_
“Hi… uh, oh. Hi!”
I sound, and stutter, like a twelve year old. Suddenly that is how I feel. Fucking Halloween, I’m never paying enough attention.
“Hi Sid,” she smiles like I’m a tool and everyone knows it.
“You look great.” My mouth is just moving itself.
“Thanks. You too.” She winks and turns away. Why does she wink? I’d think I read it wrong except that my crotch aches on cue, one deep throb, in time with the flutter of her long, fake lashes. I didn’t see it so much as felt it like a tremor in the Earth.
“Smooth,” Duper says over his shoulder. His back is to me, face to the bar. In costume not even the Penguins can cut the link for drinks. Bodies press in around us at the bar but she - she has disappeared. If it weren’t for his teasing, I’d think I imagined her.
“Should’ve dressed as Napoleon Dynamite if you were gonna be so good with girls.” Duper sets down my fresh drink as if he doesn’t know me and heads off in search of cooler company. I drain half the vodka and soda in one gulp. It’s mostly liquor - I calculate the calories of one ingredient vs. the other and know this is in my favor, physically. But socially it’s another story. I slug back the rest of the cocktail and push off into the throng.
“Have you seen Whitney?” I ask the first familiar face that comes into view. It’s Tanger, hair across his brow, dressed as a Musketeer.
Kris wants to see her naked. He’s been thinking it since pre-season. But he’s a dad now and shacked up with his baby mama even if he has no intention of marrying the girl. He’s thought long and hard - emphasis on the hard - about Whitney, likely in something akin to what she’s wearing right now. With a sigh for a treat he’ll never get to taste, he nods toward another group of guys I know too well.
She’s there, of course. Holding court as she does, without even noticing. Everyone has their eye on a different part of her exposed skin. Her costume is short and strapless, a white dress with blue trim that looks like ten percent of a real sailor’s outfit. Her legs are endless in bude stilettos and a little white cap is perched atop dark hair curled into a pile that strokes her shoulders when she laughs. It makes her breasts, already pushed up and peeking, rise even higher above the bow in the center of her top.
Matt Niskanen is dressed as Marty McFly and sticking to her like she’s a sports almanac from the future. James Neal is a greaser, straight out of Grease, looking at Whitney like he’d take her on the hood of his hot rod. Beau Bennett , dressed as the California surfer he really is, leans in and makes her laugh so brightly I’ve got half a mind to call a bouncer over to check his ID. Even as Whitney’s giggling, her eyes fall on me.
Seven weeks. I’ve been counting since I met her, like she’s a conditioning drill and I’m testing my personal endurance. She had a boyfriend when the season start and I, well, I’m kind of a big deal around here. But not the kind management worries about. I play it too safe to draw attention. There were probably meetings and memos about how to keep Neal out of her bed, Geno out of her pants. Me, no. No one worries about me.
Whitney loves her job with the Pens - practices and game nights and road trips. She’s taken to it like a rookie, all wide-eyed and asking questions. At first I assumed it was the bright lights and sort-of famous clientele. Turns out she’s a hockey head just like I am. I discovered that around week three - the same week her boyfriend dumped her.
It was well hidden. On the plane and bus or at the rink, no one would have known. It’s not easy to read someone’s expression when you’re focused on her ass. But me, I saw the whole picture. So I saw that she was sad, I asked the right question. Whitney admitted that her boyfriend wasn’t into never seeing her, always giving her up to twenty-five guys that made more money, worked out every day and got their names in lights and across the shoulders of thousands of people around this city. He told her to choose.
She chose me.
Chose us, I should say. But I am hockey in this city and with good reason - it’s my life. There’s very little Sidney Crosby outside this team. At the moment I get the feeling there’s very little Whitney outside work either. That will even out, she’ll attain a work-life balance that always leans toward life while I remain firmly in the work category.
Unless I do something about it now.
Bortuzzo heads off to get her a drink and I slide into his spot. The crowd seems to swell. It was not advertised we would be here but it doesn’t take long for word to spread. I wish I could wear a disguise every day and move this freely.
“Having fun?” I’m almost touching her.
“Now I am.”
____
Stop following me, I want to say. Stop being everywhere I look, dressed like that. It’s probably a test, like some fear landscape from Divergent, where I’m shown my number one desire and know that to reach out and take the low hanging fruit is to poison myself and die. But every time I turn around, he’s there.
Sidney Crosby. He could be dressed as fucking Prince Charming and it would hardly seem a costume on him. I’ve worked here just under two months and every day - every single day - that I’ve seen Sid he has asked me how I am. As if I’m the biggest name in town, the face of the NHL, the one with pressure and money and endorsements piled on my shoulders. How am I? I’m fucking freaking out here, thanks.
My boyfriend loved Crosby. Every time Sidney smiles at me I want to wield it like a sword, swing it waist-high and use it to cut my ex in half. He couldn’t share me with hockey. He wouldn’t share me with this team. Well I like hockey a hell of a lot better than I like boys who give me ultimatums and hey, it’s not like I work in a convent. I don’t need to be getting some to go home with plenty of fantasy fodder, if you know what I mean.
This is different, though. At first I didn’t realize it was Sid in the helmet and mask. Of course he’d cover his face for a modicum of privacy. Too bad he can’t cover his shoulders or ass. Sid could dress as a circus tent and I’d still recognize him from space. He figured that out and gave up, pushing the metallic gladiator helmet back onto his head and letting that megawatt smile do it’s worst. He’s still wearing a faux-steel breastplate and leather-looking kilt thing, with shorts underneath that do absolutely nothing to hide the best lower body in the business from prying eyes. My eyes.
So why is he there every time I turn around? I’m trying to behave. I’m trying not to find my anger at the bottom of a glass and my solace in the arms of someone I’ve been explicitly, expressly and in no uncertain terms to stay away from - far away from, behind the rope at the museum. Try to touch and the alarm sounds. When really I’d pull him down and carry him away, just to enjoy in my own time.
The boys are all here. Nisky’s being sweet, Nealer’s being a perv, Borts has run off in search of another drink so he can make me forget he’s not Matt or James. And every time they drop their guard, Sid is here. They really should keep that up.
“Having fun?” Crosby asks.
I am. I could be having a hell of a lot more underneath that costume he’s wearing but in the grand scheme of things, in a world where most girls are not at parties full of half-drunk Pittsburgh Penguins while wearing very little clothing, feeling like a target in a shooting rage, I’m doing pretty well. I smile.
“Now I am,” I tell his wide, armor-clad chest.
____
Want to have more? The question screams in my head and echoes into every dark corner of my mind, the spots where I keep the thoughts about people like Whitney away from the things I say to people like press. None of those folks are around tonight, but we’re never far from a camera phone or Tumblr post. Still in a place packed with people in costume, it’s tough to tell the famous from the civilian. The right from the wrong.
I can feel Neal glaring at me. He was the big man on campus until I wandered over. As if Whitney would ever - she works in communications for Christ’s sake, she know what he gets into. Or who, more accurately. Still she flirts with him because it’s so damned easy to make him happy. While I’m contemplating what Neal would do next, Geno barrels through the crowd and hands her a drink. He must’ve stripped it off Bortuzzo on his way back from the bar. Malkin’s grinning like he gave her a gift and they toast. He leans down, rumbles something into her ear. A peal of laughter rings out and my stomach tightens beneath my costume. I love the sound of her voice.
Suddenly she turns to me. “Geno says you look like my bodyguard.” She glances down at my Roman centurion getup and the gaze makes me shift my weight. I look like an idiot. So does every other guy in the place. Hell Geno’s wearing an afro wig and a zoot suit with platforms, he’s about twenty feet tall. Next to him, I’m petite.
Whitney presses her lips to the cocktail’s straw and I feel it, the gentle tug, right down to my dick. It lasts until she swallows.
I clear my throat.
“I asked who I need protecting from,” she says. The air shifts and I get a whiff of her scent, something racy and sweet like berries and cream. Without meaning to, I lean a little closer.
“He said from you.”
____
Poof. Stillness. Like dropping into deep water, everything slows and sound dies and you’re weightless, falling, while the forces of nature try to soften the blow.
I am practically naked. I had one too many drinks three drinks ago and now Sidney Crosby, who’s been at the edge of my vision all night - all season - is finally within reach. It’s a bad idea when I think it and a worse idea when I say it, until I see the look in his eyes.
They’re the color of bronze, which fits with his theme tonight. You have to be close up to see that but the cameras always are; you can be inches from his face on screen every night. It’s hardly the privilege it feels like now. His eyes widen slightly at the same time they darken from golden to amber, from the color of last month to the color of now, of the last leaves falling from the trees outside. The last resistance to the inevitable.
That look will never make it to word. The feeling will never make it into action with Sidney Crosby - he’s far too cautious and well-trained to act on lust. Desire, the only chink in his mental armor, has been exposed. If I want to expose any weakness in the armor he’s actually wearing, this is my only chance. I look over his shoulder, like something interesting could possibly happen somewhere else. It brings my lips closer to his ear.
“We should leave,” I say. “Before I break a lot of rules in front of a lot of people.”
____
I don’t know what to say or do or think so I just grab her hand and go. That alone is enough to get us both into serious trouble, but it’s all the reckless I can muster. I don’t know who sees. Three steps later we’re lost in the maze of bodies. This should slow us down, give me time to come to my senses. Too bad all my senses are on high alert already - Whitney’s hand in mine is slender but strong, it makes my skin tingle. If her touch has that effect on my hand, it’s going to be a long and glorious night. I go left, can’t pass, turn right. She tugs sharply on my arm, pulls alongside and shuts my visor down over my face.
Good thinking. I will repay that favor later.
I didn’t valet my car. We go out through a door people are waiting to get in. It’s cold - she sucks in a sharp breath as the frosty air finds all that bare skin. Another thing I will make up to her.
“Over here,” I say. The mask muffles my voice, I sound like The Dark Knight. She giggles and I push it off my face again. “This way.”
What I’m going to do when we get there is another story.
I can’t believe she said we should leave. Could she read my mind? Has she thought this before? That costume of hers is making me crazy, maybe it has the same effect on Whitney. In that case, I’ll have to fuck her with it still on. I beep my alarm off and lights flash; Whitney drops my hand and runs the last twenty yards.
I drop into the driver’s side, she’s already in her seat, rubbing her arms. A chattery “brrrrrr” escapes her lips. I toss my mask in the backseat, the door closes behind me and we’re alone. It’s quiet.
“Here, hold on.” Suddenly I’m a gentleman, turning the ignition and cranking the heat. God bless luxury cars, they get warm so fast. I punch a few buttons and the seat warmer kicks in too. Whitney makes a face like she’s impressed.
“So less of a bodyguard, more of a chauffeur,” she smirks.
That does it. Inside the club we were risking, outside we were rushing. If she still wants to play - well, I’m the best in the game and she knows it.
I pull her right over the center console into my lap. She squeaks as she’s wedged between my chest and the steering wheel - there’s no room, but she’s on top of me and that’s all that matters. Her sailor cap slides off as her skirt hitches up. I drop a hand toward the side of my seat and stare right into Whitney’s eyes as it moves back, away from the wheel. Millimeter by millimeter she lowers until there’s just enough space and she drops, all at once, into my lap.
____
He lifts me out of my seat with no trouble, and no leverage either. Sidney is beyond strong. One moment I’m safely beside him and the next my ass is sliding down his steering wheel, headed right for his personal stick shift.
He huffs out a breath when I land. Those gloriously full lips part and he keeps on going. One handful of my hair and then his mouth is on mine. Our tongues slide together, our bodies fitting. His other hand pushes right up my skirt until it’s under my ass. I wrap my arms around him, the seat, anything and lean into the kiss.
If I didn’t know Sidney I’d think he was angry. This feels like a make-up make-out, all desperate and longing. But he’s always a little too serious, a little more committed. It makes sense he’d kiss like he’d spent years wanting to do just that. His whole life is about long term goals. His face is smooth and that perfect skin as flawless as advertised as it moves across mine. I can’t help myself - I bite his lower lip, that soft rise, and tug it just a little. His teeth are still uneven, I wonder how different it was to kiss him before his jaw was broken. I want to kill any girl who knows first hand. My little aggression draws a faint growl from the chest beneath the breastplate he’s still wearing.
“We should leave,” he says what I said before.
“Can you drive like this?” I tease, sitting in his lap.
His hand squeezes my backside. “Don’t want to get arrested before I do anything to deserve it.”
If his fingers slipped lower, he’d find my panties wet. Sid helps me back into my seat, where it seems far too big and empty. My seat belt clicks just as he puts the car into gear. It’s twelve minutes to his house. Sid and I are friends but nothing in the manual covers this, so we’re quiet. I hope he’s thinking what I’m thinking, which is more about moaning that talking. I’ve been to his place a few times for team stuff but it’s dark when we pull in now.
Finally, privacy. I want to jump the center console again and straddle him right where he is, but we’re going to need some room to move. I’m on the pavement outside, teetering in my high heels, almost before the car stops moving. Sid heads for the front door.
As it opens I feel like I’m crossing a boundary. Maybe we already have. But once we do this we can’t take it back - I could lose my job. The fear of consequences pales in comparison to the idea of not taking the opportunity in front of me. I follow him inside.
The only light is the alarm keypad he stops to disarm. “Eight, seven, eighty seven,” I joke. He smiles as a beep confirms he’s finished.
“That is not the code.”
“Shame,” I tsk. “I might want to sneak back in.”
____
Whitney’s eyes sparkle. Her smile is steady like she’s really okay with all of this. I know the risk is huge for her and I selfishly don’t care. All I care about is pushing her against the inside of my front door and kissing her again. My hands slide around her waist, drawing our lower bodies together. Her hip finds my hard on and she rolls it, making me groan. I guess she is okay with this. I push my hands up until they’re full of her breasts, pushing them right out of her costume, and slide my mouth along her skin until I find that delicate curve. Her fingers rake the hair along my neckline.
I’ve thought about this a lot. Whitney in my house, in my bed, my mouth on her body and her arms around my neck. Burying my face in her tits gives me a moment to delete all those stored fantasies and prepare to replace them with real life ones. Her nipple pops free and I catch it in my teeth, then rub it hard with my thumb. She purrs.
“Sid.” The word falls from her lips. It tumbles down my body like a brick, hitting every sensitive spot. Right on cue she jostles her hip along my thickening cock again.
“Fuck.” I have to break away, swallow down the tension. My head swims. When I open my eyes again, Whitney’s still there.
“Take me upstairs.”
I walk when I want to run. I pretend to be in control. Through the living room, up the steps, past two rooms with beds where no one has ever had sex. Into one big room where I have, but not enough. Not like this.
It’s easier than I ever imagined. Whitney and I were clear from the start what we were doing, there’s no will we or won’t we about this moment. She walks to the center of my room, legs all the way to the sky and her outfit more like lingerie than some lingerie I’ve seen. All that is mine, if only for tonight.
“I want you,” I announce, Captain Obvious.
Her dark hair swirls around her shoulders as she turns to face me. At some point that little cap went back on her head. Whitney’s dark eyes don’t falter as a smile lights up her beautiful face.
“I guess Geno was right.”
____
All at once, I’m in the air. Sid takes one stride, lifts me by the waist and my legs wrap around him. This skirt sure makes for a full range of motion. We’re kissing as he sets me on my back on his bed. He stands between my knees and unbuckles his chest plate. I frown.
“There goes my gladiator fantasy.”
Sidney tilts his head, wondering if I’m serious. Maybe he has a sailor fantasy and I’m going to wear this costume all night - that’s fine by me. Beneath the armor he wears a gray t-shirt. I watch with my mouth open as he pulls it up and over his head.
That should cost money. It is the best fucking show in town. His biceps flex, stretching the sleeves as his hands reach the center, then as they lift. I lose sight of them as his abs come into view - a solid slab of muscle, the outline of a six pack visible beneath his rib cage. North of that is the widest chest I’ve never seen. He drops the shirt and pushes a hand through his hair - I moan. It’s that good. Sid picks up the breastplate from where he set it on the mattress.
He holds it up next to his broad, bare, ridiculous wall of a body. “Yes or no?”
For fuck’s sake. He’d do it if I asked. I might ask later. But for now I just bite my lip, shake my head, and bid my underwear farewell. He laughs, the jerk, and and shoves off the kilt too, leaving just his gym shorts. Then tosses the armor on the floor.
“Not too far!” I joke right before I forget everything in the world because he is on top of me.
His leg is so wide it’s like riding a horse when he pushes it up between my thighs. His hands move my wrists up, crossing them, holding them over my head. Those eyes roll down my prone body, busting out of my costume, before he settles his hips against mine and lays his full weight across me. You’d think I’d be crushed but instead it’s amazing, like a person suddenly able to lift a car in an emergency. Every hormone surges and I feel dizzy with power.
His mouth is hot on mine. His breath tickles my ear as he moves his lips along my jaw and throat. Beneath that spot my blood pounds, barely reaching my brain, short circuiting all kinds of normal responses. Sid’s kiss works there, urging my body on. I strain against his grip, desperate to get my hands on him, and he laughs without lifting his head. That mouth drops to my breasts. This time he peels my dress down completely and helps himself to the whole menu. His free hand helps. I arch my back to meet his tongue and it lifts my hips into his lap.
The growl from his throat rolls across my skin like thunder. It’s a private sound, one made in a moment of weakness. I know that Sid practices self-denial on many fronts - no bad food, no cheat days, no half effort at a workout. It wouldn’t surprise me if his deprivation includes the bedroom. Judging from the sound his body made, tonight it’s making an exception for me.
I wrench one of my hands free while he’s distracted and run it down his back, pressing south from the spot between his shoulderblades to as far down his spine as I can reach. He’s solid. He’s warm. And his heart is racing.
“Come here,” I hiss. He allows me to pull him up. There’s not a moment to blink before I’m kissing him, holding him, rolling him. I know he lets me do it, but a win is a win and now I’m sitting on top of a half naked Sidney Crosby with the entire night ahead of us.
____
Whitney’s weight comes to a rest right where I want her - cleft spread over the width of my cock. I’m fitted right into her slot despite two layers of clothing. I’m that big. She’s going to know it. Those eyes flash wide as she nearly topples right off the other side - straddling my hips isn’t easy, she has to go wide and that means going deep. I’m throbbing. No surprise there.
It does surprise her when I push up onto my elbows, then my hands, until I’m almost sitting. She kisses me even as I grip her waist and work her backward, off me, until she has to choice but the stand between my feet.
I caress her thighs, my hands slipping under her skirt. I’m eye-level with her waist, looking up at her rack, in absolute heaven. So I turn her around.
The zipper pull is almost comically tiny between my fingers. It comes down easily, stopping only at the swell of her backside so I can kiss the intimate inch of skin revealed there. Once the zipper runs out, Whitney shimmies and the dress falls to our feet.
Godyes. Her panties are bright blue, almost shorts, the kind that leave no lines and so feel like nothing at all beneath my hands. Their beauty is in their shape, stretched as they are over the curve of her ass and the flat of her stomach. I trace the lower edge with one finger - from under her cheek across her hip until my touch is perilously close to her crease. She moves to give me room and I stroke once over the soaked bit of fabric between her legs. My mouth finds skin, kissing and biting like she’s an apple and something of the same round shape. I break away only to pull the last piece of clothing from her body.
She hits the bed before her underwear hits the floor. I twist and toss, she lands next to me on her back with a squeak and I’m all over her. I push her knees wide, she shrieks and tries to fight me. I like to play so I pull her ankles down, straightening her legs, leaving only the merest hint of her pussy visible from the front. That’s right where I put my mouth.
“OhhSid,” she whispers. All the fight is gone. There’s no resistance now as I spread her legs and settle myself between them, taking long, slow laps along her slit. Whitney writhes and I know she’s been craving this contact - maybe longer than tonight. Maybe since we met.
Maybe as long as I have.
She tastes of honey. It slides over my tongue, taking me to every part of her secret place. I delve inside, then wiggle into her clit. Each spot earns a different reaction, an uncontrolled reward from her body to mine. My cock throbs against the mattress.
If the boys knew. Neal would kill me dead. Nisky would cry. Geno would laugh but only once, then pout. If they knew I had this girl on her back, halfway to the first of many orgasms, they would mutiny.
Tomorrow I might just tell them.
____
I’m not thinking in words or sounds. I’m thinking in exclamation points as Sidney Crosby’s legendary mouth plunders my body. I could have come at the idea of this - in fact, I have before. Now that it’s really happening I am trying to prolong the event any way I can. I take a deep breath, shuddering on the way in, and quickly lose it to a whimpered squeal of pleasure as he tweaks my clit. I feel pressure, then a wallop as two thick fingers push in right up to the hilt.
This is scandalous. It’s obvious too - of course I wanted him. Of course he’d be this good. Of course there was no way I’d make it two months here without trying to get into his bed. Though I would gladly have settled for the car.
He pushes through me again, playing the matching game to combine my reactions for maximum efficiency. The tongue flicks again, my hot button primed for launch, just as his fingers go deep. My body gives up it’s code like the alarm downstairs. He does it again and I moan.
It happens before I feel it, the orgasm all at once like a high impact crash. My pussy clenches as his hand, rolling up to and right over the edge. I cry out, back bowed, as Sid makes sure his mouth gets every last drop out of me. My toes curl, hands twisting into the blanket before it gives up and leaves me for dead.
“Fuck I’m so hard,” he says, landing on top of me. I laugh weakly. This guy needs to rest between shifts and hardly between games. One Earth-shattering orgasm isn’t going to slow him down. Especially when he hasn’t even had it yet. Sid’s lips smear across mine, marking me with my own taste, as he fumbles out of his shorts. That gets my attention.
“Let me.” I find cotton and push. I find skin and stroke. Then I find the thick, hard, smooth shaft of his dick in my hand and I almost forget my name. He is big and more than hot, he’s throbbing. He sucks in a breath as I work my grip down his length. For all his training, Sidney is about to lose it.
All for me.
We move together, right to the spot. His tip prods the slick mess his mouth left and we both still for a moment. Our eyes meet. Sidney Crosby the fuckhot guy in the costume disappears, replaced by Sidney Crosby, Canadian Goodwill Ambassador and Dork Jedi. The expression is all soft.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s a little late for that!” I answer. He laughs. In that moment I love that I could make him laugh.
“I could stop,” he insists. I arch a brow skeptically.
“I mean, you’d have to go.” His voice is almost sheepish, how ridiculous. “And leave your costume.”
This is the Sidney I know, that I’ve been trying to avoid getting close to for months precisely because I was afraid of this happening. The spot where his cock just barely parts my slit begs to differ. This should have been the goal all along.
“I’ll leave it in the morning.”
He’s serious when he says, “By morning there will be nothing left.”
____
Where did you go? I recently found this site and I have now read all the stories. I need more. Please come back and write more. You're a talented writer.
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