Chapter 2

 Just a reminder to please not throw things at the screen or text me death threats. Please, gentle reader, have patience and remember that people, or in this case, story characters can change. That being said, welcome to the next chapter.

When he poses for promotions and marketing he knows this is a possibility but he’s never been confronted with it in quite this way. As he watches her light candles around the room, small stumps of coloured wax in old wine bottles and oddly shaped glass jars, he finds a number of his own likenesses staring back at him from the walls in her room. From posters that look like they might have been stolen from bus shelters to growth charts, covers of magazines framed and the kinds of prints purchased directly from the league; everywhere he looks he is met with not just his own face but those of many of his teammates on every wall and surface of her room. Including a number of figurines on a bookshelf that’s full to overflowing with thick hard bound novels. 

He looks through their titles, running his finger along their spines but he only recognizes a few and most of them only from movie titles; Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, the English Patient, the Colour Purple, Wuthering Heights. To him they are chick flicks, he can’t imagine taking the time to watch them let alone read them. 

“Do you want something to uh...drink?” she asks. He hears the nervous vibrato in her voice and it stirs something in him that is normally reserved for the ice. He can feel his blood begin to simmer, just when he was beginning to think that he might not be able to go through with this. “I umm...I think we have some vodka and uh...I think there’s some rum in the freezer,” she continues, and when he turns he finds her rubbing her palms anxiously down her narrow hips.  

“Sure, whatever,” he replies as he reaches for the top buttons on his shirt. Her eyes get wide again and he watches with a certain amount of relish as she whets her bottom lip while watching him undo his shirt. “Don’t be long,” he grins and she scampers out of the room like a frightened kitten.

He sits on the edge of her narrow bed and slips off his shoes. He wonders, while he waits, if any of his teammates have ever fucked a girl underneath one of their own posters. When they talk about their conquests the next day in the room they don’t discuss home decor. They talk about how big her tits were and if she swallowed or not. He’s betting Fern won’t. In fact he thinks, as he tugs his socks off, balls them up and shoves them into his shoes, that there probably won’t be anything fancier than missionary position happening in this bed tonight. That idea makes him smile to himself but it doesn’t make him give up on his mission either. He thinks that Fern looks like she needs a good fucking to loosen her up.

That thought makes him laugh out loud which makes her pause as she re-enters the room loaded down with a bottle of Absolut and two glasses. She looks like a startled fawn staring down a set of oncoming headlights and for a minute he thinks that she’s going to turn tail and run from her own room but he pats a spot next to him on what he thinks might be a homemade quilt and, very slowly, her eyes go back to their regular size. 

She puts the bottle down on the night stand, puts the glasses down beside it and then pours a little into each. She downs hers in one, fretful gulp and then pours herself some more before handing him a glass. He sips the clear liquid and wrinkles his nose. It isn’t straight vodka, though it burns like it on the way down. It leaves a berry flavoured after taste on his tongue that he has the sudden urge to taste on her lips. 

When she goes to refill her glass for a third time he pulls her down onto his lap and kisses her, hard. She resists, at first, but when his tongue swipes along her bottom lip looking for entry she relaxes against him and then he feels her hands moving over his shoulders, pushing his dress shirt back and away and that makes him smile. Maybe there is some fire in the skittish little filly after all.

He shrugs his shirt off and then moves his hands to her ass, pulling her down harder against him so that he can feel the press of her boobs against his chest and so he can grind up against her. He isn’t hard, not yet. With a pretty girl, with a girl whose ass he can’t dig his fingers into and whose breasts aren’t more than a handful he might be all ready, but he isn’t. It takes a few more minutes of fumbling with the zipper on the back of her dress and hearing her whimper when he sucks the hard little nubs of her nipples through the black lace and satin of her bra before his dick begins to stir. 

He’s wondered how Jordy does it, how he can take just about anything with a pulse and a set of tits back to his room on the road and still come out smiling in the morning. He’s heard Gronk explain more than once how one cunt is pretty much like another but he’s never believed it. But as she presses him down into her bed and slides her hand down between them to stroke him to full mast, he begins to think that Max’s explanation has more merit. Max has always claimed that ugly girls try harder and the expert tug he feels as her cool hands slide over his thick, quickly hardening member makes him think Max is right. 

“Do you have, y’know, something?” he asks a little breathlessly as she kisses her way down to his abdomen. She looks up at him, doing her owl impression again, and he can hear the guys in his head calling him a rookie. He has a suspicion that Tanger has a pharmacy on speed dial and that Max probably has a year’s supply on him at all times, but when he’d left the house tonight he hadn’t thought this is where he’d be, what he’d be doing right now. 

“Maybe one of my roommates does,” she says quietly and then springs off of the bed. He watches her walk across the room, her black satin panties fitting snugly across her round ass. He thinks she might have the legs of a dancer, or at least of someone that walks a lot. Her calves are muscular and her ankles have a feminine taper. As he rolls onto his back and folds his hands behind his head he thinks that this might not be not be the worst idea he’s ever had.

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She spills out most of the contents of the medicine cabinet and digs through every drawer in the bathroom before she finds what she is searching for, two small foil squares. How long they’ve been in the drawer, between the first aid kit and a box of super plus tampons she doesn’t know. All she knows is she’s relieved she doesn’t have to send him down to the all night market on the corner. If he leaves, she’s absolutely certain that he won’t come back. After all, she’s not really sure why he’s in her room in the first place. 

Palming the two condoms she forces herself to walk slowly back into the room even though she wants to run in and pounce on the bed like a kid waking up her parents on Christmas morning. Seeing him lying there on her grandmother’s old quilt in nothing but his boxer briefs, with all those round muscles and pale skin, is kind of like having your birthday and Christmas presents arrive all at once. 

“Found ‘em,” she calls softly, letting the foil wrappers catch the light of the nearly dozen candles in her room. He turns his head and she is forced to pause, mid step. He is, despite the slightly crooked nose and the tiny nicks and scars that shine silvery white in the shimmering candlelight, heart-breakingly beautiful. His full lips curve into an inviting smile as he reaches his hand out towards her and for one long, breathless moment, she can’t move. ‘This’ she thinks to herself, ‘cannot be happening’. Things like this do not happen to girls like her. 

‘Fuck it’ she decides at last, moving slowly forward until she is kneeling on the edge of the bed and putting her hand in his so he can guide her body down next to his, ‘if I’m dreaming, I hope I never wake up.’

 When his fingers slide beneath the elastic of her panties she tenses, sucking in a sharp breath until he finds that spot that forces her to blow out that breath all at once. He is not like that boy from band camp with whom she had fumbled around in the dark. He doesn’t have to hunt blindly around. He knows just where to go and just what to do with his fingers to make her entire body shudder, make her cry out. He doesn’t press it like a button on a game console, like a monkey pressing a button to get a reward. He strokes it, teases it and when she thinks she’s about to lose her mind, he rubs it exactly the right way to make her dissolve into a thousand pieces. 

“I’m gonna take these off now,” he whispers in her ear and she can only nod, having once again been rendered speechless by this man who haunts her dreams. She is only able to bite her lip and does her best not to make anymore of those embarrassing noises when he kneels between her legs and holds the condom out towards her. She stares at the little foil square and then at him and swallows, audibly. She hasn’t done this task more than once, maybe twice in her entire life. 

‘This is your dream and in your dream you can do this, after all, he wouldn’t be here otherwise’ she tells herself, taking the packet and ripping it open with her teeth. She’s heard of women putting these things on with their teeth but she doesn’t trust herself to try, even if she thinks that it seems like a cool way to do it. The idea of being the girl that accidentally injures Sidney Crosby by trying to be cool doesn’t seem like the best move right at this moment.

She hears his sharp intake of breath as she gently yet firmly rolls the latex down over the cock that she knows she’ll describe to her friends as definitely being bigger than a baby’s arm. She’s already wondering if it will hurt. He, all of him, is bigger than any boy or man she’s been with. Not that there has been a long list. 

She can count the number of men she’s been with on one hand. No, that’s not right; less than one hand and she’s not really sure that the first one even counted. Really there have only been two and both of those now seem like they were a long time ago. She’d made a promise to herself that the next time it would be for love, for always. So much for that, she thinks as her fist reaches the base of cock and rolls her eyes up to meet his.

Even with the teenage groping and the not so satisfying college dorm fumbling she’s never done this, this just because you can kind of sex. She tells herself, as she slowly slides her hand up over that famed six pack, he isn’t exactly a stranger.

He moans, softly, when the tip of her tongue flicks against his nipple. His hands dig into her hair and then he pulls the elastic from around her pony tail and drags her fingers through her non-descript mousy brown hair until it falls around her shoulders. Not too short and not too long. Just long enough so she can pull it back at work and keep it out of her face. It used to be longer but she cut it short when she broke up with her last boyfriend. That’s how long it’s been.

His pulse jumps beneath her tongue as her teeth graze his neck but when she tries to kiss him he picks her up like she weighs nothing and slams her down onto the bed. She lets one of those annoying squeaks escape as he pushes her to the end of the bed and then shoves himself unceremoniously inside of her. 

She gasps and not entirely in a good way. The sensation of being nearly being split in two is pain and pleasure intertwined but she isn’t given time to catch her breath before his hips are slamming against hers again. He is using the edge of the bed for leverage, his massive chest blotting out the light, his muscular arms straining as he grunts above her. 

Tears spring to her eyes even as she tries to blink them away. This is not how she’d imagined it would be. The candles are there and somewhere in the background A Fine Frenzy is playing but he is not how it was supposed to be. 

She stares at the veins popping out in his throat as he strains over her and bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep the tears of disappointment at bay. She had been expecting tenderness or maybe that had just been a hope. He is no better than that boy at band camp, only concerned with his own needs, with getting there as fast as possible. 

No, that is not exactly fair she decides as he lowers his mouth in search of hers and she turns her face to only give him her cheek. He’d gotten her off once and that is more than most men do, or so she’s been told. Her friends are always complaining about their boyfriends and how thoughtless they are so why, she wonders to herself as he grunts one last time and then collapses, did she think he would be different?

Because he is Sidney Crosby and he is supposed to be better than this 

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She doesn’t make all of the noises that he’s used to. She doesn’t moan or cry out, doesn’t make him feel like a porn star or any kind of star for that matter and when he tries to kiss her she turns away from him and just lies there like a dead fish. Even when he rolls off of her and lies on his back, breathing hard, she doesn’t try to cuddle into him and coo at him like every other puck bunny he’s been with. In fact she scoots across the bed and grabs a pillow, holding it front of her like a shield. 

“I...I think you should go.” 

Not that he’d planned on staying but he is taken aback by her insistence. He doesn’t argue, merely shrugging as he sits up and begins to search the floor for his clothes. She remains silent and watchful as he tugs on his pants. As he reaches for his shirt he doesn’t even attempt to hide the satirical smile that tugs at the corners of his full lips as he thinks to himself that even the quiet ones are crazy. He’s quite certain that even if she’s having second thoughts about what they’ve just done she’ll still be bragging to all of her facebook friends about it in the morning.

As he stoops to grab his shoes he grabs her panties off of the floor and stuffs them into his pocket. He’ll need them as proof in the locker room in the morning. That’s one of the rules. There has to be evidence but he isn’t Max and he doesn’t think there’s a nanny cam in this room. She doesn’t seem like the type to want to watch herself, which makes him think that it’s too bad her being a prude isn’t enough in and of itself to win the bet. Of course her name is Fern her reminds himself, thinking that has to be worth something.

“Well, thanks,” he turns and smiles at her in the same way he would a TV camera. It isn’t a real smile, not really. She’s still clutching the pillow like it’s her last line of defence and watching him like an animal does when they’ve been in a cage too long; a little eager but a little wary too. He wonders if maybe she thinks that he will ask to stay. He won’t of course because there’s no point. Not with a girl who gives out the milk for free. That isn’t the kind of woman that he will spend the night with and just for a moment he almost regrets his choice of pawn for the game. She isn’t really that bad, not with her hair loose and brushing her shoulders and with her lips bruised from his kisses. That moment quickly passes, however, when she continues to stare at him out of dark, untrusting eyes. “See ya around,” he adds, leaning across the bed to give her a kiss on the cheek. She shrinks from him and his response is to shrug, roll his eyes, turn and walk out.

He thinks he hears the sound of tearing paper when he reaches for the handle on the front door but he can’t be sure.