Grumpy Puck

14. Calliope

Chapter 14

Calliope

W hy am I returning his kiss? I should push him away, but my hands draw him so close that I feel his chest hair tickle my naked collarbone, and it turns me on beyond any logic or reason.

As if picking up on my vibes, his kiss becomes deeper, rougher, and his tongue penetrates my mouth exactly the way I want his cock to?—

Oh, yeah.

He rips off my pajama tank as if it were made of tissue paper, then captures my right breast with his callused hand as something big and hard presses against my belly through his boxers.

Very big and hard.

My mouth literally waters.

Panting, I wriggle out of my pajama shorts and underwear, then snake my hand into his boxers.

Because I have to feel it. I may die if I don’t.

He groans as my fingers brush against his cock. And I almost groan too because it feels like silk and steel, all hard and ready and so, so thick. So utterly magnificent.

“I want it inside me,” I gasp, wrapping my hand around it just as he groans again and swoops in for another all-consuming kiss.

Lips locked to mine, he splays me on my back and gets on top of me.

Yes! I feel his boxers sliding down.

“Finally,” I moan into his mouth before I guide his cock into me, luxuriating in the blissful stretch as his head pushes in.

He releases my lips to grunt in pleasure, then slowly thrusts deeper, allowing my body to adjust to the invasion.

“You’re so soft,” he growls. “And so wet for me.”

I barely hold back another moan. “And you’re hard. And?—”

He suddenly stiffens, his eyes going wild. “Condom. I completely forgot.”

I grab his ass because I’m going to die if he pulls out. “I’m clean and on the pill.”

“Oh, good. Me too.” His cock gets even harder inside me. “Clean, that is.”

“Then stop getting distracted,” I pant and pull him toward me, getting that cock so deep it hits a bundle of nerves I didn’t even know I had.

My eyes roll into the back of my head.

He thrusts into me faster and faster, hitting that same spot.

Oh, my God. Toes curling, I come with a scream.

“Good, ptichka .” His voice is a low rumble in my ear. “Give me another one.”

Another one?

He pistons into me harder as he slides his hand down to my sensitive-from-orgasm clit and presses on just the right spot.

I cry out as a new tension crests inside me. “Michael! Oh, fuck, Michael…”

When the orgasm lands, it’s so powerful I see white behind my closed eyelids and feel ecstasy streaking through every nerve ending. It feels like the pleasure tears me apart and then puts me back together again, but I’m changed in some ineffable way.

Michael groans as my muscles spasm around his cock, and I feel the hot jet of his release inside me. Another mini-orgasm blasts through me, causing me to space out for a second. Or several minutes. My sense of time is as fuzzy as Mr. Bloom right now.

Distantly, I feel Michael pull out and step away. He returns a moment later and cleans me up with a warm, wet washcloth. At least I think that’s what he does. I’m too drained of energy to be sure. I’m just glad I’m on my back already because I can’t move a muscle now.

Yawning like a contented rat, I let myself drift into sweet sleep.

I wake up to an angry growl that I will not compare to that of an angry bear because a promise is a promise.

Opening one eye, I see that Michael’s ire is directed at the clock on the nightstand, of all things.

“Something wrong?” I reluctantly open my other eye.

“It’s eleven-thirty.” His tone is grim.

Oh. “But the game is at twelve,” I say reassuringly. “We’re not that far. I think we’ll make it if we hurry.”

He turns the angry gaze from the clock to me. “My routine is fucked.”

“Routine?”

“A healthy breakfast and then a pre-game snack. Hydration. Warm-up. Taping sticks.” He leaps from the bed, gloriously naked. “There’s no time to give you the whole list.” He hurries into the bathroom.

Shit. Whoever came up with the phrase “rude awakening” probably had Michael in mind. Everything he’s just said implies that his getting up so late is somehow my fault, when in reality, he’s the one who didn’t let me sleep.

Even when I slept, I had crazy wet dreams.

Unless… Oh. I’m sore.

That very vivid dream involving the best sex of my life either happened for real, or I’m still asleep.

Michael and I need to talk. Pronto.

I leap to my feet, throw on a robe, and rush to the bathroom door.

It’s locked.

I knock furiously.

“Give me a fucking minute!” Michael roars from the inside.

Shit. I also have a job to do at the game.

Grabbing my suitcase, I yank out the vacuum-sealed mascot suit and pull on the leggings and sports bra I’m going to wear underneath. Then I take out the food for my rats and allow them to have a feast.

Michael is still not out.

I exchange a worried glance with Wolfgang.

Meine Liebe, if you want anyone’s cooperation, you have to weaponize that slice of cheddar.

“No,” I tell Wolfgang. “The cheddar is for later, a treat for your performance on the ice.”

I’m pretty sure Wolfgang understood that because his eyes glint with anticipation.

Striding to the bathroom door, I bang on it with all my might.

“One second,” Michael snarls.

“I’m also running low on time!” I shout. “I won’t even have time to put on my outfit if you don’t come out.”

“So put it on now,” says a growl from inside the bathroom.

“I’ll look ridiculous on the way to the stadium.”

“Not my problem. Should’ve thought about that before oversleeping.”

Fine. This won’t even be the first time I’m furry in public. Also, he’s fake-dating me and will have to walk in with me, so we’ll both look ridiculous.

Sighing, I unseal Mr. Bloom and get inside him—but save the headgear for after I brush my teeth because priorities.

Finally, the door opens, and Michael steps out.

As I take him in, all angry words die on my lips. Somehow, he’s gotten more handsome overnight, though it’s possible that my perception has been altered by those orgasms he gave me. And his shoulders have gotten broader. Even his eyes look blacker, and the white in them whiter.

Wait a second. The skin around his eyes has never looked this smoky before, and I can’t believe that even the best orgasms would make me see that . It’s exactly as if?—

“Are you wearing black eye makeup?” And how is it that said makeup makes him more masculine?

“It’s not fucking makeup,” he growls. “It’s war paint.”

Not bothering to ask him what the difference is, I ask, “Isn’t that cultural appropriation?” Unless… did ancient Russians wear war paint?

Michael narrows his eyes, and the war paint makes him look feral as a result. “Batman does this. Why can’t I?”

Batman? Oh, right. The Dark Knight had to wear similar eye makeup to cover the white skin around his eyes while he wore his cowl. But… “What for?”

He takes a menacing step toward me. “The best game I ever played was after a fight where I got two black eyes. Now when it really matters, I do this to help my chances.”

Overwhelmed by his nearness—and bigness—I step out of his way. “So you wouldn’t let me into the bathroom because you were too busy with a silly superstition?”

His reply sounds exactly like the roar of a certain wild animal that I promised not to compare him to. “I’m late.” With that, he strides for the suite door.

“Wait!” I shout.

“What?” he barks over his shoulder.

“We need to talk.” I dart a glance toward the bed. “About what happened.”

“We shouldn’t have done what we did,” he says bluntly and steps out of the room.

I fight the urge to run after him and yell about just how much I agree that what we did was a mistake. But I can’t. If I want to make it to the stadium, I need to hustle.

Fuming, I brush my teeth. Then, just to make things worse, stupid nature makes a call, so I have to take off my suit to take care of it.

As soon as I’m back inside Mr. Bloom, and Wolfgang is perched on my shoulder, I give my mirror self a quick pep talk, then take the bear’s head and stomp into the hotel corridor.

As I approach the elevator, I see a cheesecake awaiting pickup from housekeeping, one that is missing only a single slice.

“It would be a shame to let food go to waste like this,” I say to Wolfgang.

Meine Liebe, a cake made of cheese sounds like mana from the heavens.

“You can’t have this. Sorry.” I press the elevator button, put on my headgear, and grab the cake. “According to research, sugar is more addictive to a rat’s brain than cocaine.”

Wolfgang chirps.

Meine Liebe, now I have a craving for a cake made out of cocaine and cheese.

The elevator opens and the elderly couple inside examines my outfit and rat with barely suppressed smiles. In the hotel lobby, some people even chuckle, but when I get outside, no one seems to bat an eye. Everyone acts like clown bears carrying cheesecake with rats on their shoulders are as normal in New York as sky-high rent.

Once I get to the stadium, the security let me through without so much as a blink.

Interesting. I guess if I were a crazed fan who wanted to get into the game without a ticket, all I’d have to do is get myself a mascot suit.

Spotting a big clock, I put a steadying hand on Wolfgang and start running, pushing aside the hockey fans in my way, all to everyone’s amusement.

“Hey,” Coach says when he spots me. “Your custom skates are finished.” He gestures across the hall. “They’re on the bench in there.”

I walk into the room in question with widening eyes. It’s a locker room for women. Who knew such a beast existed in the world of hockey?

Because I’m in a rush, I set down the cake and quickly slide my feet into the skates. They fit snugly and perfectly, just like Michael’s cock in my pussy.

Even when I come out, my cheeks still burn, so I’m glad for the bear’s head that hides them from Coach’s view.

“Let’s hurry,” he says when I come out with the cake. “You’re on.”

He leads me to the rink, and I’m grateful for all my earlier practice because seeing so many people in the stands is unnerving, to say the least.

“Hold this.” I give Coach the cake. “It’s for later.” More specifically, for when I see Michael.

Gliding out onto the ice, I ignore my hammering heart as I start my shtick with the mascot dance.