17. Dakota

Biting my lip, I typed out a text, knowing the response it would elicit.

Wait. So, they can remove a goal from the scoreboard if someone was offside a full minute before they scored? How is that fair? The ref didn't catch it and let them continue playing. They only looked to see if they missed that call after they scored. And then they put the time back on the clock!

Smirking, I watched the three dots appear on my screen, indicating that Braxton was gearing up to reply.

Braxton: Are you watching hockey without me?

Does that sound like something I would do? My boyfriend has made it very clear that I should wait until he's with me to watch live-speed action on the ice. And I'm nothing if not a good girl. *Bites lower lip*

I was egging him on, and he knew it too.

Braxton: Usually, I'd be inclined to believe my very well-behaved girlfriend, but it just so happens that a situation sounding very much like the one you described happened no less than five minutes ago in the Indy Speed game versus the Las Vegas Luck. Now, I'll ask again. Have you been naughty watching hockey without me?

After the weeks he'd spent teasing me, turnabout was fair play.

And what about penalties? Why doesn't it go to four-on-four when both teams incur a penalty at the same time? That makes the most sense, but for some reason, they stay at five-on-five.

Braxton: Dakota . . .

And then there's the five-on-three. What happens if the team with three guys gets another penalty? Does it go to five-on-two? Is there ever a point where one team can't have any skaters on the ice, and five guys just shoot on the goalie?

Braxton: Firefly, you're playing a very dangerous game.

I would have to agree. Hockey does appear to be extremely dangerous. Why would anyone want to play such a violent sport?

Giggling, I could picture Braxton at home, watching the game, getting riled up as I made it clear that I was watching hockey and doing everything in my power to avoid answering his question directly.

Braxton: I'm going to give you to the count of three to come clean.

And then what happens? *Eyes emoji*

Braxton: Then I'll be forced to come over there at this late hour and punish you.

I was hoping he'd say that. Yesterday, I'd gone to my first pre-paid waxing appointment that Hannah had set up for me, and today, I spent hours with the sound of grunts and groans in my ears as I typed out close to six thousand words. I'd been on edge and in desperate need of release. I could have taken care of it myself, but why should I when I had a boyfriend on the other side of town, who'd made it no secret that he was looking forward to more physical activities with me?

But I'm only trying to learn. *Pouty face*

Braxton: One . . .

*Shrugging woman emoji*

Braxton: Two . . . This is not an empty threat.

*Smirk emoji*

Braxton: Final warning. No taking it back once I reach the final count.

*Smiling devil emoji*

Braxton: Three. Now you've done it.

*Angel face emoji* But I didn't do anything.

Braxton: *Growls* Just for that, when I get there, we ARE going to spend all night watching hockey.

That's what he thought. But who was I to tell him otherwise?

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at my front door. I could only imagine he'd broken every speed limit in town to get to me—usually, it took twenty-five minutes door to door.

Ruffling my curls, I took a moment to peek at myself in the hallway mirror before answering the door.

Showtime.

Turning the deadbolt slowly so Braxton could hear it, I called out through the thick wood, "Who is it?"

There was a rumble from the other side. "The time for games is over, Dakota."

Biting back a smile, my voice took on a sickeningly sweet quality. "But I thought you came over here because you wanted to watch a game?"

I was poking the bear but pressed my thighs together in anticipation of what would happen when he lost the grip on his control. He wasn't there yet, but he would be soon if I had anything to say about it.

Braxton's words were clipped. "Open. The. Door. Now."

"So bossy," I teased, throwing the door wide open.

The sight that met me did nothing to cool the arousal simmering beneath my skin. Braxton looked dark and dangerous cast in the glow of the porch light, a wolfish glint to his eyes.

Gripping both sides of the doorframe, he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from mine. "You've been playing a little too close to the fire, sweetheart. If you're not careful, you're going to get burned."

God, yes.

How many years had I watched as others enjoyed sex? Whether it was Bristol, the people performing on my computer screen, or even the characters I wrote?

It was finally my turn.

Not that I was ready to jump in with both feet, but if I knew Braxton like I thought I did, he wouldn't pressure me. We could have a little fun and both feel good. That was my aim tonight.

"I'm sorry?" I phrased the apology like a question on purpose and batted my eyelashes at Braxton looming above me.

"Funny thing is, I don't think you are."

Pulling back slightly, I pursed my lips into a pout. "So sorry."

Rolling his eyes with a smile on his face, the space I put between us allowed him to scan down the length of my body, and a groan sounded from deep within his chest. "Goddamn, Firefly. What in the world are you wearing?"

Shrugging, I stepped back for full effect. The only thing I wore was the oversized Comets hoodie he'd bought me the first time we went to the rink. It hit me mid-thigh, so my bare legs and feet were visible.

"Wasn't expecting company." I shrugged.

Taking a few more backward steps, I turned so he could get a good look at his last name and number splayed across my back. From what I understood, that was how players claimed their women. Judging from the curse Braxton uttered under his breath while clutching the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white, I'd say I hit the mark.

Peeking over my shoulder, I called back, "You're letting in a draft."

That jolted him from his perch on the doorstep, and he stumbled inside the house, closing the door in a daze. His eyes flared as they watched me recline on the couch, stretching my bare legs over the cushions.

Dragging a hand across the dark stubble along his jaw, Braxton blinked a few times, likely wondering if this was real.

Toeing the cushion opposite my seat, I gave him a sultry—or at least, I hoped it was—smile. "You coming?"

A strategic choice of words given my lack of clothing, and it did the trick. Eating up the space between us in three long strides, his hands found my face, his mouth descending on mine, saying everything he was feeling without words. I moaned as his tongue demanded entry, opening for him and allowing him to dominate the desperate kiss.

My pulse pounded between my legs, but I wasn't done teasing him yet. What was it they said about anticipation? That it only heightened the pleasure? I was about to test that theory tonight, and my results would be skewed if I gave in too quickly.

Taking both hands, I shoved at Braxton's chest, and like the gentleman he was, he pulled back enough that our ragged breathing mingled, the sound filling the air.

"You said we were gonna watch the game." My voice was breathy.

"Fuck the game," he growled back.

"My house, my rules." I shoved at his chest again, harder this time, and he drew back. Tapping my toe for emphasis, I said, "Your seat is over there."

Raking a hand through his dark tresses, he took the offered seat.

I began pulling my legs back to my side, but he snaked out a hand, circling my ankle and dragging me into a reclined position, my feet in his lap. I raised an eyebrow in question, to which his response was to dig his thumb into the arch of my foot. He hit the pressure point just right, and a moan escaped before I could stop it, my back arching.

His eyes remained locked on my feet, but I caught the way a corner of his lips quirked up. "Watch your game. Since it's so important to you."

Oh, he's good.

I might have started this little game, but I should've known he was a competitor and wouldn't surrender so easily.

Giving myself over to the ministrations of his magic fingers, I relaxed into the couch, nearly boneless by the time the second intermission rolled around on the screen. I had played by the rules, watching the game, but with a break in the action, it was time to make my move.

Skin still tingling from his touch, I ran the curved sole of my foot along the bulge beneath it, barely concealed in his gray sweatpants. I could feel the heat of him through the thick material.

Braxton's hiss reached my ears, and he gripped my foot, halting its movement. "Careful, Firefly."

Wrenching my foot from his grasp—carefully; we didn't need an accidental kick to the groin—I climbed onto his lap. The hoodie rode up my thighs as I straddled him, and his searing hot palms rested just below the hem. The rough pads of his fingertips teased the skin of my inner thighs, and instinctively, my hips rocked, seeking any sort of friction. This might be new to me, but it would seem my body knew what to do. This was, after all, a dance humans had been doing since the beginning of time.

Having a good eight inches on me, being seated on Braxton's lap had us at eye level. And damn, if he didn't have the most beautiful eyes. They sparkled gold as he peered back at me, the pupils expanding as rapidly as the hard length growing between my spread thighs.

I sank my teeth into my lower lip, stifling a moan when his erection nudged against my aching clit. Instant regret hit me that I had declined to take the edge off earlier when I was alone. But I'd figured getting myself off to the image of this gorgeous man couldn't compare to the real thing. It didn't matter that I was probably right, because I needed relief. Now.

Anchoring my hands on his shoulders, I rocked over Braxton's lap, causing him to throw back his head, eyes closed, as a guttural groan slipped past his parted lips. I was testing the limits of his restraint, but I was more than ready to unleash the animal lurking beneath the surface.

Forcing himself to look at me, he reached a hand up, his thumb tugging on the lip I held so firmly between my teeth that I began to taste blood. He didn't use words, pleading with me with his eyes to relinquish my hold. Slowly, I released that lower lip, wincing at the sting, but Braxton was quick to soothe the hurt with soft strokes of his thumb.

"Tell me what you want." His voice was husky, and it shot a bolt of lust straight to my throbbing core.

My mind raced, trying to form a coherent thought through the haze.

Only one word made sense at that moment. "You."

Braxton smirked. "You already have me."

He was teasing me, but I wasn't in the mood, too desperate to feel his hands on my body, bringing me a type of pleasure I'd only ever known on my own. I had a feeling it wouldn't compare, but there was only one way to find out.

Out of words and done with games, I reached down, gripped the hem of the sweatshirt, and pulled it over my head. By the time the fabric cleared my field of vision, Braxton's eyes were molten gold, scanning my form with a hunger that made me shiver.

That was the moment he realized I wasn't wearing anything beneath the hoodie.

Braxton's hand, still resting on my thigh, tightened, and its partner dragged down his face as he stared at me in disbelief.

"Is this clear enough?" I breathed out, chest heaving as I tried desperately to control my heart rate. This was the first time a man had ever seen me naked.

"Jesus Christ." The words from his mouth were so reverent that they could have been mistaken for a prayer.

A trail of fire followed Braxton's hand on its ascent over my hip to the curve of my waist before cupping one of my breasts. When his thumb brushed my nipple, I gasped, the sensation overwhelming. I'd watched women on screen play tug furiously on their nipples while amid sexual acts, but I hadn't understood it until this moment. It shot a jolt of electricity between my thighs.

Arching into his touch, I silently begged for more. Expecting a second hand to join the first, I groaned when the wet heat of his mouth descended on my free nipple. The rocking of my hips grew insistent, the friction driving me insane as he teased the distended peak with his teeth.

I needed more. More of what, I had no idea, but I would take whatever Braxton wanted to give me.

Spearing my fingers through his hair, I hung on for dear life. I was teetering right on the edge, ready to combust. Braxton switched sides, giving the opposite breast the attention of his mouth. With his hands free, he gripped my hips and ground me down on his cock straining against the only fabric separating us.

When I whimpered, I could feel his smile against my skin. "Is this what you want? You want to make yourself come by rubbing your hot little pussy over my cock?"

My eyes slammed shut at the mental imagery. This physically powerful man would willingly let me take my pleasure from his body? I was overwhelmed at the mere thought.

"How about I tell you what I want?" he rasped, and I forced myself to look at him.

"Please," I begged, lost to the lust swirling in the air.

In a flash, Braxton stood with me still in his arms. Ignoring my squeals of protest, he spun us around and lowered my body to the couch, kneeling between my open thighs.

When his gaze dropped to that exposed, bare part of me, his sharp intake of breath reached my ears. "Holy shit, Dakota."

Point for Hannah.

Peeking down myself, I asked, "You like?"

"Like?" he huffed. "I've never seen a more perfect pussy in my entire life."

I squirmed as he lowered his face. The concentrated attention made me slightly uncomfortable. But then his warm breath skittered over the heated flesh slick with arousal, and all traces of self-consciousness vanished.

"Is this what you had in mind when you texted me tonight? You wanted me on my knees for you?"

Moaning, on sensory overload with his mouth so close to my pussy that I could feel the vibrations of his words, I closed my eyes.

Hands on my inner thighs, forcing them open wider, had my head snapping to meet his gaze.

A wolfish grin curved on his lips. "Do I have your attention now?"

My lips parted as pants flew past, punctuating the air.

"Use your words, Dakota. I know you have them."

Whining, I shook my head. I was past the point of talking. My brain was mush, focused on one thing and one thing only—the orgasm looming just out of reach that I needed more desperately than I needed air.

Braxton clicked his tongue. "Oh, baby. Do you need some help?"

Dazed, I nodded, words still escaping me.

"Do you want me to love on you with my mouth . . . here?" He placed a tender kiss to my inner thigh before peeking up to gauge my reaction. I shook my head. "How about . . . here?" He moved further down my leg, brushing his lips against the back of my knee, causing me to whine in frustration. Smirking, his eyes darkened as his head moved to the apex of my thighs, so close my hips rose, trying to make contact. "What about . . . here?" He placed a barely there kiss against my clit, and my hips bucked off the couch. "Is that where you want me?"

"No." The word was uttered so softly that I wondered if I'd even said it aloud.

Judging by how Braxton froze, lifting his head, I was betting that I did.

"No?" He arched an eyebrow, beginning to put space between us.

Willing my brain to convey the message properly instead of a garbled, lust-drunk mess of words, I took a deep breath. "I don't want you there. I need you there."

A rush of air flew past Braxton's plush lips. His relief that I wasn't pushing him away was palpable. He would have stopped, of that I had no doubt, but he didn't want to. Good thing for both of us, we were on the same page tonight.

His eyes dropped between my parted thighs, and he inhaled deeply. "I can see how much you need me, Firefly. You're fucking drenched, soaking the couch."

Heat flooded my cheeks. My first instinct was to grab a towel, but before I could make a move, Braxton's tongue swiped a path through my slit, and all rational thought fled.

A strangled noise pierced the air as Braxton gripped my inner thighs almost to the point of pain and began his oral assault.

Was that me?

It didn't matter. I couldn't focus on anything past the feeling of Braxton between my legs, his tongue growing more insistent with each passing minute as waves of pleasure radiated outward, flowing over my body and threatening to drag me under. Nothing I'd ever done solo came close to this.

Braxton eased off, slowing the strokes of his tongue, causing me to slip both hands through his short hair, pulling him closer, silently begging for more.

He let out a shaky chuckle. "Sorry, baby. You taste so fucking delicious. I don't want this to end."

Well, that broke the spell I was under, and an unladylike snort flew out of my nose.

Peeking up with curious eyes, Braxton asked, "Did I miss something?"

I waved a weak hand in his general direction. "It's fine. You don't need to write poetry about going down on me."

Tilting his head, understanding flashed in those whiskey depths, staring so intently that I began to squirm. "Wait. You think I'm lying to you about how addictive your pussy tastes?"

Throwing both hands over my face, I groaned. "Please don't."

"You really don't get it, do you?" His words sliced through the haze of embarrassment.

"Look. I've been on enough threads online to know most guys see it as a means to an end. Go down on her so she'll repay the favor—and for the record, I will. But they don't particularly enjoy it." I could only hope that finally got through to him and we could drop this topic.

"En-enjoy?" Braxton's words were said on a disbelieving exhale.

I'd done it now, fucked this up so badly that he'd walk out that door and never come back. After this humiliating encounter, I would likely remain a virgin forever.

There was a rustle of fabric, and I resigned myself to the inevitability that our night—our sexy playtime—was over. Regret flooded my body. Why couldn't I keep my damn mouth shut for once?

Forcing my eyes open to face the man I'd pushed away, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I found his face inches from mine.

Letting out a shriek, I shoved at his chest. "What the hell, Braxton?! You trying to give me a heart attack?"

Voice low and dangerous, he said, "Let's get one thing straight here, Dakota. If this is going to work between us, I need your total honesty. And you can damn well expect the same from me. No games, no hidden agendas. If we say something, we mean it. Understand?"

Wide-eyed, I could only manage a nod. "Uh-huh."

"So, when I say the taste of your pussy is going to haunt my dreams tonight, and I'll likely wake up hard tomorrow morning thinking about it, I mean it."

I swallowed. He was so close I could smell myself on his face. My eyes dipped to his chin, still glistening with my arousal. With his gaze tracking mine, his lips curved into a lopsided grin.

"If my words can't reach you, I'll just have to show you."

Before I could question his meaning, his lips claimed mine in a punishing kiss. Tongue sweeping inside, he tangled it with mine, letting my unique flavor coat my tastebuds. Surprised, my eyes opened. He was right; it was different, but it wasn't bad.

Sensing he'd made his point, Braxton pulled back, his eyes dark with desire. "I go down on you because I enjoy it." His hand grasped mine, bringing it to the hard length tenting his sweatpants and positioning my fingers to grab it. "The smell, the taste, your reactions. All of it gets me hard. Never will I expect a blowjob because I devoured your pussy. Relationships—the sexual side of them in particular—are not transactional. At least, they shouldn't be."

To show my understanding, I gave a firm stroke of his cock. His hips jutted forward, thrusting it into my hand. Releasing my hold, I grazed the waistband of his sweats, but Braxton pulled back.

When I looked at him in question, he shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm going to prove to you that giving you pleasure will always be enough to satisfy me."

I whined, arching my back so my breasts rubbed against the rough fabric of his T-shirt. "Please. Let me touch you."

Dipping his head to pepper kisses along my neck, he murmured, "You doubted me, sweetheart. Now, you'll have to wait ‘til next time."

He was serious? He would walk away tonight without taking anything for himself?

With each passing day, Braxton bucked the stereotypes—this time of the womanizing, self-centered, sex-crazed athlete.

And he'd made it no secret that he was all mine.

Lips trailed down my torso, and Braxton resumed his position between my thighs.

"Eyes on me," he commanded when my body writhed, head thrown back in anticipation.

Blazing heat rolled over my skin when I met his hungry whiskey gaze. Lowering his face, his eyes never left mine as he darted out his tongue, giving quick little flicks to my needy clit. My mouth dropped open, the sensations heightened by the intense eye contact as he performed this intimate act.

A finger probed at my entrance, and all my muscles tensed in unison. Braxton must have felt it because he backed off, not stopping the strokes of his tongue, even as a question entered those beautiful eyes locked on mine.

The truth was, I'd tried "losing" my virginity myself—more than once. But no matter how hard I tried, as soon as a toy barely breached the barrier, it hurt, and I couldn't force myself to push past the resistance. I'd promised myself it would be different when the time came for a flesh-and-blood man to claim my body. I wouldn't be in control of the force of penetration, and while I was sure it wouldn't be pleasant, I would let it happen. Or so I hoped.

Judging from my reaction to Braxton trying to finger me, I wasn't sure my body agreed.

There wasn't much time to ponder that eventuality as Braxton closed his lips around my clit and sucked. The change in pressure and sensation sent me soaring. My back bowed, every muscle locking before pure pleasure shot through my veins. Hearing fuzzy, I was deaf to my cries of passion as my hips bucked, trying to draw out every ounce of hands-down the most intense orgasm I'd experienced to date.

Sated, I laid back limp on the couch as Braxton crawled up my body, cradling my sweaty form to his chest, whispering soothing words in my ear.

He was incredible, and for a fleeting moment, I thought perhaps the universe was making up for the shitty start I'd had in this life. Maybe the worst had passed, and it was time to be happy. Lord knows I was due.

And Braxton? He seemed to need a lifeline as much as I did—a person to cling to as the storm raged around us.

There would always be noise surrounding his career and family name. But in these moments? No one else existed.

If we could shut out the rest of the world in our relationship, we might just have a chance.

Stroking the sweaty tendrils of hair plastered to my face, Braxton's warm voice spoke in my ear. "Come to my game Friday night."

Lifting my heavy head, a lazy smile crept onto my lips. "I don't know. My boyfriend gets upset when I watch hockey without him."

He pinched my ass, and I jolted in his arms. "Never lose that spark, Firefly." He kissed my temple. "I mean it. Please come."

An undertone of desperation in his voice made it sound like he needed me there. But he knew attending a game in person was a big step for me. I hadn't entered a professional sports arena since my dad left; there were too many tainted memories.

Then it struck me. He wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. There was something more at play, but he wasn't ready to share, and I respected that. I owed him the same blind support and compassion he'd always shown me.

Keeping the conversation light, even though I knew the request was anything but, I teased, "You got a hookup for decent seats?"

His deep chuckle warmed my chest. "They're okay. Might be able to swing a pass with club-level access."

"Sounds fancy." I trailed a hand over his arm, reveling in the muscles I encountered.

"My girl deserves a spot in the family box."

I stopped breathing. It was all fun and games until past trauma came out to play.

Sensing my reluctance, Braxton pulled back enough to look me in the eye. He must have seen the panic written on my face because his gaze softened in regret as air rushed past his lips.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I can get you regular seats. Wherever you want. I'll make it happen."

Squeezing his bicep, I took a deep breath. "No, it's okay." A bitter laugh flew past my lips. "Never been in a family box before. Might as well see what the fuss is all about."

Braxton squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, "If this is too much, you don't have to come. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Reaching up, I cupped his scratchy cheeks. "Do you need me there?"

When his eyes opened, I caught a flash of sadness in their amber depths. Pulling his lips in, he nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Shrugging, I replied, "Then that's where I'll be. But if I can make one request?"

"Anything," he breathed out.

Smirking, I retorted, "Might want to be careful with that one. What if I asked for something you're unwilling to give?"

"I would give you the world if you asked, Dakota. Nothing is off limits."

The crazy thing was, I believed he meant every word he said. Braxton was nothing if not genuine, and for some unknown reason, he'd honed in on me, and I wasn't dumb enough to question it. Not anymore.

Toying with the sweat-dampened hair at his temple, I asked, "Can you get a second pass for that box?"

Surprised, he cocked his head. "Who's the second one for."

"Bristol."

He swore under his breath. "Seriously? He can't even do her that courtesy?"

"Guess not. He's not exactly a knight in shining armor."

Braxton snorted. "More like an ogre hiding beneath a bridge."

If I wasn't already falling for him, that might have done it.

There was no blind loyalty for his teammate—no macho "bros before hoes" mentality. Braxton hadn't shied away from making his feelings about Nix's mistreatment of my best friend known.

Simply put, Braxton was the real deal—a good guy.

My guy.

"Two tickets in the family box. Consider it done."

I curled into Braxton. If I could have crawled beneath his skin, I would have. He was quickly becoming my comfort. Not his touch, him.

And I never saw it coming.