Page 111 of Pucking Them
She is helping me to become more savage during games with words, rather than actions. I have promised both Robyn and D’Angelo that I won’t be kicked into the sin bin again.
I don’t want to see Eden’s disappointed expression again either.
Neve’s text simply said: Coo like a pigeon.
Followed by the pigeon emoji.
For Wilder, you hit the narcissist in his fragile ego.
A pigeon is a player who only eats trash, the points left over by better players. Every time that he touched the puck, I cooed at him.
The first time this happened, it startled Wilder enough that he lost the puck.
Grayson and Lucas both laughed, while Wilder reddened with humiliated fury.
Sudden-death overtime is bloody brutal.
I thought that we had a chance to pull ahead of the Penguins, until the moment that their puck crossed the line. No matter how many times I replay the angle of that shot from Wilder all that matters is it hit the back of the net, before I was able to score against him.
They won. We lost.
Hockey is a bloody simple game sometimes.
Yet Robyn’s speech from the bar replays through my mind. She looked bloody sexy, riled up and fiery in defense of D’Angelo and her own independence.
I’ve always known that she was strong.
It’s one of the first things that attracted me to her, along with her curves and gorgeous emerald eyes.
Yet this side of my Robyn has been growing over the last few months, and I can’t wait to explore it with her.
Would Robyn like to claim me, as D’Angelo does?
Own me as thoroughly?
My cock hardens at the thought. A shiver runs down my spine, and I struggle not to palm my cock.
My body isn’t my own…to touch…to pleasure…
It belongs to D’Angeloand my Robyn.
I moan at the thought.
Then to my shock, D’Angelo shifts underneath me. He moans as well but not in pleasure, as if he’s in pain.
I pull back, worried that I am putting too much pressure on his bruised chest and stomach.
I scan D’Angelo’s face in panic, but he’s still firmly asleep.
I can see his eyes flitting behind his closed eyelids. Then he stiffens, turning his head from side to side. The muscles in his neck cord.
“Stop…” D’Angelo whispers. “Don’t…”
He sounds pained.
Young.
My mouth dries. My chest tightens.
