Face Off (D.C. Stars, #1)

by Chelsea Curto

“It’s a shame it’s only going to be ninety-nine percent effective now. The only thing I want to do with you, pretty boy, is kick your ass on the ice,” she whispers. I swallow and try to get my bearings. She’s so close, and I fucking love it. “You think I’m pretty?” “You would only hear that part, wouldn’t you?”

“You better make sure you eat your vegetables on Sunday night, Miller. What you saw today doesn’t touch my A game.” “I have no problem with that. I love to eat.”

“Besides, how hard can it be to play on an NHL team? Boys do it.”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but if we’re going to be around each other for the next seventy games this season, I figured I’d be civil. It’s going to be hard to win if your hands are around my neck and cutting off my air supply.”

That earns me another half smile from her, and I want to collect them all. Shove them in my pocket and keep them for myself.

I’ve always considered myself a feminist, but there’s something so goddamn sexy about a man in a backwards hat that has me ready to drop to my knees for the patriarchy.

“My room is the one on the right.” “Is there some sort of curse on it? If I go inside, will all my clothes come off?”

Windy City?”

Cry

Maverick stops pacing. He steps toward me, his stride quick and determined. Before I can take a breath, my back is against the wall. His hands rest on either side of my head, caging me in with nowhere to go, and a spark of adrenaline races up my spine. “No,” he says, and I feel the word everywhere. “For some goddamn reason, I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

“But I’d like you a whole lot more if you got on your knees like a good boy and showed me you know how to use your tongue and fingers for something less annoying than running your mouth. If not, I have no problem making you sit in a chair and watch while I get off from eight inches of silicone.”

“You said you wanted me on my knees.” He drops a kiss to my shin, then kneels on the ground in front of me. “And I’ve always liked being a good boy.”

“No one’s ever made you come like this because you were with boys before. I’m a man, and I told you I like to eat. Now fucking sit.”

“Good choice. Pull the stick back and line up your shot.” I nod. “Like this?” “Perfect Emmy,” he murmurs, and it’s like I’ve touched a live wire.

“What superpower do you wish you had?” he asks, and I blink up at him. “Why are you asking me about superpowers?” “Because it’s distracting me from thinking about bending you over that table and fucking you into the felt. From sitting you on the edge and eating you out. These are things I’m not supposed to think about, but I am. And it’s driving me insane.”

“Do you think we should⁠—” “Do it again?” Maverick finishes for me. “It could be considered research.” “You’re into science now?” “When it comes to your pussy, Red, I’m Bill-fucking-Nye.”

“Maybe my next tattoo will be the word mine on the back of my right hand.” His fingers dance up my neck and curl around my throat. “So you know who you belong to when you’re with me.”

“You’re safe with me.” I drop a hand to her thigh and squeeze the bare skin I find there. “If you want to get wasted, I’ll keep an eye on you. If you want to take eight shots, I’ll make sure you get to bed safely.” “And if I want to dance with someone else?” “I’ll break his fingers.” “I’m not yours, Maverick,” she says, and fuck me, I love when she say calls me that. “You’re not? Who made you come last night?” I ask, and my grip tightens around her. “Whose name did you say this morning when I had my fingers inside of you? Kind of sounds like you might be mine, Red.”

I never really felt like I had a home. But with Emmy next to me, I think home is wherever she is. A place I’d like to stay forever.

“If he comes within four feet of the goal, I’ll shove my stick down his throat,” Liam says, and from him, it’s the equivalent of a love poem.

“Let me tell you something about Emmy, you small-dicked piece of shit. In fifteen years when she’s being inducted into the Hall of Fame and you’re a nobody who’s never accomplished anything in this sport, your kids are going to be talking about her.”

Love. I love her? The blood drains from my face and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Oh, god. I love her. I fucking love her. I love her, and I’d do anything for her.

I love you, I think, when we head to the locker room. I love you, I think, when we celebrate her goal in the first period. I love you, I think, when we win the game and she jumps in my arms. I love you, I think, when she rests her head on my shoulder in the hotel elevator after we get back from dropping Alan off in Lansing. I love you, I love you, I love you, I want to scream.

“What if I beg?” Maverick bends his head and grazes his teeth down my neck. “What if I beg like a good boy, Emmy?”

“This is my meal, isn’t it? I’ve been a very good boy, Emmy. I’ve earned a taste, haven’t I?”

I wasn’t joking about putting mine on the back of my hand. I want to see it every time I touch you. A pretty necklace for my pretty girl.”

I’ll do it. I’ll do it gladly because I love you, and I’d rather have you from a five hundred miles away than not have you at all.”

“Can you—” his throat bobs, and his hand trembles when he wraps his fingers around my thigh. “No one’s ever loved me before—not like this—and I would really like to hear you say it again.”