Page 2 of Pucking the Grump

Which makes it so much harder to say what I should say right now.

If I tell him to go, he will, but I really don’t like the thought of heading home without taking the edge off. Stone is trouble, but he’s also medicine. I wouldn’t be managing the stress of my jam-packed schedule half as well without his regularly and generously administered orgasms.

“Fine, the door,” I manage, breath coming faster as he increases his delicious pressure. “Just double check that it’s locked.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His slow smile is pure victory. He steps back, but not before pressing one more lingering kiss to my lips and giving my clit a pinch that makes me gasp.

“Asshole,” I hiss. “What if I pinched your dick?”

He checks the deadbolt, confirming it’s locked tight, before turning back to me with an arched brow. “Don’t make promises you’re not going to keep, darlin’. You know I like a little pain with my pleasure.”

“Bad.” I shake my head as he prowls across the room, the heat in his eyes making my entire body burn. “You’re a bad man.” He steps between my still spread thighs, his hands settling possessively on my hips.

“Am not. I’m practically a Boy Scout.” He drags my blouse free from my skirt. “I can see how much you need this. You’ve been wound tighter than a playoff game in triple overtime. When was the last time you took a real break? All work and no play makes Remy a stressed-out girl.”

I stiffen. Me realizing I’m pushing too hard is one thing. Stone seeing it is something else. Lauders don’t show weakness to outsiders. Hell, we usually don’t even admit it to ourselves. “I’m fine,” I say, in a cooler voice. “And I don’t need you to manage my stress levels, thank you very much.”

“No?” His hand slides beneath my blouse, tracing the underside of my bra. “How about managing your orgasms, then? I’m very qualified in that department. No one makes you come better than me, Bossy, and you know it.”

I should be annoyed by his cockiness, but damn it, he’s not wrong.

“So, tell me what’s weighing on you, woman,” he continues. “And I’ll decide how many times you need to get off to reach a state of maximum chill for the weekend.”

“I’m not worried about anything…But I did land a big coaching interview,” I admit, my hands smoothing over his pecs, relishing the feel of the solid muscle beneath his shirt. I’ve dated my share of well-built men, but Stone’s body really is next level. “But it’s not for a month, and you know I hate waiting for things.”

Like for him to get undressed…

I set to work on his buttons, slipping each one through its hole.

“For which team?” he asks.

“Seattle, the new expansion team they’re putting together for the pro women’s league.”

“What? The PWHL? Holy fuck, that’s incredible, Rem,” he says, his hands stilling beneath my breasts as a smile explodes across his face. “Woman, you’re on your way to the big leagues! That’s a huge deal! Congratulations.”

Warmth and discomfort war in my chest at his genuine enthusiasm. It’s one of the most disarming things about Stone—how eager he is to support me, brag on me, hype me up like I’m the pro athlete and he’s the member of the administrative support staff. After a lifetime of being held to my father’s unreachable standards—no matter how good I was on the ice growing up, it was never good enough—it’s an odd experience.

Nice, but weird, and I hurry to push past the touchy-feely stuff the way I always do.

“Thanks, but I don’t have the job yet,” I warn. “They’re casting a wide net, and I’m up against candidates with way more coaching experience. Including a couple of guys who have already done assistant coaching in the NHL, so…”

“Experience ex-schmear-ience. None of those punks has your knowledge of the game. Women in the game, in particular. You’re going to rock their world. No doubt in my mind.” His fingers squeeze my ribs in a way that makes me feel safe and fragile at the same time.

I’m a tall woman, a lifelong athlete with the muscle mass to prove it. But from the day Stone first put his giant hands on me, I’ve finally experienced what it’s like to feel dainty.

I’m a little ashamed to say I like it.

A lot.

“Why is your shirt still on?” I ask, arching a pointed brow as I slip the final button through the hole. “Or mine for that matter?”

Stone’s wicked grin returns. “Apologies. I got distracted being proud of you. I am taking you out to celebrate, by the way. Soon. We’ll go somewhere way out of town this time, where no one knows our names or why you can’t claim me as your sexy boyfriend.”

My heart stutters at the “b” word.

We don’t talk about the possibility of more than sex—ever—and we never go out together in public, not since our first real date last summer nearly ended in disaster. I had to crawl out of a bar twenty miles outside of town on my hands and knees, while Stone distracted the three Badger players who’d just walked in. That was all the proof I needed that we should stick to the original plan.

Sex. Release. A good time had by all.

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