Help.
Fiona rolled over in bed and grabbed the phone from her nightstand. She knew what it would say. Only one person ever said anything at this ungodly hour of the morning.
“For fuck’s sake,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor. Normally she’d throw on a sweatshirt or just go in her pajamas, but this particular very early morning it happened she was sleeping in her underwear. So she dug through her top drawer for the matching bra, pulled a long coat from the hook inside the door and headed for the elevator.
____
Fiona turned the key in the front door and nearly tripped over a discarded pair of sky-high leopard print heels. They were quite nice actually, she thought as she kicked them aside. A few yards on lay a three-thousand dollar suit coat in a heap on the floor. Fiona stepped right on that without a twinge of guilt. Dress, over the arm of the couch; bra, on the hallway rug; pants, caught under the half-open bedroom door. Fiona pushed her way in.
Weak, watery light poured in through windows no one had bothered to shade. Shortly it would be blazing sunlight over the city and right into this penthouse condo. A fluffy, dark brown duvet was heaped atop the bed. On the far side, a single delicate foot with painted toenails was visible around the twisted sheet. Closest to her, Fiona saw the familiar shape of bare chest and arm, comforter wadded up beneath one hefty bicep. He turned his dark head on the pillow and gave her an apologetic smile.
“Hey,” he murmured.
Fiona rolled her eyes. Ladies and gentlemen, Jonathan Toews is a manwhore.
Then she dropped her coat, completing the trail of clothing that lead all the way to the scene of the crime.
Jon’s eyes went wide. He was used to favors but not surprises, even those who arrived scantily clad with legitimate bed-head. He scanned the expanse of her shapely leg and thigh, the curve of her waist and flat of her stomach. Breasts rose scandalously from a balconet bra trimmed with lace in just the places he wanted to touch. Her nearly-black hair spilled down over pale white shoulders and back. Fiona shot him a warning glare before climbing right onto the bed with such energy that she practically bounced off.
“Oof!” she giggled, tossing her head onto the pillow next to Jon. Stretched out on top of the soft blanket, Fiona bent one knee and rubbed her foot along her other calf. “Morning everyone.”
The unsuspecting, hung over girl next to her came to slowly. At the sound of Fiona’s voice, she whipped around the see another woman on the bed she’d followed Jon into.
“Who are...?”
“Oh Jon, she’s cute. You always did have good taste.” Fiona’s accent lilted playfully through the words as reached out to touch the girl’s bare shoulder. The girl skittered to her feet, attempting to take the sheet with her; it snapped short, leaving her stark naked in the morning light. She squeaked and snatched up a pillow.
“Who are you? What the fuck?”
Fiona felt sorry for her, but ultimately this way was easier. This girl wouldn’t ask for Jon’s number, wait days by the phone for a call that would never come, then try his phone for a week, maybe a month, leaving voicemails. Or dial just once the fake number he often gave. The doormen downstairs were like prison guards, only they kept people out. It was better if this girl left because she wanted to and never wanted to come back.
“Honey, I’m Jon’s girlfriend. Just away on work. Sometimes he brings home someone for us to play with.” Fiona rolled over theatrically, laying on her stomach with her back arched, kicking her feet in the air like a pinup girl. “Though I do hate it when he starts without me.”
“I am not like that! I didn’t come here for this.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” She slid her knees under until she was on all fours, paused, then dropped back to sit on her heels. It made her breasts bounce dangerously, which couldn’t be ignored because she was running her fingers gently over the curve of her cleaveage. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
“Oh my God.” The girl flew from the room. There were sounds of picking up and zipping on, all hurried until the door slammed behind her.
Fiona dropped back to the bed in a whooof of down feather and pillow. “You are a shit.”
“And you are fucking beautiful. What am I doing up here with that girl while you’re downstairs waiting for me to call?” Jon propped himself up on a very capable-looking forearm.
“Waiting, hmmm. Well Kaner’s pissed I had to crawl out from underneath him to save your ass. Hates to be woken, you know how he is.”
“You and Kaner, that’s funny. He’s the right height for your rack at least. Why don’t,” Jon said, sliding toward her and pulling her in, “you get under the covers with me and we’ll keep your imaginary boyfriend waiting a little longer?”
“Unless your cleaning lady’s been round since dinner, I’m not getting in these sheets. There’s such a mess I could crack this blanket in half.”
Jon pressed his body along hers, only the blanket in question separating them. “I’d be a one woman man for you, Fiona.”
“One woman, ha! She’d have to be made of Kevlar for how often you go shooting off.”
She sat up, letting Jon’s eyes fall to the full display of her chest. He was exceptionally beautiful: skin glowing with health, dark eyes and thick hair, strong jaw marked by tiny scars that revealed his passion and occupation. But Jon was not to be tamed and Fiona thought she wouldn’t want him any other way.
I won’t have him at all. Nothing to be gained.
Fiona pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting her hand wander the hard plane of his stomach. She stopped just short of what she knew was stirring, patted his abs once and climbed off the bed. A full bend and snap move to retrieve her coat earned a frustrated groan from the man behind her. With a smile, Fiona left Jon alone in his bed.
_
“Boys,” Fiona said with a nod of her head. The barstools looked delicate beneath their huge legs, their frames hulking around the high table. She slid a pitcher of beer they hadn’t ordered into the middle, followed by pint glasses.
“How are you, beautiful?” Brent Seabrook offered her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Better now you’re here. These idiots,” she tilted her head to one side, indicating a booth full of college-aged guys, “have never met an Irishwoman before. I’ve half a mind to throw them out but their bar tab’s enormous.”
All at once, five members of the Chicago Blackhawks turned their game faces on the group of unsuspecting, rowdy drunks. There was a slow hiss of air from the atmosphere as the tension grew - then it snapped. Back to normal. They had a way of controlling a situation without doing a thing.
“Funny how that works,” Duncan Keith smiled through his Movember mustache. “They get all quiet around us, but I’d rather fight Seabs that you, Fi.”
She winked at him and patted his arm. “I prefer wrestling.”
Patrick Kane hugged her from his seat, Viktor Stalburg settled for having his five o’clock shadow rubbed. Jonathan got to his feet and gave her the full body treatment.
“Still wearing that lingerie?” He tugged at the v-neck of her shirt, peering down.
“In the bin. Once you’ve seen it, it’s spoiled for other men.”
Fiona left them and crossed the room. It always amused her to watch a room full of people pretend not to watch a table full of celebrities. The guys spent so much time together they had almost their own language and they never shut up. Already the pitcher was empty and half their glasses drained. She poured another and let it settle.
They were a sight. Duncan’s shoulders were so wide he looked like a Mac Truck in a t-shirt. Viktor’s square jaw made superheroes jealous. Brent’s thick, gorgeous hair had one God-given purpose: holding onto while he did unspeakable things to your body. Patrick had a million-dollar smile that he gave out like candy. And Jonathan... one accidental catch of those bottomless brown eyes and knees literally wobbled. The whole experience was intense even for the initiated.
“My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble...,” Jenny sang, pulling a new order ticket from the printer. “Hey la, hey la.”
“Not my boyfriend.”
Jenny brushed past. “How do you even know which one I’m talking about?”
____
Jon finished his second beer, feeling more full that usual. He wouldn’t sleep well tonight but it didn’t matter, just an optional skate in the morning before their game against Winnipeg. His hometown team, such as they had been reintroduced. The guys talked hockey and strategy and swapped rude comments about the talent in the bar that evening. Fiona set another pitcher of beer down.
“Fi, can I ask you a question?” Viktor said. She sidled right up between him and Patrick. “If I give you a jersey will you wear it tomorrow?”
“Have you lot got a game?” she joked. Everyone within five miles of the United Center had the Hawks schedule memorized. “I might be working.”
“You’re not,” Jon said. “It’s Wednesday.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Well my secretary says I’m free, so yes, I’d love to come and wear your number Viktor. Not enough Stalbergs in the crowd for you? Or just too many Kanes?”
Patrick shrugged. “I am irresistible. A fact those ladies over by the jukebox are about to find out.” He dropped from the stool and sauntered away. They all watched as the girls registered his approach, looked excited, then turned their eyes toward the table waiting for someone to join Kane. They wanted Jon, but they’d take anyone. Toews pushed the empty stool under Fiona’s butt, giving her no choice but to sit.
“What, no conquests tonight? Waiting for CSI to decontaminate your place?” Her joke made Duncan and Brent laugh.
“Ha ha,” he droned. “Not every night, Fi. Even I have limits.”
“That,” she punctuated her sentence by hopping down from the seat, “is entirely ruining my hot, sweaty dreams of you, Jon.” Fiona let her hand drag slowly across the back of his neck as she left. The boys didn’t wait till she was out of earshot before ragging their captain.
“Bro, she is never going to fuck you,” Duncan shook his head.
“She still bouncing your puckfucks in the mornings?” Brent asked.
Jon nodded. He thought about telling them that morning’s story, how sexy and outrageous she’d been, even though it only made him sound pathetic. Some version of that scenario - either Fiona and another girl or even just Fiona - is what he should have been getting. He obviously wasn’t.
“She came up this morning in her underwear,” he admitted. “Little blue lacy ones and this bra - she was spilling out of it. Jumped on the bed and scared the shit out of the girl by pretending she was there for a threesome.” When he looked up, three slack jaws and six wide eyes stared back at the him. Jon was only glad Kaner wasn’t around to hear the story.
“She was mostly naked,” Duncan said slowly, “in your bed. This morning.” He jerked a thumb toward the bar. “Fiona.”
“Walked right in the room and dropped her overcoat, almost nothing underneath. All fours on the bed, talking to the other girl like it was something she did all the time.”
“Probably does,” Viktor said. He was a bit quieter than his teammates, his observations more sharp. They listened when he spoke. “Maybe not threesomes, but a girl like that does not spend the night alone unless she wants to.”
They watched Fiona lean over another table, passing drinks. Her dark hair fell in her face, skin white as marble. One of the people made a joke and she laughed, a loud clear note ringing even through the din of the bar.
Jon looked around at the girls out on a Tuesday night at this particular place. Some were pretty. There were a couple of higher-end hotties that Kaner was monopolizing. Nothing really caught his eye. Jon went back through them, one at a time, looking for something he couldn’t put a finger on, something that would spark his imagination.
At the end of one of the tables was a girl with hair almost as dark as Fiona’s, skin not quite so fair. Duncan and Brent set up a game of pool, Viktor got pulled into Patrick’s conversation. So Jon waited for the girls’ friend to go to the bathroom, then slowly made his way across the room.
“Hi,” he said. Jonathan Toews didn’t need pickup lines. “I’m Jon.”
The girl looked stunned. Little cartoons birds could have flown circles around her head and she wouldn’t have blinked. Jon cringed internally - girls like this were a dime a dozen. She’d go home with him right now, or to any dark corner. She’s do anything he wanted, within reason. And she wouldn’t manage to get a single laugh or smile out of him, not a word beyond “suck it” or “you like that?”
Sometimes it was just about release. Sometimes it was so he didn’t have to care, didn’t have to hope she enjoyed it or wonder if she faked it. He just wanted to get off, then get out. There were nights he wanted difference, excitement. But so many of the girls he caught were disappointingly similar. If he took this girl home, it wouldn’t be the first time Jon had closed his eyes and thought of the sassy Irish girl who lived in her uncle’s condo five floors below. So close to something he’d never have, while Jon was used to getting everything he wanted.
“Wanna get out of here?”
She left her friend without a word. Someone in the bar would tell the other girl what had happened, and Jon knew no friendship would be lost over one of them leaving with the Blackhawks’ young captain.
____
“Where’s Tazer?” Pat asked, leaning over the bar. He’d refrained from behaving badly, mostly because he’d grown out of that a little. Too much, too soon, he was fond of saying. Fiona set down a rack of clean glasses and started drying.
“Left about forty minutes ago with a girl.”
Pat was surprised and not surprised all at the same time. Jon clearly had no idea what he wanted, and he did a great job of throwing his indecision in Fiona’s face. Pat didn’t expect his best friend to shack up with anyone soon, but he wondered if it was necessary to be quite so indelicate. For all the times Jon read Pat the riot act about his bad boy antics, he looked a little hypocritical these days.
“Want me to wait for you? I’ve got a jacuzzi tub.”
Fiona opened her mouth to give him what for, but stopped. Instead a smile curled her lips. Pat was tempting, always tempting. He’d do what he offered - and then some - but already he’d become a better person in the four or so months she’d known him. A part of her suspected that Patrick didn’t want her to go home alone, only to have Jonathan to call her for help in the morning. For once her joke about being underneath Kaner wouldn’t be in jest.
“I can’t go home with you then wear Viktor’s number tomorrow. But that tub does sound quite nice.”
Pat rapped his knuckles against the bar. “If we win, I’ll give you keys and you can take Vik there after. He’s probably never landed a brunette.”
“A brunette in a bathtub,” Fiona clarified.
“On a Wednesday.”
“In December.”
They both laughed.
“Right. Just win,” she said.
____
“Nice place,” Jon said. He looked around the decent-sized living room of her shared apartment: mismatched furniture, small flat screen TV, picture frames with candid color shots. It was surprisingly homey though nothing like Jon’s home at all. One of the photos was the girl they’d left behind at the bar.
Roommate’s out, for now.
Jon didn’t need more prompting. The girl - Laura, he thought - moved nervously around the room as if he were taking up all the space. So he reached for her arm, pulled her in and somewhere between her feet and his chest, she forgot whatever was making her skittish. One strong hockey player hand to the lower back and everything was calmed away. Jon kissed her with his eyes closed.
He made quick work of her top and bra, tipping her back and burying his face in the soft skin of her breasts. She may have been a six, but her tits were a ten. Everything he did - every nip, pull, lick - had her selling it to the cheap seats.
“Oh Jon,” she said. “I want you.”
He pulled her toward the hall and let her lead to the bedroom. Guiding her through the door, Jon held her in front of him, reached around and pushed a hand right into her jeans. She moaned as he felt the hot slick of the desire she was already feeling for him. Two thick fingers slipped inside that part that made all girls capable of owning any man they wanted, if only they knew how to do it. While he worked her, Jon ground his growing erection into the forgiving round of her ass. As soon as his bar was raised, he snapped her fly open and forced her jeans down.
“Kneel.” At the edge of the bed he set her on all fours and stood behind her. Laura’s hair was nearly black in the darkened room - all the better for Jon’s little mind game. He took a condom from his wallet before dropping his own jeans to the floor.
“Baby,” he said encouragingly as he ran the length of his cock along the crack of her ass. Laura tensed, sure that she’d have a tough time fitting him in the right hole; there was no way he was going in the wrong one. Jon held her steady and as he reached around to flick her clit, Jon pressed himself into her pussy all at once.
She was tight - very tight. And very tense. Laura cried out - the first real sound she’d made for him all night. His blood simmered. Struggling to stay on her hands as Jon stroked into her again, Laura made another strangled little noise.
“Shhh,” he told her, “relax. You’ll like it.”
Her pussy felt glorious, like a good solid squeeze wrings water from a cloth. Jon knew he was big, knew he was already giving it to her good and hoping she’d been wet enough over just the idea of fucking him to actually be ready to fuck him, because he wasn’t about to get romantic. Just in case he worked her clit with two flicking fingers. His other hand spread huge across her hip and held Laura right where he wanted her. Jon gave her a moment to get on board, then he started to row hard.
“Oh God,” she said in a husky voice. He knew she meant it. Jon pushed her facedown, flat on the mattress and followed onto her back.
“Ever dream about this?” he asked quietly, continuing to force himself inside her. “Ever think about me fucking you?”
“Yes,” she said in a playful tone.
He grunted with the effort of the next thrust. Laura did too. Jon was hard and hot, and one pussy served just as well as the next when all he wanted was to blow his load. He put a hand to the back of her shoulder, holding her against the worn bedspread. She mewed in reply. He sat up taller and ran his dick right into her target. He had no desire to make this last but at least wanted to give her something nice to remember him by. So he found that little spot that made her breathe out in tiny sobs and went right for it.
“Jonohmygod,” she moaned. He liked hearing his name so reverentially, didn’t matter who said it. It always turned him on. Jon got a little harder, a little bigger, making Laura feel even tighter around his cock. That and the sweet spot he was nailing - he was almost there.
Jon dropped onto her back, pushing hard with his chest and kissing her neck. “Let me hear you,” he commanded like she hadn’t been auditioning for a porn this whole time. Then he drilled her three quick times in succession, not allowing her to catch her breath. When Laura’s orgasm broke, the noise she made was more a growl than a scream.
That was it. Her body went creamy and he let his own slip. It was always best for him when the girl came first, it told him he was incredible and she worshipped him and he’d made her lose control. After that, his work here was done. Jon came fast and strong. That momentary release was bliss: he couldn’t feel or think anything else, just ecstasy.
“Fucking right,” he whispered into her ear. She panted beneath him. Jon stroked his cock into her until every last ounce of sensation was gone. Then he rolled off with a huff.
They always tried to cuddle. Jon figured the idea of being held by Jonathan Toews, naked in bed, might be more appealing to most of them than the actual sex. Laura came to rest against his side and he let her lay there, but didn’t reach out.
“That was great,” he exaggerated. “I wish I could stay.”
“You’re going?” Her eyes were wide, a little hurt. But she’d gotten it too good to muster any real disappointment.
“Curfew. I’ll probably be late and get in trouble as it is. But,” and this is where he always sold them, “you were worth it.”
She smiled. At her own dismissal. Jon dressed quickly, took a knee and leaned over her sprawled body with a goodbye kiss. Then he was gone.
____
Fiona rolled over in bed and grabbed the phone from her nightstand. She knew what it would say. Only one person ever said anything at this ungodly hour of the morning.
“For fuck’s sake,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor. Normally she’d throw on a sweatshirt or just go in her pajamas, but this particular very early morning it happened she was sleeping in her underwear. So she dug through her top drawer for the matching bra, pulled a long coat from the hook inside the door and headed for the elevator.
____
Fiona turned the key in the front door and nearly tripped over a discarded pair of sky-high leopard print heels. They were quite nice actually, she thought as she kicked them aside. A few yards on lay a three-thousand dollar suit coat in a heap on the floor. Fiona stepped right on that without a twinge of guilt. Dress, over the arm of the couch; bra, on the hallway rug; pants, caught under the half-open bedroom door. Fiona pushed her way in.
Weak, watery light poured in through windows no one had bothered to shade. Shortly it would be blazing sunlight over the city and right into this penthouse condo. A fluffy, dark brown duvet was heaped atop the bed. On the far side, a single delicate foot with painted toenails was visible around the twisted sheet. Closest to her, Fiona saw the familiar shape of bare chest and arm, comforter wadded up beneath one hefty bicep. He turned his dark head on the pillow and gave her an apologetic smile.
“Hey,” he murmured.
Fiona rolled her eyes. Ladies and gentlemen, Jonathan Toews is a manwhore.
Then she dropped her coat, completing the trail of clothing that lead all the way to the scene of the crime.
Jon’s eyes went wide. He was used to favors but not surprises, even those who arrived scantily clad with legitimate bed-head. He scanned the expanse of her shapely leg and thigh, the curve of her waist and flat of her stomach. Breasts rose scandalously from a balconet bra trimmed with lace in just the places he wanted to touch. Her nearly-black hair spilled down over pale white shoulders and back. Fiona shot him a warning glare before climbing right onto the bed with such energy that she practically bounced off.
“Oof!” she giggled, tossing her head onto the pillow next to Jon. Stretched out on top of the soft blanket, Fiona bent one knee and rubbed her foot along her other calf. “Morning everyone.”
The unsuspecting, hung over girl next to her came to slowly. At the sound of Fiona’s voice, she whipped around the see another woman on the bed she’d followed Jon into.
“Who are...?”
“Oh Jon, she’s cute. You always did have good taste.” Fiona’s accent lilted playfully through the words as reached out to touch the girl’s bare shoulder. The girl skittered to her feet, attempting to take the sheet with her; it snapped short, leaving her stark naked in the morning light. She squeaked and snatched up a pillow.
“Who are you? What the fuck?”
Fiona felt sorry for her, but ultimately this way was easier. This girl wouldn’t ask for Jon’s number, wait days by the phone for a call that would never come, then try his phone for a week, maybe a month, leaving voicemails. Or dial just once the fake number he often gave. The doormen downstairs were like prison guards, only they kept people out. It was better if this girl left because she wanted to and never wanted to come back.
“Honey, I’m Jon’s girlfriend. Just away on work. Sometimes he brings home someone for us to play with.” Fiona rolled over theatrically, laying on her stomach with her back arched, kicking her feet in the air like a pinup girl. “Though I do hate it when he starts without me.”
“I am not like that! I didn’t come here for this.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” She slid her knees under until she was on all fours, paused, then dropped back to sit on her heels. It made her breasts bounce dangerously, which couldn’t be ignored because she was running her fingers gently over the curve of her cleaveage. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
“Oh my God.” The girl flew from the room. There were sounds of picking up and zipping on, all hurried until the door slammed behind her.
Fiona dropped back to the bed in a whooof of down feather and pillow. “You are a shit.”
“And you are fucking beautiful. What am I doing up here with that girl while you’re downstairs waiting for me to call?” Jon propped himself up on a very capable-looking forearm.
“Waiting, hmmm. Well Kaner’s pissed I had to crawl out from underneath him to save your ass. Hates to be woken, you know how he is.”
“You and Kaner, that’s funny. He’s the right height for your rack at least. Why don’t,” Jon said, sliding toward her and pulling her in, “you get under the covers with me and we’ll keep your imaginary boyfriend waiting a little longer?”
“Unless your cleaning lady’s been round since dinner, I’m not getting in these sheets. There’s such a mess I could crack this blanket in half.”
Jon pressed his body along hers, only the blanket in question separating them. “I’d be a one woman man for you, Fiona.”
“One woman, ha! She’d have to be made of Kevlar for how often you go shooting off.”
She sat up, letting Jon’s eyes fall to the full display of her chest. He was exceptionally beautiful: skin glowing with health, dark eyes and thick hair, strong jaw marked by tiny scars that revealed his passion and occupation. But Jon was not to be tamed and Fiona thought she wouldn’t want him any other way.
I won’t have him at all. Nothing to be gained.
Fiona pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting her hand wander the hard plane of his stomach. She stopped just short of what she knew was stirring, patted his abs once and climbed off the bed. A full bend and snap move to retrieve her coat earned a frustrated groan from the man behind her. With a smile, Fiona left Jon alone in his bed.
_
“Boys,” Fiona said with a nod of her head. The barstools looked delicate beneath their huge legs, their frames hulking around the high table. She slid a pitcher of beer they hadn’t ordered into the middle, followed by pint glasses.
“How are you, beautiful?” Brent Seabrook offered her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Better now you’re here. These idiots,” she tilted her head to one side, indicating a booth full of college-aged guys, “have never met an Irishwoman before. I’ve half a mind to throw them out but their bar tab’s enormous.”
All at once, five members of the Chicago Blackhawks turned their game faces on the group of unsuspecting, rowdy drunks. There was a slow hiss of air from the atmosphere as the tension grew - then it snapped. Back to normal. They had a way of controlling a situation without doing a thing.
“Funny how that works,” Duncan Keith smiled through his Movember mustache. “They get all quiet around us, but I’d rather fight Seabs that you, Fi.”
She winked at him and patted his arm. “I prefer wrestling.”
Patrick Kane hugged her from his seat, Viktor Stalburg settled for having his five o’clock shadow rubbed. Jonathan got to his feet and gave her the full body treatment.
“Still wearing that lingerie?” He tugged at the v-neck of her shirt, peering down.
“In the bin. Once you’ve seen it, it’s spoiled for other men.”
Fiona left them and crossed the room. It always amused her to watch a room full of people pretend not to watch a table full of celebrities. The guys spent so much time together they had almost their own language and they never shut up. Already the pitcher was empty and half their glasses drained. She poured another and let it settle.
They were a sight. Duncan’s shoulders were so wide he looked like a Mac Truck in a t-shirt. Viktor’s square jaw made superheroes jealous. Brent’s thick, gorgeous hair had one God-given purpose: holding onto while he did unspeakable things to your body. Patrick had a million-dollar smile that he gave out like candy. And Jonathan... one accidental catch of those bottomless brown eyes and knees literally wobbled. The whole experience was intense even for the initiated.
“My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble...,” Jenny sang, pulling a new order ticket from the printer. “Hey la, hey la.”
“Not my boyfriend.”
Jenny brushed past. “How do you even know which one I’m talking about?”
____
Jon finished his second beer, feeling more full that usual. He wouldn’t sleep well tonight but it didn’t matter, just an optional skate in the morning before their game against Winnipeg. His hometown team, such as they had been reintroduced. The guys talked hockey and strategy and swapped rude comments about the talent in the bar that evening. Fiona set another pitcher of beer down.
“Fi, can I ask you a question?” Viktor said. She sidled right up between him and Patrick. “If I give you a jersey will you wear it tomorrow?”
“Have you lot got a game?” she joked. Everyone within five miles of the United Center had the Hawks schedule memorized. “I might be working.”
“You’re not,” Jon said. “It’s Wednesday.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Well my secretary says I’m free, so yes, I’d love to come and wear your number Viktor. Not enough Stalbergs in the crowd for you? Or just too many Kanes?”
Patrick shrugged. “I am irresistible. A fact those ladies over by the jukebox are about to find out.” He dropped from the stool and sauntered away. They all watched as the girls registered his approach, looked excited, then turned their eyes toward the table waiting for someone to join Kane. They wanted Jon, but they’d take anyone. Toews pushed the empty stool under Fiona’s butt, giving her no choice but to sit.
“What, no conquests tonight? Waiting for CSI to decontaminate your place?” Her joke made Duncan and Brent laugh.
“Ha ha,” he droned. “Not every night, Fi. Even I have limits.”
“That,” she punctuated her sentence by hopping down from the seat, “is entirely ruining my hot, sweaty dreams of you, Jon.” Fiona let her hand drag slowly across the back of his neck as she left. The boys didn’t wait till she was out of earshot before ragging their captain.
“Bro, she is never going to fuck you,” Duncan shook his head.
“She still bouncing your puckfucks in the mornings?” Brent asked.
Jon nodded. He thought about telling them that morning’s story, how sexy and outrageous she’d been, even though it only made him sound pathetic. Some version of that scenario - either Fiona and another girl or even just Fiona - is what he should have been getting. He obviously wasn’t.
“She came up this morning in her underwear,” he admitted. “Little blue lacy ones and this bra - she was spilling out of it. Jumped on the bed and scared the shit out of the girl by pretending she was there for a threesome.” When he looked up, three slack jaws and six wide eyes stared back at the him. Jon was only glad Kaner wasn’t around to hear the story.
“She was mostly naked,” Duncan said slowly, “in your bed. This morning.” He jerked a thumb toward the bar. “Fiona.”
“Walked right in the room and dropped her overcoat, almost nothing underneath. All fours on the bed, talking to the other girl like it was something she did all the time.”
“Probably does,” Viktor said. He was a bit quieter than his teammates, his observations more sharp. They listened when he spoke. “Maybe not threesomes, but a girl like that does not spend the night alone unless she wants to.”
They watched Fiona lean over another table, passing drinks. Her dark hair fell in her face, skin white as marble. One of the people made a joke and she laughed, a loud clear note ringing even through the din of the bar.
Jon looked around at the girls out on a Tuesday night at this particular place. Some were pretty. There were a couple of higher-end hotties that Kaner was monopolizing. Nothing really caught his eye. Jon went back through them, one at a time, looking for something he couldn’t put a finger on, something that would spark his imagination.
At the end of one of the tables was a girl with hair almost as dark as Fiona’s, skin not quite so fair. Duncan and Brent set up a game of pool, Viktor got pulled into Patrick’s conversation. So Jon waited for the girls’ friend to go to the bathroom, then slowly made his way across the room.
“Hi,” he said. Jonathan Toews didn’t need pickup lines. “I’m Jon.”
The girl looked stunned. Little cartoons birds could have flown circles around her head and she wouldn’t have blinked. Jon cringed internally - girls like this were a dime a dozen. She’d go home with him right now, or to any dark corner. She’s do anything he wanted, within reason. And she wouldn’t manage to get a single laugh or smile out of him, not a word beyond “suck it” or “you like that?”
Sometimes it was just about release. Sometimes it was so he didn’t have to care, didn’t have to hope she enjoyed it or wonder if she faked it. He just wanted to get off, then get out. There were nights he wanted difference, excitement. But so many of the girls he caught were disappointingly similar. If he took this girl home, it wouldn’t be the first time Jon had closed his eyes and thought of the sassy Irish girl who lived in her uncle’s condo five floors below. So close to something he’d never have, while Jon was used to getting everything he wanted.
“Wanna get out of here?”
She left her friend without a word. Someone in the bar would tell the other girl what had happened, and Jon knew no friendship would be lost over one of them leaving with the Blackhawks’ young captain.
____
“Where’s Tazer?” Pat asked, leaning over the bar. He’d refrained from behaving badly, mostly because he’d grown out of that a little. Too much, too soon, he was fond of saying. Fiona set down a rack of clean glasses and started drying.
“Left about forty minutes ago with a girl.”
Pat was surprised and not surprised all at the same time. Jon clearly had no idea what he wanted, and he did a great job of throwing his indecision in Fiona’s face. Pat didn’t expect his best friend to shack up with anyone soon, but he wondered if it was necessary to be quite so indelicate. For all the times Jon read Pat the riot act about his bad boy antics, he looked a little hypocritical these days.
“Want me to wait for you? I’ve got a jacuzzi tub.”
Fiona opened her mouth to give him what for, but stopped. Instead a smile curled her lips. Pat was tempting, always tempting. He’d do what he offered - and then some - but already he’d become a better person in the four or so months she’d known him. A part of her suspected that Patrick didn’t want her to go home alone, only to have Jonathan to call her for help in the morning. For once her joke about being underneath Kaner wouldn’t be in jest.
“I can’t go home with you then wear Viktor’s number tomorrow. But that tub does sound quite nice.”
Pat rapped his knuckles against the bar. “If we win, I’ll give you keys and you can take Vik there after. He’s probably never landed a brunette.”
“A brunette in a bathtub,” Fiona clarified.
“On a Wednesday.”
“In December.”
They both laughed.
“Right. Just win,” she said.
____
“Nice place,” Jon said. He looked around the decent-sized living room of her shared apartment: mismatched furniture, small flat screen TV, picture frames with candid color shots. It was surprisingly homey though nothing like Jon’s home at all. One of the photos was the girl they’d left behind at the bar.
Roommate’s out, for now.
Jon didn’t need more prompting. The girl - Laura, he thought - moved nervously around the room as if he were taking up all the space. So he reached for her arm, pulled her in and somewhere between her feet and his chest, she forgot whatever was making her skittish. One strong hockey player hand to the lower back and everything was calmed away. Jon kissed her with his eyes closed.
He made quick work of her top and bra, tipping her back and burying his face in the soft skin of her breasts. She may have been a six, but her tits were a ten. Everything he did - every nip, pull, lick - had her selling it to the cheap seats.
“Oh Jon,” she said. “I want you.”
He pulled her toward the hall and let her lead to the bedroom. Guiding her through the door, Jon held her in front of him, reached around and pushed a hand right into her jeans. She moaned as he felt the hot slick of the desire she was already feeling for him. Two thick fingers slipped inside that part that made all girls capable of owning any man they wanted, if only they knew how to do it. While he worked her, Jon ground his growing erection into the forgiving round of her ass. As soon as his bar was raised, he snapped her fly open and forced her jeans down.
“Kneel.” At the edge of the bed he set her on all fours and stood behind her. Laura’s hair was nearly black in the darkened room - all the better for Jon’s little mind game. He took a condom from his wallet before dropping his own jeans to the floor.
“Baby,” he said encouragingly as he ran the length of his cock along the crack of her ass. Laura tensed, sure that she’d have a tough time fitting him in the right hole; there was no way he was going in the wrong one. Jon held her steady and as he reached around to flick her clit, Jon pressed himself into her pussy all at once.
She was tight - very tight. And very tense. Laura cried out - the first real sound she’d made for him all night. His blood simmered. Struggling to stay on her hands as Jon stroked into her again, Laura made another strangled little noise.
“Shhh,” he told her, “relax. You’ll like it.”
Her pussy felt glorious, like a good solid squeeze wrings water from a cloth. Jon knew he was big, knew he was already giving it to her good and hoping she’d been wet enough over just the idea of fucking him to actually be ready to fuck him, because he wasn’t about to get romantic. Just in case he worked her clit with two flicking fingers. His other hand spread huge across her hip and held Laura right where he wanted her. Jon gave her a moment to get on board, then he started to row hard.
“Oh God,” she said in a husky voice. He knew she meant it. Jon pushed her facedown, flat on the mattress and followed onto her back.
“Ever dream about this?” he asked quietly, continuing to force himself inside her. “Ever think about me fucking you?”
“Yes,” she said in a playful tone.
He grunted with the effort of the next thrust. Laura did too. Jon was hard and hot, and one pussy served just as well as the next when all he wanted was to blow his load. He put a hand to the back of her shoulder, holding her against the worn bedspread. She mewed in reply. He sat up taller and ran his dick right into her target. He had no desire to make this last but at least wanted to give her something nice to remember him by. So he found that little spot that made her breathe out in tiny sobs and went right for it.
“Jonohmygod,” she moaned. He liked hearing his name so reverentially, didn’t matter who said it. It always turned him on. Jon got a little harder, a little bigger, making Laura feel even tighter around his cock. That and the sweet spot he was nailing - he was almost there.
Jon dropped onto her back, pushing hard with his chest and kissing her neck. “Let me hear you,” he commanded like she hadn’t been auditioning for a porn this whole time. Then he drilled her three quick times in succession, not allowing her to catch her breath. When Laura’s orgasm broke, the noise she made was more a growl than a scream.
That was it. Her body went creamy and he let his own slip. It was always best for him when the girl came first, it told him he was incredible and she worshipped him and he’d made her lose control. After that, his work here was done. Jon came fast and strong. That momentary release was bliss: he couldn’t feel or think anything else, just ecstasy.
“Fucking right,” he whispered into her ear. She panted beneath him. Jon stroked his cock into her until every last ounce of sensation was gone. Then he rolled off with a huff.
They always tried to cuddle. Jon figured the idea of being held by Jonathan Toews, naked in bed, might be more appealing to most of them than the actual sex. Laura came to rest against his side and he let her lay there, but didn’t reach out.
“That was great,” he exaggerated. “I wish I could stay.”
“You’re going?” Her eyes were wide, a little hurt. But she’d gotten it too good to muster any real disappointment.
“Curfew. I’ll probably be late and get in trouble as it is. But,” and this is where he always sold them, “you were worth it.”
She smiled. At her own dismissal. Jon dressed quickly, took a knee and leaned over her sprawled body with a goodbye kiss. Then he was gone.
____
Very nice! I love all your female characters and I can tell Fiona will be another great one. I think it was brilliant the way she handled the girl in his bed. That is a job I would not mind doing. And Toews as a manwhore -- love it!!
ReplyDeleteThis was a great beginning!
ReplyDeleteCan't wait to see where this goes :)
I agree with daroxygirl about Fiona.
Definitely not a way I've ever pictured Captain Serious, but I'm liking it! I'm liking Fiona too, she's sassy :)
ReplyDeleteOh my... LOVE the manwhore Toews (the stealthy operator) and I can tell I'm already going to love this story.
ReplyDeleteFiona sounds like a great character too and knows how to handle herself!
Can we guess how long it's going to take them to get together? I'm going with chapter 7.
THANK YOU for writing another JT story, you know how much I love him :)
Me gusta :)
ReplyDeletei love this story. I actually think this story is more in line with Jon's real personality than other stories out there about him. can't wait to see where this goes!
ReplyDelete