12. You’re Who?

CHAPTER 12

YOU'RE WHO?

STORM

I have Misty right where I want her. Fuck, yes. Lusting, yearning, grinding against my cock. I cover her lips with mine, taking them hostage. They're claimed now. The way I see it, she belongs with me.

"Not fair. You've seen a lot of my skin. I have yet to see yours." My hands skim up her body, under the dress. She flinches when I hit ticklish spots, and chuckles. She helps, and removes her dress the rest of the way. Her perky tits, are braless and bounce when released by the dress, tantalizing my eyes. She mingles her dress with my shirt on the floor. I'd like more mingling soon. For now, I need to make the most of this ride.

I kiss down her chest, sucking in a nipple. Then do the other, trading licks, and nips across both.

"Oh, yes. Bas… Can I call you that? You seem to have found a nickname for me," she says on a breathy moan.

"Yeah, Sweet Pea. A name only you can scream when I make you come. Perfect."

That send her grinding faster on me. She'll bring herself to a climax and I haven't even had a taste of her yet.

I reach for my t-shirt one-handed, and spread it out on the floor. With a swift move, I have her on her back on top of it.

Her breath hitches. "You're so strong. Such a big, big man. I like how big you are."

"Wait until you see my cock. Here, let me help you with that." I ache to be inside of her, but I bury my face between her legs, adding tongue and fingers to her swollen, wet clit. My face covers quickly with her essence, the scent of her overtaking the elevator car.

My hands roam her supple form, her skin heating from my touch. Her legs start to quake and I watch her face, all the emotions playing there when she releases. "I want to see you come again and again, so beautiful like that, but we don't have a lot of time here."

"I know." She nods, giving me permission, with a healthy glow on cheeks that I help put there. I lift up and undo my jeans, shoving them and my boxers downs. I stroke my cock, giving her full view of me. Her eyes widen.

"Can you handle me, Sweet Pea?" I almost worry. She has to be the smallest woman I've ever been with.

She nods, biting her lip, reaching to touch, taking over stroking it. "As I said, I like a big man."

I make quick work of retrieving a condom and sliding it on.

This isn't a bed and I'm operating with urgency. No telling when this elevator might start up. I immediately notch at her entrance.

"Get ready, Sweet Pea. Because my cock needs to bury deep and hard inside of you."

"Yes, Bas." Her fingers dig into my ass. The pressure is on.

I slide into her inch by inch. There's a pounding against my chest; it's her heart beating with mine. Her back arches to me, her moans demanding more. I thrust hard into her soft, wet center, her hips bucking with me. I start slow, long, feeling every inch, in and out, spreading her open for me, until the urge to fuck faster overwhelms me.

Soon our sweat mixes on our skin, the steamy temperature in the car adds to the bond between us. I lick the salty trail down to her breast, and clamp down on her nipple. She trembles under me.

"Harder, Bas, please," she purrs. I won't deny her needs.

"Anything you want, Sweet Pea. Because you're such a good girl for me." I piston into her with a driving hunger. Her nails scrape my skin, and tomorrow I can't wait to see the scratches she leaves behind.

I fight for control, a losing battle, as a low growl forms in my throat. My powerful gyrations rock the elevator, so intense, making squeaking noises. Our moans crescendo; I hope no one can hear us in the building. But I don't care. Not when this feels so good with her. She matches me with equal force, bucking her hips; her short legs barely able to wrap around my waist.

"I can't hold back, Misty. Feels so right with you."

"Me either. I'm there. Yes. Sebastian!"

I grunt through a final thrust. We moan and climax together. Something this good, a bond forming so fast between us, isn't just a passing fling. It's more.

I shift onto my back, holding her against me, on top of me, catching our breath. My fingers trail like feathers along her skin, and I inhale her scent, a mix of sex and sweat and her sweet, sugary fragrance. The air around us is heavily charged with the connection between us, and those lightning bolts return. I don't think about hockey or anything else about my life, only about her and me and when we can do this again.

when just my luck, the elevator starts up again, passing the eighth, heading through the ninth. Then voices hit us.

"Is that Nana and my dad?" She exclaims.

Shit. We scramble up. I put my t-shirt back on and grab my books, handing her the bag, too. By the time the doors open, we're standing a respectable distance from each other, and thankfully, my cock quickly deflated. No one would be the wiser to the lust filled atmosphere between us a minute ago.

Sure enough, when the doors on the tenth floor open, Edith stands there with—Coach McMichael? WTF?

Edith's hand flies to her heart. "Thank goodness you're all right. Oh, but I see you had Sebastian in there with you to keep you company—and safe." Her concern melts into a mischievous smile. Hard to ignore.

"You?" Coach points to me, the deep line on his forehead just as pronounced as if he's stressed during a losing game. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, hi, Coach McMichael. I live here."

Misty gasps, her eyes darting between us. "Wait. You two know each other?"

"The coach is your father?" My brows furrow at the hundred red flags now in this situation.

"He's a goalie for the Puckers." Coach points out to her with a shake of his head. "I'm calling the management company who runs this place for me. I can't have my hockey players living in the same building as my mother."

"Mother." I repeat after him, like saying it will help it all register and make sense. It doesn't.

He steps away to make that call. Misty turns on me, her mouth agape. "You're a hockey player?"

"You're the coach's daughter?" Unbelievable.

"You know, its been my experience over the years that when there's a little misunderstanding like this, a plate of warm cookies with milk are just the thing to sit and talk things over," Edith suggests, as if sugar and dairy would solve all the world's problems. If only.

Misty's face pales, her freckles more prominent against her white skin. The softness she held in her face for me in the elevator wanes, replaced by reprehension in her eyes. "What's there to discuss? You play hockey for my dad—" Jeez, such disdain for the word hockey.

"Technically, I play for the semi-pro team," I clarify. Not that it matters one bit. The Puckers feeds players into the Vipers. If I want a chance in hell to make it into the professional league that way, fucking Misty would not be a wise choice.

"I can't date you—" She starts, but the coach returns to the conversation and hears her.

"Dating? Are you screwing around with my daughter?" He charges forward, fists ready to pound me to the ground, but I back up a few feet. Getting in a brawl with the coach would be career-ending.

"No, Dad. We're not dating. We're not anything. He's only the guy living next door to Nana. That's all." She's pissed, and since we've only started getting to know each other, it's good to know what that tone of her voice sounds like. She says the words so vehemently, crossing her arms, that the full picture is coming into view now.

I'm betting her ex was a hockey player, too.

There must be a bitter history there, and I aim to get to the bottom of it. But right now, I'm a little hurt how quick she is to renounce us. It's over before we've even had a chance to see if there's some deeper connection between us.

I shake my head at her, dejected. But if I value my career and the goals I set out to achieve, I need to get out of here, make myself scarce, and keep in good standing with the coach.

I can kiss goodbye to any chance I had with Misty. I can never, ever kiss her.

Damn shame.

Father and daughter look upon me with sour faces. Edith's face reflects sympathy for me. I can't take another second. "I assure you, Coach, this has all been a misunderstanding. Nothing happened." I send a glare right back at Misty and watch her shoulders drop.

I duck into the stairwell and head downstairs, leaving them behind to sort things out for themselves.

* * *

Duke's place is where I end up after driving around a while. The other option being to hit a bar and drink my cares away. As it is, Duke puts a beer in my hand the minute he answers his front door and I tell him this:

"I just let the coach's daughter dry hump my wood in the elevator."

He's the only guy I know who could understand these things.

We sit outside on their patio, watching the kids play in the yard as I spill about the whole ordeal. Duke's a good listener, stays quiet and lets me finish, before he thinks about what to say.

"Misty McMichael. Yes, she probably would have been the one woman in L.A. to stay away from if you wanted to become the Vipers' next goalie." Duke shakes his head like a disappointed father.

"I fucked up. But how was I to know who she was? It never came across in conversation. I never thought to ask Edith her last name, and certainly don't make it a habit to introduce myself in everyday conversations outside the hockey rink as Storm, the goalie for the Puckers."

I finish my beer in two swallows, then he hands me his. He hasn't even taken a first sip yet.

"In my defense, I've never seen a photo of the coach's daughter. Never even knew her name. None of the guys talk about her, not even Tucker and his friends on the Vipers when I've hung out with them. It's like she never existed before a few weeks ago, when she entered my life."

"Oh, she's existed," he assures me. "A few years ago, she dated Gregor Speck. I played against him in the pros, a real?—"

"Douche-canoe?"

"Yeah, that." He chuckles. "He was a goalie, too. And a good one. Could have been one of the greats, if his personality didn't suck so bad. I'd heard he used women left and right. It's sad that Misty got in so deep with him. Anyway, when Coach found out about the two of them, Gregor got immediately traded to Calgary. She followed after him, living there with him. But in the past year sometime, she left him and moved back here. I heard he got sent down to the semi-pros, to the Alberta Stampedes. We play them next month here in L.A.."

Gregor Speck. The new name of my mortal enemy. I shouldn't care about Misty anymore, but I do. He hurt her. He'll need to pay. How's that for aggressive, Coach? But I don't say anything.

Duke puts a pin in this conversation there as his kids beg him to swing them. Me, Tucker and Beau helped him erect the swings in the yard earlier this summer.

The way I was feeling about Misty, given time, we could have headed toward this type of suburban bliss together. A marriage, a house, kids, a dog. I snort and guzzle the beer and get lost in my thoughts until Duke returns.

"Another?" He grabs the two empty bottles.

"Keep them coming."

"You're sleeping in our guest room, then. Good thing we don't have practice tomorrow. You'll be worthless to me hungover."

"Worthless? Hell. Last week, I was worth at least ten bucks to the lucky woman who fixed me up with their granddaughter."

"Huh?" He cocks his head.

"Nothing." I wave him off. Looks like Edith won't win that bet after all. But thoughts about Misty drift through my head all night long. Everything in my bones tells me could have had something good. My career takes precedence, though. It has to. Besides, she must resent all hockey players and has a tough father to warn them off.

The real loser, in the end, is me.