Page 14 of Puck U Been Gone
Would he press my head tight against his balls, cutting off my oxygen until I gave in and tapped on his thigh? Or would he take his time entering deeply down my throat, then retreating, teasing me with his length?
A deep chuckle pulls me out of my lustful thoughts as I realize my eyes have dropped back down his body to his cock again. Luckily, I'm saved from any further embarrassment as he reaches down, picks up his misplaced towel, straightens up, and places the corner of the towel to my lips. "You have a little bit of drool right there." He swipes the towel across my lips before leaving me to stare after him in the middle of the locker room, his muscular ass tempting me with every step he takes away from me.
I shift my gaze away from his retreating, naked, and extremely sexy backside, suddenly noticing the color of the lockers and the locker room walls. "Pink?"
Why would anyone paint everything in a men's locker room pink?
"That was Coach Hayden Ford's idea back in the day." I blink at the handsome, smiling face that pops up in front of me, taking me off guard. "He took some psychology class in college that said pink is a relaxing color—very calm and soothing."
"If it's so relaxing, why would he paint his team's locker room a color that could sabotage their mood, ultimately causing them to lose?" I've heard rumors about Coach Ford—he was a cutthroat coach who didn't believe in taking it easy on his opponent. When he had them by the balls, he never let up. "I'm Kingston Cane, by the way." He holds out his hand. "But my friends call me King." I clap his hand with a firm shake, only to feel an odd sense of nervous energy at his touch.
The pink room is obviously not working on me.
Needing to regain my coach-player dynamic, I reply, "Nice to meet you, Kingston."
At his smirk, I wonder if I've done the opposite as his eyes twinkle in mischief. "Maybe after you get to know me better, you'll scream King instead of Kingston." I jerk my hand out of his, opening my mouth to give him a piece of my mind about respecting his coach, but he adds, "On the ice—when you needto get my attention on the ice—King will be easier to say than Kingston."
"Is everything a joke to this team?" I huff, pushing my way past another asshole on the team.
"Sorry, Coach." He places his hand on my shoulder before I get too far away. "I couldn't help myself." He turns me to look at him. "I'm known as the jokester of the team. If I didn't tease you, the rest of the players would make it hard on you." His eyes gleam with interest.
My traitorous eyes fall from his face to his bare chest, finally landing on the gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and the impressive bulge outline behind the fabric.
What has gotten into me? First, I'm lusting after Maximus, now King. I wonder who will be next.
I snap my gaze back to his face, but instead of the smirk Maximus had when he caught me staring at his junk, King has a look of longing, which he immediately hides with a shake of his head, replacing it with a friendly smile.
That's it. I need to get laid, and not by any of the team's players. The last thing I need is to lose my credibility by becoming the team puck bunny.
"It's okay. I appreciate the gesture. As the newbie to the team, I'm going to need all the support I can get."
His eyes drop to my lips, then back to my eyes. "Um, sure. Now, back to the history of the pink locker room." He clears his throat, but I can't get that look out of my mind—like he wanted to kiss me. "This is the visitor's locker room. We're only using it until our locker room is updated with a fresh coat of paint in our team colors."
"Oh, I didn't realize that. Don never said." I shrug, willing myself not to drop my gaze to his plush lips or I'll be imagining those perfect lips wrapped around my hard nipple as his giant hand plays with my other breast. A tiny moan escapes my lips, and I cough to cover it up.
"Are you okay? Do you need some water?" His concern is sweet, but I shake my head, declining his offer.
"No, I'm good. Now, about the pink visitor's locker." I coax, needing a distraction from my obvious attraction to half my players.
Okay, maybe I'm being a little overly dramatic; it's only two of my players.
You haven't met all of your players yet.
That little voice in the back of my head reminds me. The same little voice that convinced me to dance on the bars in my early twenties, like I was a bartender at Coyote Ugly. Or swim naked in the ocean at midnight with a complete stranger for one of the best nights of my life. Only to find him gone the next morning, left with only a first name and a memory of pleasure that still haunts me even two years later—the last time I had sex.
Once I get home and do a little self-care with my battery-operated boyfriend, I'll be good as new for tomorrow's first official day on the job.
"The other teams hate the pink locker room. Some even send their athletic trainers a few hours ahead of time to cover the room with posters or sheets to hide all the pink."
"I could see how it would be distracting," I say as my eyes scan from the pink walls to the pink lockers to the pink benches. Even the floor is pink. "It looks more like Barbie's Dream Locker Room than a pro hockey locker room."
"That's exactly what Monk said when he saw it for the first time."
"Monk?"
"Yeah, he's around here somewhere. Monk is just a nickname."
I want to ask more about why a professional hockey player would have a nickname like Monk since it seems a little out of place from the wild lifestyle pro hockey players are known for, but three other players approach King, distracting him from our conversation.
