Take it Out

“You finished?”

His eyes were black, a little hollowed from exhaustion and crushing disappointment. And having to talk about it for so long. But hey, that’s what $8.7 million dollars paid for.

“Actually I have two more....”

“No.” He stood abruptly, almost knocking over the chair he’d been sitting in. “That’s enough.”

I was stunned still, watching his huge frame in it’s Under Armor glory stalk from the room. The movement stirred the air in our tiny TV shooting suite, leaving behind the musky smell of good, old-fashioned boy sweat. On a monitor to my left, the last shot of his face was frozen. Dark curls, glistening where they lay tangled against the fair complexion of his forehead. His playoff beard, if it could be called that, was the only thing about him that didn’t scream testosterone. The superhero jaw set hard, hiding the teeth so recently mangled. You’d never know it from looking at that mouth - full, curvy lips stained the color of a kiss. That thing was built for sin.

And until tonight, I’d never, ever heard it say a cross word to anyone off the ice.

I nearly flipped my own chair getting to my feet. It wasn’t so easy in four-inch heels.

“Hey! Sid!” I was already calling before I was even out the door.

____

To hear my name in that voice is almost too much. I am clinging by a thin fucking thread to my last ounce of sanity and there’s her throaty call, wrapped around my name the way I’d like it wrapped around my cock. Heels click on the floor - it could be just those heels and nothing else tapping across my kitchen floor holding a can of whipped cream and a bottle of champagne, bumping her bare thigh, leaving beads of condensation on her....

“What?” I hiss, spinning around.

Don’t fucking do this right now, I plead with the universe. Her brown hair has fallen from it’s twist, tumbling over one shoulder. She’s got a rack that makes sure her sportscast is number one in Pittsburgh and it’s bouncing toward me like we’re on Baywatch. Bright blue eyes are locked on mine but I still know that glossy pink mouth is there, begging to make me shut it up one way or another.

“Sid.” She breathes the word as she skids to a stop in front of me. Not easy to do in a pencil skirt and stilettos.

We’re inches apart. I’m drenched in sweat, furious as all fucking get out at myself, my team and my cursed luck - I am not in the mood to answer another question about any of those things, even if it’s from the mouth of an absolute dime. She blinks at me, batting lashes that would look great admiring my dick from eye level. Even her perfume is racy - dark, sweet, like the juice of something I’d like to lick dry.

“I wasn’t finished,” she says.

Aw, fuck. If she’d apologized, I could have brushed the whole thing off and hoped my ungraceful exit wasn’t caught on tape. But if baby wants to tussle....

“I was,” I shoot back.

“Hey, I’m just doing my....”

“Your job.” I glare her down. “I was doing my job too, in case you didn’t read the scoresheet tonight.”

She actually swivels her neck, oh-no-he-didn’t style, as if she cannot believe I’m giving her a taste of her own medicine. “Well you can’t do yours without your team. And I can’t do mine without you.”

I roll my eyes. “Looks like we’re both shit out of luck then.”

To my surprise, she leans in slightly and closes the last of the space between us. Her mouth is almost on mine - I have to bite my bottom lip to be sure I don’t do anything crazy. Her eyebrows lift.

“Guess it’s true what everyone says about you.”

Now there are a lot of things people say about me. From the whining to the diving to being gay or a hermit in the Lemieux’s basement, there are so many to choose from. She spins on a heel and all at once becomes nothing more than a fantastic ass in a tight skirt stomping away from me.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I holler after her.

She turns back so slowly, it’s like catwalk move. Against the hallway backdrop I can see every line of her lithe body. Too bad I can also hear her.

“A sore loser,” she says.

____

Oh I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t even mean it - everyone else does, not me. Sidney’s eyes narrow and he storms right toward me like he will run me down and step on my corpse. That look intimidates people on the ice, but just the two us in this hallway it’s enough to turn my knees to jelly. The last time Sid visibly lost his cool, he tried to bring the fight to a 6’ 9” denfensemen. How am I supposed to stand my ground now?

He gets right up in my face. We are the same height in my heels but he’s easily got eighty pounds on me. His cheeks are flushed; a hot, angry red that patches above his scraggly playoff beard like he’s just pulled a double-shift. Beneath the spandex shirt, that wall of a chest is heaving.

Don’t blink, don’t blink....

His hand clamps onto the back of my neck and Sidney slams his mouth against mine. I yelp, no sound comes out. It gives him a tiny opening to force my mouth open. His tongue twists across mine and it’s a good thing I can’t breathe or I’d be moaning. Somewhere south of the border my panties disapparate, fleeing back to Hogwarts in a flash.

He finally yanks us apart, thick fingers twisted into my ruined hair. I’m wide-eyed and gasping, his upper lip is curled back in a sneer.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says.

I backpedal, trying to get out of his gravity, trying to get back far enough that anyone walking into this hallway won’t call the cops right before they call Tumblr. Anyone could see us. I don’t even know what they’d be seeing but it would be the last they see of me in this job, ever.

“You can’t just...,” I start to say, furious that he would put my career on the line for his fucking tantrum, even if it did involve the sweatiest, heaviest, sexiest moment of my life.

His hand tightens again, full of my hair, and his lips come oh so close again.

Sid growls. “I wasn’t done.”

____

Sore loser, I’ll show her a sore something....

Red. All I see is the rage haze and her mouth when she calls me a sore loser. I chose the lesser of two evils and kiss the sass right off her face. Her body is even more perfect on contact; she goes still in surprise and it’s all curves and hollows, a million places to put my hands. Anyone could see us in this hallway - I don’t give a shit. If anything they’d be impressed to see me with a girl instead of a goat or a blow up doll or my own fucking game jersey wrapped around my cock like a rag. Whatever these people think of me - this is better. But a hundred people could hear if she screamed for help after I forced myself on her. I shred our kiss, I physically have to rip myself off of her, but she doesn’t shout. Instead she gives me more fucking attitude. I cannot believe it.

There’s a door. I shove her through it, hoping it doesn’t lead back onto the ice or into the Bruins locker room. I guarantee every one of those guys who got a glimpse of her pictured doing exactly this. Maybe I do hope it’s the Bruins dressing room. They’d never believe I was the one to do it.

One shove of my hand and she’s against the wall. One push of my thigh and she’s spread wide, pinned by my hips and growing erection. One breath on my lips and I’m kissing her again. It’s madness, like a vortex spinning us both in a race to drown. Her tits lift against my chest, her arms around my neck. Fucking A right she wants it. I tug her bottom lip hard between my messed up teeth, smearing the kiss across her face until my mouth finds her earlobe.

“You should learn to hold your tongue,” I growl, getting a taste of that soft spot where her hair is pulled aside.

To my surprise. I feel her teeth on my exposed neck. They nip and drag, right up to my ear. I shudder as a chill runs down my spine. Her thigh rolls against my lap, firmly grinding my dick.

“Oh no, I have bigger plans for my tongue.”

____

Part of me is screaming No, this is crazy! and the other, lower part is screaming Yes, this is Crosby! You don’t work with the Penguins, live in Pittsburgh, or have a vagina and not have this guy, with his massive hands and aw-shucks grin and laser stare in your regular fantasy rotation. I have imagined this a hundred times, I just never imagined he’d be so....

“Ohgod.” It slips from my lips. While I was imprinting this moment on my brain, Sidney was moving on to the next: pulling my skirt up my thighs, turning it inside out as he goes, until it’s around my waist and the only thing between me and his base layer is what’s left of those panties that made a run for it. Sid is undeterred by my flimsy defense - he nudges my thighs further apart and slides two thick fingers right into place.

“Mmmm, I knew it,” his low voice growls. “Fucking wet for me, there’s a good girl.”

He rubs the fabric hard against my feverish skin, turning silk to sandpaper. Then it’s just his skin on mine. One wide fingertip parts my lips and I gasp again. Sidney silences it with a kiss and buries his fingers into my pussy.

I scream, it goes right down his throat. Sidney pumps twice, three times until I’m stuffed full of his fingers and unable to draw a breath. He barely takes his lips from mine.

“Wait till it’s my cock. I’ll give you something to scream about.”

I want to scream that the bus to the airport is leaving, that everyone will be looking for us and also that he should just get to it before I come to my senses and scream for help. His big thumb finds my clit and I bite my lip hard, head rolling back, to keep from crying out again.

“Little slut, you get off so easy. I might even share you with the boys, you can make ‘em feel good about their little dicks.” His forehead and sweaty hair press against my temple. “Would you like that? Get your pussy stuffed by the guys you’ve been dreaming about all year?”

That is another recurring fantasy I have – and who wouldn’t? I think of Sid physically passing my spent body into the long, tattooed arms of James Neal. Next would be Kris Letang, then Deryk Engelland, then Paul Martin could break in that new beard with a run between my thighs. Hell, if we’re going to fantasyland, let pop Beau Bennett’s cherry while we’re at it. I promise to go easy on him… the first time. My thoughts must play across my face because Sid grabs my chin with one meaty hand.

“Right. Like there’ll be anything left of you when I’m done.”

His weight disappears and I start to slide down the wall, unready and unable to hold myself up. Sid peels his Under Armour down, wiggling out of the skin tight layer. Then he’s lifting me with complete ease, to my feet and beyond: Sid lifts my leg right up against his waist. I feel his tip brush my slit and I gasp.

“Tell me you want it,” he whispers.

Want it? I’m fucking plastered to a wall, skirt up like a whore, ruined panties under the sole of my stiletto. My hard nipples have been rubbed raw by the pressure of his chest. His cock is close to being inside me that we’re already having sex in my book and Sidney Crosby wants to hear me beg.

“You did this,” I pant, my voice almost breaking. “You’re the one who wants it.”

He sucks in a breath: disbelief that I’ve disobeyed him. That sound is worth it all if he stops right now and leaves me dripping on this floor. I feel him get hotter, harder, adrenaline and testosterone and rage. Sidney’s dick nudges between my folds - the first of many inches.

“Remember,” he says so softly against my ear I nearly miss it, “I don’t care if you finish.”

*end*

1. Take it Out

2. Two