On the team plane from Tampa Bay to Detroit, Justin Abdelkader sat alone, headphones on and blocking out any distractions. It had been a rough couple of days: two games, two losses, and a brawl some people wanted to blame on him. He still tasted the blood from the cut on the inside of his lip, consistently bitter, like his current mood.

He ran his tongue over the raw slit and like every other time, he clenched his fists in frustration. Playoff hockey is inherently intense, tempers flare, wrath bubbles just below the surface, every hit or shove it taken as a personal slight. Most players are able to leave it on the ice, or at least in the locker room, but not Justin.

That was why hours after the fight, on the way home, his anger was still simmering, his mind unable to focus on anything besides getting back to the rink so he could start feeling useful again, so he could make something, anything good happen for his team. Maybe being from Michigan he felt the burden to drive the Red Wings towards a Cup more strongly than the other players. Maybe he just wanted to shut up every single doubter who said his team wasn’t going to make it out of the first round, that they had just barely earned their twenty-fifth straight playoff appearance. Whatever it was, he just wanted to be home in Detroit where maybe he could start thinking clearly again.

The plane landed a few hours later and he took a cab home. When he dumped his bags in the hallway, he let his shoulders slouch a little in relief. He rounded the corner, found Carly in the kitchen fussing with a bowl of ice cream. She turned from the counter and smiled at him.

“Hey, sweetie. You should have called I would have picked you up.”

He gave her unintelligible grunt as he pulled her in close for a hug. Nose against the top of her head, he breathed her in, willing his body and mind to let go of his tension and the still lingering annoyance at everything, to just enjoy being home with his girl. It wasn’t working as he had planned. His fists still clenched and he licked at the cut on his lip again, reigniting his rage that he was trying so hard to surpress.

Her arms wrapped around his broad torso and then locked together behind his back. She hummed happily with her face pressed against his chest. She mumbled something, but he just wasn’t in the mood to talk, about anything, so he ignored whatever she said, giving no answer, just pulling her tighter against him.

She gave him one big squeeze and then let go. “You ok? How’s your lip?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He bent to press their mouths together, kissing her with no passion, like an awkward seventh grader. It was merely a way to get her to stop talking. Unfortunately, or maybe luckily for him, she knew him too well and she wasn’t having any of it. She let him blandly work his mouth against hers just briefly before she took a step back, bracing her hands on the counter behind her before jumping up on it. Her ice cream bowl was shoved aside before she shed the Red Wings shirt she always slept in.

Justin was so tired of everything, he could barely get excited, even about this. “What are you doing, Carly?”

She worked off her bra and then lifted her ass to shove her shorts down her legs and onto the floor. Her bare ass rested on the counter and she spread her legs to hold his body as she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.

“Kiss me like you fucking mean it or get the hell out of my house.”
Her pretend aggression always made him smile and he saw her carefully constructed facade of seriousness crack when she suppressed a grin. He felt his fists relax as he laid his palms against her knees. Slowly pushing his hands upwards, he met her eyes. “Your house, huh? Who do you think paid for it?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him as her eyes shifted down to watch his hands, now somewhere around the middle of her thighs. “Who takes care of it and cleans it and cooks for you in?”

His voice was soft. “You do, baby. I was just teasing.”

He was now merely distracted by her body, the smoothness of her thighs under his palms, her rounded breasts rising and falling with her breathing, her own hands braced on the counter, and that sweet little pink pussy spread open for him.

When he reached her hips, he slid his hands towards her center and she opened her legs even more. His movements were slow, deliberate and it was killing him to hold back, but he just didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted her to know that he could control himself, that he wasn’t some mindless brute like some people seemed to think.

The thing is, Carly knew he could be soft with her, as tender of a lover as God ever made. His rough callused hands could handle her with care and the sweetness from him was always overwhelmingly sexy. However, she knew that’s not what he needed, even if she did. Making delicate love to her wasn’t going to help him relax, it wasn’t going to solve anything.

As his fingertips danced atop her mound, simply hinting at what was to come, she grabbed hold of his wrist roughly and shoved his hand against her wet pussy lips. “I told you to kiss me like you mean it or get the fuck out.”

“Carly -”

She threw his own words back in his face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

She grabbed his shirt again, yanking down until his lips hit hers and she opened for him right away, slipping her tongue through to meet his. He tried to keep it slow, but she wouldn’t allow it. She pressed harder, worked her tongue faster, wrapped her hand around the back of his neck to force him closer. Finally, he relented, pushing her head back with his mouth against hers until it banged against the cabinet.

He didn’t stop to apologize, she wanted this, so he would give it to her. He kept up that bruising kiss, but used both hands to pull her hips closer to the edge of the counter. His cock was ragingly hard under his jeans and he rubbed the rough material against her soft pussy.

Their kiss broke as a moan exploded from her mouth. “Fuck yeah, Justin. Give it me.”

He thrust his clothed body against her naked one and smirked, dropping his hips to stroke the zipper line of his jeans along her slit. “You want that, baby?”

For as much as she had tried to take control this night, that just wasn’t her natural state. This was where she liked to be, at his mercy, the receiver of that intense glare, the beneficiary of his natural dominance that oozed out of him even when he tried to play the doting partner.

She leaned back, head against the cabinet, palms back on the counter, ankles hooked on his legs. She lifted her hips, rubbing herself against his hard cock still covered by his rapidly moistening jeans. She moaned out her answer. “Justin…you know I do. Can’t you feel how badly I want it?”

He responded by pushing her legs off his body and then practically ripping off his shirt. When her hands came to his chest, two of his fingers wormed their way into her pussy and her eyes closed in pleasure, her hips thrusting forward to meet him.

Slick wet heat encompassed his digits and it made him groan. Still fingering her, he used his other hand to undo his jeans and pull out his cock, which he stroked a few times as he watched himself explore her pussy.

His fingers were pulled out and his dick shoved in immediately after. Carly let out a whimper and he paused. But she just locked her ankles together behind his ass and pulled him down for a kiss. Against his mouth she whispered, “Give it to me, Justin. I want you so bad.”

He started slowly, still even now trying to hold back, but he finally he couldn’t. With her legs holding him close he made short, brutal thrusts that shook her whole body and touched the deepest part of her. His body was still tense, his hands still balled up. He forced one hand to loosen as he run his fingers through her hair, only to then grab a fist full of it and force her head to tilt as he pulled her dark locks.

His mouth came down on her neck, even more forcefully than his cock was driving between her thighs. His teeth found a bit of skin they liked and bit down. When he felt her moan against his lips, he bit down harder and pulled her hair a little tighter.

Everywhere, at every turn, his hardness was met with her softness. The rigidity of his cock in the plush give of her pussy, his rough kiss to her neck drawing out her high pitched moan, his imposing silence answered by her saccharine words. Even like this, when he was full of rage and tension and near violence, she took what he gave and met him with tenderness.

Her soft hands found his jaw and stroked him gently. “Just like that. Let it go, Justin. Let all that out.”

When he said her name, it came out like a growl. He released her hair, slamming his once again fisted hands against the cabinet next to her head. Their foreheads met and his breath came down hot on her face. He drove them on, fucking her with long strokes now that she let her legs fall away from his body.

He heard her whimper again, felt her small hands close around his biceps, and then her pussy was tighter, hard to fuck into. And then she was coming, sputtering encouragement and spasming around him.

He stood up straight, grabbed her hips again and thrust deep and hard a few more times until he held her close and roared out his own orgasm.

Still breathing heavy, he backed up, pulled up his jeans and leaned his back against the island in the middle of the kitchen. She gave him a sleepy smile that he returned. He felt his hands at rest at his sides and for the first time in days, he had no desire to fist them back up again.

He came forward, pressed an open palm on her cheek and laid a gently passionate kiss on her lips, saying simply, “Thank you.”

Notes