wait, taking a seat, and try to sort out in my head all the things I need to discuss, and instead of feeling relieved to be here, I just feel sad. I gave this place my entire childhood, all the faith I had in the world, and instead of happiness and peace, I got grief and heartbreak.

I got my mom being killed by a drunk driver, I got my grandmother dying of heartbreak because she couldn’t bear to live without her only child, and I got my boyfriend sleeping with my best friend, and still somehow he manages to make me out to be the whore. I got pain and heartbreak and fucking ruin, but still I’m supposed to believe? I’m supposed to be good, have faith, and just expect everything to work out?

The tears are streaming down my face before I can stop them, because what kind of bullshit is that?

Sobs wrack my body, as the weight of my loss collides with the guilt of my sins, and I fear nothing will be able to make me feel whole again, but then he’s there. The door is opening and he is dropping to his knees at my feet, crushing me into his chest, as if the weight of his arms can keep me intact. And for the first time since I answered the door to the police all those months ago, I actually believe in something again.

Alexander holds me while I cry, as the sadness seeps out of me, and he doesn’t tell me to pray, or that everything happens for a reason, he just lets me feel what I need to feel and doesn’t judge me for it.

I think about the times I cried in Ben’s arms, about the verses he would read to me, and the reasoning he would offer. How many times did I pray he would just hold me, that he would just be my boyfriend and not my damn pastor? And what, after that, he went and fucked my best friend? Fuck him for that, fuck her for that, and fuck their fucking god.

“It’s okay, Aubree, I got you, I’m here,” Alexander soothes, stroking my hair and back, his warm hands filling my body with comfort, and it just makes me cry more. How is he so perfect? How is it that he rescued me that night in the bar and I cursed him out for it, but here in this moment, I am only now realizing just how much he has been rescuing me ever since. I pull back and his hands fly to my cheeks, holding my stare to his, searching it for a clue on what to do, and when he comes up empty, he starts to beg, “Please tell me what I can do, baby, what do you need?”

I know what he means, what he wants from me, what he’s asking, and I know deep down what I need, but I’m not sure I’m ready to admit what this is. I can’t, not when last week I was still in a three year relationship, one that didn’t even come close to the connection I now feel with the cocky goalie, who somehow sees every part of me and is still begging for more. So, insteadof giving him that, I need him to take something else instead. I need to feel something that isn’t this, I need him to take control and give me his own kind of higher power, the one only he can grant me. It’s why I feel no fear or shame when I reply, because I know there is no one else in this world who sees me as clearly as he does.

“I need truth or dare,” I choke out, and his thumbs still as they wipe my tears, his intense eyes searching mine once more, and I know he sees it then. The desperate need for me to feel free, for me to break from these chains that I have allowed to restrict me for too long, and only Alexander Reign has the key to do it.

He remains silent for a moment, the two of us just breathing one another in, until he finally pulls back and slides his hand into his pocket, and I don’t have to look to know what he is getting. “Truth or Dare, Aubree?” he asks, crushing the item in his palm, and I know he needs this truth, as much as I need his dare.

“Truth,” I breathe, and he brings up his hand and flattens his palm, showcasing my gold purity ring.

“Do you want this back? Do you still need it?” he asks, more desperate for my answer than I might be for all of this, and I shake my head slowly.

The only thing I truly need is him.

He nods firmly at my answer, pocketing the ring once more, and for some reason the move feels more primal than him sucking it off my wet finger last night. “Truth or Dare, Aubree?” he asks again, the words sending a shudder down my spine, as his tone takes on a more lust-filled timbre.

“Dare,” I whisper, and the word isn’t even all the way out before he is wrapping my legs around him and lifting us, standing up completely, until he can turn and plonk himself onto the seat, with my legs spread on either side of him.

Then he leans back, pushing his hands up my skirt, the one I styled so artfully earlier with his jersey, so he can caress the outside of my thighs, looking like more of a god than I have ever seen, as he demands, “I dare you to ride me, right here in this confessional.”

His veiled command washes over me, slashing through my invisible chains, as the need to obey him, to worship him, claims me completely. My hands rest on his broad shoulders, as his own flex around my hips, toying with the lace of my panties as we stare at one another. There is no audience for this game, no boyfriends or barriers in our way, just me and him, how it was always meant to be.

I think he mistakes my silence for hesitation, because his fingers flex around my waist in anticipation. “What do you say, Aubree? Want to be my good little sinner?” he asks, and it’s only now I see it, the true persona within him, the one who has had girls dropping their panties for him in an instant.

Alexander Reign in all his player glory, except for some reason, all he wants is me.

I let myself smile in that knowledge, leaning in even closer and inhaling his deep masculine scent, the one that has brought me back from the brink of my grief for months now, and accept the fact that this is really happening. My breath ghosts along his jaw as I say, “I already am.” Which is the truth, he is beginning to own me in a way I never thought possible, and I hope it lasts a lot fucking longer than three years.

“Oh yeah?” he muses with a smile, his hands both possessive and claiming, as he tightens and strokes against my waist. “Because we haven’t even got started yet, Trouble.” His words skate across my skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, and when I gasp the playboy bastard smirks, leaning in even closer until his lips skim along my throat. “Now, ride my fucking thigh, Aubree, I won’t ask again.”

I open my mouth to let him know that I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that, but my words are robbed and turned into a gasp, as he uses his grip on my hips to shift me, until his thigh is pressed between mine that are now spread wide, resting perfectly against my center. The pressure is instant, as I am transported back to last night in my room, spreading my legs and giving in to someone like I never have before. My pussy pulses in anticipation, needing what only he can give it, and my hands tighten around his neck, pushing into the hair at his nape.

“Anything for you,” I tell him, giving him his own words back to him, and the fire it sets in his eyes is like molten lava.

“I saw how you fucked that pretty pussy of yours, how you soaked your fingers, pushing them inside yourself nice and deep,” he grunts, using his hold on my hips to shift my body back and forth across his muscular thigh.

I know this is wrong, that the priest could come in here at any moment and catch us, but right now there is nothing, not even God, that could reason with me. My attraction to him was unexpected and I tried to deny it, tried to keep the only faith I had left with Ben, but it didn’t matter, because the second Alexander Reign laid eyes on me, he claimed me. I was already his, I just didn’t know it yet.

His hold on me is a heavy but welcome weight, gripping me so intensely that I know he needs this as much as I do, he’s been desperate for this as much as I have, and I can no longer deny him, deny myself. I push into him, swirling my hips in his hands and grinding against his thigh, increasing the friction where I need it most. The pressure is light but firm, and just in the spot I need it to bring me pleasure, and fuck it feels good.

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