Page 67 of He Has Pluck

“Home,” I say.

She holds my butt and raises her hips. “More,” she croaks. “I want everything you have with nothing held back.”

Her strained voice excites me as much as her words, and I pump in and out of her, moving my hands down her back and into her pants to grab her ass so that the focal point of all our energy is the coupling between us, where we connect and intertwine and become one seamless frenzy of energy and passion.

“Jason, Oh my god, you feel so good.” She yells the words, and they reverberate in my head and penetrate my heart and soul until I want to explode, but I hold back.

“Are you close, babe? I’m so close.” I heave the words from my lungs, my voice unrecognizable.

“Yes. Close. Oh my god.” She heaves her hips up as I caress her ass, moving my fingers down and reaching up from behind to find her most sensitive spot. “Jason,” she cries out and clenches hard, her hips rising and her pussy squeezing my cock in a convulsion of ecstasy. I watch her eyes go glassy, and I let go, taking in the pulsing of her around me and thrusting as everything in me floods her in hard waves of cum and blinding euphoria.

* * *

The bright sunshine of the spring morning hits my eyes, and the loud buzz of my phone alarm is followed closely by the ringing of the hotel room’s phone, bringing the stark reality of where I am crashing down on me. I sit bolt upright. I have exactly twenty minutes to make the team bus to the airport.

“Fuck.”

Juliette turns toward me, blinking those goddam gorgeous eyes open, and I lean over her to kiss them. She croaks a laugh, pushing me away, but I continue kissing her face everywhere until I make it to her lips, and she opens up to me. Her shoves against my chest change to caresses.

Lifting my mouth, I whisper, “I gotta go, babe. The team bus will not wait for me, and I can’t afford the fine for missing it.” I sit up.

She laughs. “Who am I to stop you?”

Turning to her, I check her eyes to measure her level of seriousness. “You’re everything,” I say. I’m not sure what I mean, but it’s how I feel.

“Everything but hockey. Don’t worry. I’m right behind you. I’m with the team, remember?”

We slip from bed and manage to dress in record time—and despite some playful grabbing and kissing.

On the elevator down, she finally gets serious. “So much for talking,” she says.

“We’ll talk. After game seven and before the next series.” If we win. I don’t say it, and neither does she, thank fuck. But I meet her eyes and know we’re both thinking the same thing.

Then it’s the end of the season. The end of the documentary, and life as we know it hits the edge of a cliff to who the fuck knows where.

Chapter Twenty-Two

JASON

Coach follows the team into the locker room immediately after our skate around. He’s scheduled us for a team meal after this and then PT for anyone who needs it, which is everyone at this point in the season. I grab a towel on the way in and sit at my locker, wiping my face and watching for Juliette. She enters the room with her camera on her shoulder, and my smile is instant and my dick is doing its thing automatically based on muscle memory.

Coach stands in the middle of the room and gives a quick tweet of his whistle, grabbing our attention.

“I’ll be Mr. Obvious and say this is the most important game of the season so far. That means our focus needs to be complete and religious down to a man. Each one of you needs to behave like a monk in the church of hockey.” He pauses, his face straight and his words weapon-like, cutting through the air. Then he adds, “A few prayers wouldn’t hurt either.”

A few guys chuckle, but I’m not one of them. The older guys, who’ve been around him a while and know him better, smile and nod. Me? My nerves go taut like he’s turned the knob on a guitar string.

“To that end,” he continues, “we’re all staying at the Bostonian down the street tonight. Two to a room. Lights out at nine pm.” He pauses to accommodate the expected grumbling and murmurs. I don’t dare utter a complaint because I know I need this, and my conscience accuses me of being the reason for the directive. My gaze darts to Juliette. Her camera is down. Coach typically doesn’t want her filming his speeches, and she respects the hell out of him. I’ll have to ask her why, not that she shouldn’t, but because she’s stingy with her respect.

“Shit,” Finn says under his breath.

“After our meal, you’ll have two hours to go home and pack a bag. You will report to the hotel no later than five pm. That’s it.” He turns and leaves, head down and walking fast like he’s in a race, as always.

I check my battered watch. That gives us a half hour to change and eat if we plan on an hour for PT. “Shit indeed,” I say. In fairness, it only takes ten minutes for most of us to scarf down a plate of food. But still.

“What are you worried about?” Finn says. “You only live ten minutes away. You can get back here in half an hour.” I give him a look that says he’s forgetting the other things I may want to do while I’m home. Then he smirks and glances at Juliette, nodding his head.

“No, no, no. None of that,” he says, hurrying his movements to undress now. “That there is the exact kind of thing we’re supposed to avoid. We need to keep our legs fresh and full of energy for tomorrow’s game. That’s the whole point of this sleepover.”