The Bad Boy Rule (Hellcats Hockey #1)

by Maren Moore

Saint: You’re missing one important thing.

I can just imagine her face right now, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing, smoke nearly coming out of her ears as she plots a thousand ways to off me. Fuck, I’m g...

Lennon: What ...

Saint: P...

Lennon: God, I hate yo...

Saint: Remember that saying about h...

Lennon: I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last person on earth so tha...

Saint: Mmmm. That’s a bet I’d fucking love to ta...

Lennon: *eye roll emoji* Will you PLEASE come to ...

Saint: I dunno. I’ll thin...

I slowly turn, finding him leaning casually against the boards, arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a faded Hellcats Hoodie and gray sweatpants that I do not allow myself to stare at for more than a single second. His dark hair is pushed into the backward hat he’s wearing, the first time I’ve ever seen him wear one, and I loathe how stupidly hot he looks in it.

I’m already in a bad enough mood, and his presence is going to undoubtedly make it worse. Especially with how good he looks in those stupid sweatpants and that stupid hat.

That stupid, gravelly sound that I feel directly between my legs. It only makes me dislike him more. I hate that my body reacts to him and that I feel so… out of control when he’s around.

A beat of silence unfolds between us, and I squeeze my eyes shut when I can’t hold the tears back, the dam of frustration and disappointment in myself breaking free. When I finally lift my face to him, I see his jaw tense, dark, stormy gaze boring into me as it drags over my puffy, swollen eyes.

“You’re not fucking giving up. That’s the easy way out. If you’ve done it before, then you can do it again. So get off your pretty little ass and prove to yourself that you can still do it.”

I see the flare of something in his eyes. Something that feels a lot like concern.

“Are you… worried about me, Saint?”

I taunt, skating...

“That’s not very cliché bad b...

His lip tugs upward. Unsurprisingly, he doubles down. In a heartbeat, he’s in front of me, toe to toe, so close that I worry he might actually hear the erratic pulsing of my heart. He leans...

“Nah, just pretty inconvenient if you break a limb du...

I was, in fact, worried about her because she was going to fucking kill herself. I keep telling myself it’s just because I couldn’t take the tears, but it’s bullshit. The truth is I didn’t want to see her get hurt, especially not from punishing herself.

Fucked-up recognizes fucked-up.

I should be practicing. Running drills. Working on my endurance. Shooting pucks. But no, instead, I’m watching Golden Girl twirl around in her pink, frilly fucking skirt because I can’t stop. Because as much as I goad her, as much shit as I talk to get a rise out of her, she’s fucking incredible. She glides across the ice with an air of effortlessness that I’m so envious of I’m burning from the inside out.

Good girl.

Finally, she drops her hand but doesn’t step back, and I use the opportunity to drag my gaze from her eyes to the light freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks, then dropping to her full pink lips. Those fucking lips. I haven’t stopped thinking about them, painted in that bloodred lipstick she wore at the fundraiser, wrapped around my cock, dreaming about me fucking her throat until she swallows my cum down. I continue the perusal, not giving a single shit that she’s tracking my gaze, watching as I drink her in. My gaze drifts down the delicate slope of her neck to the front of that purple leotard that’s practically painted on her body, curved around her small but full tits, the kind that would be the most perfect fit for my hands. Lower and lower. Down to the flare of her waist, where her athletic skirt hugs her hips tightly, stopping at the creamy, pale skin of her upper thighs. She’s fit but still soft in all of the places I want to kiss, drag my tongue along and find out if the same freckles are scattered where no one can see. Lennon Rousseau is every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.

She might be the enemy, at least in namesake, but my dick clearly isn’t on board with that.

“What are you staring at?”

“You.”

The perfect prey made for a predator to devour with sharp teeth. And that predator is me. I’ll be her villain. I’m the big, bad wolf, and the only thing I’m hungry for is the taste of sweet little Lennon.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Sure you want me to ans...

I ask, reaching out to ghost the pads of my fingertips along the top of her thighs, just below where her skirt ends. Her breath hitches at the contact, and my eyes never leave hers,...

I can read her like a fucking book, with my eyes closed if I had to. Her body betrays her in ways that her mouth never would. I trail my fingers higher, a slow inch, and then another, testing the waters. Just how far would Golden Girl let me go? My palm curves around the back of her thigh while my thumb sweeps a slow path along her skin. Her soft, untouched skin.

“Y-yes,”

she stu...

“That’s why I...

My lips twitch. She still hasn’t stepped back or moved my hand. I drag my palm up the back of her thigh, until it rests along the...

Her nearly flush against my front, cheeks burning red, my hand underneath her skirt.

My fingers press into her thigh as I tighten my grip, my other hand finding the curve of her waist to haul her flush against me as I lower my lips to her ear.

“I’m staring because you look good enough to fucking eat, and all I can think about is laying you down right here on this ice, flipping up that little fucking skirt, and seeing just how good your sweet little pussy tastes.”

For a girl who’s never even had an orgasm, not from lack of trying, I felt like I was going to burst just from the way his breath caressed my ear and his fingers dug into the back of my thigh as he held me against him and whispered the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard. About me.

Really, it’s the only time I can ever recall wanting someone so fiercely that I ached. Throbbed between my thighs until I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.

His full lips quirk when he eyes my braided pigtails, reaching up to twirl the end of my hair around his finger.

“Cute.”

I feel him step closer as my eyes stay on the smooth concrete beneath my feet until his lips brush against the shell of my ear, and I fight the shiver threatening to strike.

“Don’t worry, Golden Girl. I’m not going to tell anyone how wet you got with my dirty, filthy hands all over you.”

My eyes dart to his ...

“How would yo...

The words trail off because, like a fool, I stepped right into that. Shit. His shit-eating smirk ...