Penalty Kill

Jake

Walking into practice Monday morning feels a lot like going to stand in front of a firing squad. I have no one to blame but myself for talking up going to the event with Harper on Friday night. The argument could easily be made that teammates gossip more than old ladies after church on Sunday. I only divulged that she invited me, that I said yes, and that I planned on getting her a dress and earrings for the occasion.

My plans to spoil her a little bit were met with whistles and a few whoops and hollers. I'd insisted that I was simply trying to be nice, and show her how excited I was to be able to go with her by doting on her just slightly. In hindsight, it might've been overboard. And by hindsight, I mean spending the past 72 hours pouring over every last fucking detail of our night together to try and figure out where the hell everything went off the rails.

I thought I'd done a pretty damn good job reading the room as our night started to wind down. We'd had our fill of mingling, and I'd made sure to stay right by her side after that fucking creep had gone out of his way to fulfill his destiny of being an absolute piece of womanizing trash. Had I touched her too much? Probably. Had I tried to keep my hands off of her? Not really. Touching her back, taking her hand, holding her under my arm, playing with her hair ...

Okay. I could admit that I'd stepped over a line when it came to how touchy feely I'd been. But I'd been careful to read her reactions every time I'd gone out of my way to be closer to her. Not once did I sense any hesitation, any resistance, any uncomfortableness on her part. If anything, I'd felt her lean in whenever I went out of my way to enjoy the closeness of her company. She'd offered me nothing but smiles and laughs. There hadn't been a single moment where I felt as though I should back off, or that she was fed up with my antics.

And what could I say, I was beyond smitten with her. Picking out the dress had been generous, but ultimately self serving. I was dying to see more of her tantalizing figure, to see her body framed by flowing fabric that accentuated every inch of her perfectly voluptuous curves. From the second I'd laid eyes on her in that dangerous red dress, I knew I was going to be prone to wanting to feel her skin under my hands in ways I hadn't yet had the chance to explore.

When she'd asked me if I wanted to leave, there was something in her gaze that told me she wasn't tired, that she wasn't sick of being with me, that she wasn't ready to go home and be alone. And when I'd offered up my place, there was no hesitation. She didn't suggest anything else, or insist that drop her off.

As we'd walked into the quiet of my apartment, finally away from all the people and strangers and noise of the event, the burning need to feel her body under my hands was too powerful to deny. I decided to tempt fate, and see if she wanted me just as badly as I wanted her.

And when I'd taken her into my arms, our bodies pressed together, it was clear by the way she melted into me, grabbed at my hair, moaned my name and moved against me ...

God fucking damnit, all the signs had been there. I was horribly out of practice when it came to being with someone, but there was no way in hell I'd convinced myself she was ready when she wasn't. I'd been hyper aware of every sound, every twitch of her skin. If she would've pulled away, if she would've expressed any level of discomfort or apprehension, I would've been across the room faster than I could haul ass down the ice.

Of course I knew there were things she had been through—things with this fucking asshole she'd been with that would make what we did a few nights ago difficult. But when she'd ripped herself away from me like she'd been branded by searing hot molten metal ... Well, I'd be lying if I said I just let it roll off my shoulders, entirely unaffected.

I'd begged her to stay. I'd pleaded with her to talk to me, to let me in, to tell me what was happening. She'd kept running, and I'll be fucking damned if she didn't literally slip right through my fingers because they were drenched with all the wetness from her orgasm that felt like it was hard, long, and dare I say it, fucking good.