It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

18. Ryder

18

RYDER

“ D idn’t you spent five hours on the ice already today?”

“That was work. This is fun.”

“You’re so wholesome.” Dakota kissed my nose, my brow, my mouth. “Ice-skating in the Christmas market.”

“Since it’s not a date,” I told her, “I think we can be clichéd. Besides, the rink is really beautiful. I love skating outside. They have it decorated, and there’s a big Christmas tree in the middle.”

“I haven’t been to this rink since I was a teenager,” Dakota said as we approached the sparkling outdoor rink. People in coats and gloves skated around in slow circles, around and around like the music box one of my foster moms had kept on her dresser that I wasn’t allowed to touch.

Dakota did a double take when I pulled my skates out of my bag.

“Oh my god, you come here to show off, don’t you?” she joked. “This is your thing.”

“I’m not that self-absorbed. They don’t carry my size.” I asked Karl, the skating rink ticket guy, how his niece was doing as he ran my card.

“It says two hours,” he told me, “but you know I let you stay as long as you want.”

“So you’re like the Christmas market mascot,” Dakota said as she laced up her ice skates on the bench next to me.

I clocked the shape of the skates.

“You’re a figure skater.”

“Mildly. My sister played hockey growing up. I wanted to be a princess.” She stepped into a glide on the ice, skimming over it, motions fluid as she skated in circles around me.

Her arms drew close to her sides. Her balance shifted, then she did a perfect double loop.

“Still got it!” She whooped as she glided past me, arms outstretched.

I clenched my teeth together before I could gush about how it was going to be so much fun to take our children here skating with us.

Dakota skated backward in front of me. “Turns out being an ice princess does not pay the bills, and I had to go get a real job.”

“Do you like Manhattan?” I asked her as she dipped into a slow, elegant spin in front of me.

“For now. It’s not really the place you want to be if you want to have any sort of family life, I don’t think. Unless you have a shit ton of money.” Her body unfolded, and the spin slowed. “I’m not ready to move back to Maplewood Falls yet. Keep thinking I’ll meet the man of my dreams in Manhattan.”

“But they’re all nightmares?” I asked, not able to keep the edge of possessiveness out of my voice.

Dakota let her momentum carry her into my arms, and we spun around on the ice while I kissed her.

“Nightmares would at least be exciting and give you stories to tell at cocktail parties. These guys are all just blah,” she whispered when we came to a stop. “Unforgettable. Boring. Benignly crappy. Not like you. You’re…” Her brown eyes flicked up to mine. “You’re pretty awesome, actually.” She punched me. “Ow!” She shook her hand.

I kissed it.

“And that’s without you even fucking my brains out.”

I hissed as she slid her hands down my chest.

“Someone wants dessert before the meal.” I grabbed her wrists before she could get any lower. “This is a wholesome Christmas market experience.”

“And I want to unwrap my Christmas present early.”

I was about to lean in to kiss her again when yells of surprise sounded around us.

People slipped and fell on the ice, arms windmilling. Children cried, and Dakota cursed as something made its way through the crowds of people on the ice. Then a big, wet, furry, wiggling gray mass launched itself at me, sending me sliding back on my skates.

“Down. No, Dasher.” The huge husky puppy thrashed in my arms, tail wagging furiously as he greeted me with snow-wet kisses and tried to crawl on my shoulders.

“He wanted to say hi!” Dakota laughed breathlessly, a hand clasped to her chest.

“How did you escape?” I scolded the dog as I skated him over to the exit, his tail thumping against my leg.

Unlacing my skates, I kept one hand on Dasher as he rolled around, licked my face, barked happily at Dakota, chewed on my pants, and tried to steal food from a man watching his kids skate.

“Okay, buddy,” I said to the dog, hefting him in my arms again once I had my boots on. “We need to find your owners.”

As we headed up to the information desk so they could page Dasher’s new dog mom and dad on the sound system, Steph from the animal shelter saw me and jogged over.

“Dasher!” She scolded the dog.

“He slipped his leash,” Dakota explained. “We were about to make an announcement for his owner.”

Steph scratched Dasher behind the ears. “He ate his new family’s Christmas presents and all the cookies and got sent back. You didn’t even make it forty-eight hours before you got returned.” She pitched her voice higher as she talked to the husky.

“Dasher,” I chastised the dog.

“He’s lucky he didn’t need surgery after eating all that.” Steph snapped the leash back on his harness. “Ryder’s already paid for you to get ladies underwear pulled out of your stomach once.”

“I shouldn’t laugh, I’m sorry.” Dakota giggled, petting the dog’s furry head. “But, Dasher, my god, man, you gotta get it together.”

“Hopefully, someone else wants a puppy for Christmas,” I said as Dasher tried to chew on Dakota’s gloves. “No,” I told the dog firmly.

He sat at my feet, ears down.

Steph pursed her mouth. “I’m really stretching the limits of what I can call a puppy with him. Soon you’re just going to be a young adult dog,” the shelter worker warned Dasher, a speech she and I had both given him before. “You’re running out of chances. No one’s adopting an eighty-pound, ADD, adult male husky.”

The dog whined when Steph tried to lead him away.

“Aw.” Dakota looked sadly at the forlorn dog, who was howling the song of his people, drowning out the Christmas carols and any possibility for anyone in a half-mile radius to hold a conversation. “He doesn’t want to go.”

I scooped up Dasher, and he immediately stopped howling.

Steph sighed. “I know you both live in apartments, but you don’t happen to know anyone who wants to adopt an untrainable husky?”

“I don’t think he’s untrainable. He just needs a lot of work.” Dasher tucked his big head under my chin. “I’ll carry him back to the adoption event for you,” I offered.

“Actually, could you take him back to the shelter?” Steph pleaded, wincing when the husky started howling again. “He’s disruptive. You know the key code.”

“Poor Dasher.” Dakota cooed to the dog as I carried the whimpering husky through the Christmas market. “Here. We’ll buy you a treat so you don’t feel so sad.”

“You shouldn’t have thrown out that reindeer meat,” I deadpanned.

“It smelled like three-week-old possum,” Dakota said flatly. “Dasher’s been through enough.”

I shifted the large dog in my arms while Dakota went up to a stall to buy him a snack.

People wandering by slowed down, curious why someone was carrying a husky like a baby. A crowd formed around me. Once they realized I played for the Icebreakers, I started getting requests for autographs and tips for playing against the Frosthawks tomorrow, and a number of people wanted to ask me about the stalker.

“An old woman,” one girl narrated as her friend filmed on her phone. “Ryder, is that really true?” she asked, “or is it a cover-up?”

“All true, but a bit of a misunderstanding. It all worked out,” I said, unable to stop a smile. “I’m dating her granddaughter now.”

Dasher’s ears perked up, and his tail went crazy announcing Dakota’s arrival.

“Someone wants a treat.” Dakota unwrapped the roast beef sandwich she’d bought him.

“You need to eat that slowly,” I said as the dog took a big bite, swallowing without chewing.

“That’s what she said,” Dakota whispered in my ear.

“You”—I picked her up by the waist with my free arm, making her giggle—“have a filthy mind.”

“Good luck at the game tomorrow!” a couple people called to me as I carried Dakota and Dasher through the Christmas market.

“Fuck the Icebreakers!” Several drunk guys broke into a chant. “Artic Avengers are gonna fuck your shit up next weekend!”

A police officer on a horse shouted at them to save it for the sports bar or the ice rink.

“Don’t you want to stay and get in a brawl?” Dakota laughed as I carried her and Dasher back to the car. “You can put me down.”

“I like carrying you,” I said, setting her down only when we were at my car and I could kiss her easily, though Dasher used it as an opportunity to lick her face and beg for more sandwich.

“Only if you don’t howl in the car,” Dakota told him. He hung over the back seat, panting on my neck.

“Stay,” I told the dog.

He lay down in the back seat.

“Good boy!” Dakota fed him more of the sandwich.

The dog started to get antsy again when I parked in the shelter parking lot.

“Oh, he doesn’t want to go,” Dakota cried as I opened her door then opened Dasher’s, grabbing him before he could run for freedom.

“Buck up, buddy.” I soothed the shaking dog as I carried him inside the shelter. “I told you, you can’t be showing up at a new home and ruining Christmas. You need to be a good houseguest.”

The husky whined.

“Oh my god.” Dakota was teary eyed. “He’s so sad.”

“He’s doing it for attention, aren’t you, boy?” I playfully grabbed the husky’s big head.

Dakota tearfully fed him the rest of his roast beef sandwich.

“You need to chew that,” she said, her voice catching as he gulped it down.

“I’ll come by next week,” I promised the dog. “And take you for a walk, okay?”

Dasher barked, noisy in the empty shelter. All the other animals were out at the Christmas market, hoping to be adopted.

“Poor Dasher.” Dakota gripped my arm as we headed out of the squat shelter building. “How are you not distraught about leaving him there?”

“Oh.” I laughed. “I’ll see him on Monday. I come by a few times a week and play with the dogs for a few hours—walk them, run them through some basic commands. When Dasher’s in doing time, I take him out on a very long run with me. Get my cardio in and help him burn some energy.”

She looked up at me, eyes shining. “You do?”

“Yeah, I like to come walk the dogs. They need the exercise and the socialization,” I said as we headed back to my car. “The shelter is underfunded and always understaffed. They barely have enough time to manage the cleaning let alone trying to socialize all the dogs. But to have the best chance at a forever family, the dogs need to be family ready.”

“Okay, that makes me feel better.” Dakota exhaled, the grip on my arm relaxing.

I pressed my lips to her hair, decorated with snowflakes, cool against my cheek.

“I guess I’ll take you back to your car,” I said, cranking the engine, Christmas carols filtering softly around us.

I leaned over to kiss her again, her mouth lovely and familiar.

She grabbed the collar of my jacket, putting me off-balance so I was almost on top of her. The noises she made, the way she strained up against me—I should have pulled back, reminded her that this wasn’t a third date, but her skin was soft and warm under the sweater.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Dakota warned when I leaned back. Her eyes locked on mine, she pulled off her sweater. Her bra was red and lacy, with little white snowflakes.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore how tight my zipper was. Her breasts were amazing. I wanted my hands, my mouth, my face all over them. “We didn’t have the third date yet.”

Her legs parted.

I was boiling hot. I shrugged off my jacket as Dakota inched up her skirt.

“You know my cousin?” she purred, “Well, she likes to knit, and she made these tights for me.”

The skirt inched higher.

My shirt came off. Worth it to hear Dakota make that noise like she’d just bitten into a soft, warm Christmas cookie.

“She said they’re legwarmers because she wasn’t a good enough knitter to figure out how to make actual tights.” A stripe of creamy skin appeared. “She put these ribbons on to keep them up. I thought they were the stupidest thing she’d ever knitted until now.”

Blood pounded in my head as I used every shred of willpower to croak out, “But I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“And I want you to take me in the back seat of your truck.” Her breath hitched as she stroked herself through the lacy red panties.

That was enough to snap all my willpower, to obliterate my self-control.

“And to be fair, that was”—she gasped as I gave in and pressed my face to her breasts—“honestly the best date I’ve ever been on.” Dakota arched against me as I sucked her breasts through the thin lace.

My hands cupped her face to I could kiss her, slid down to her chest to knead the soft mounds of her breasts.

She coaxed them lower to the heat between her legs. The scrap of lace there was soaked.

“That’s all for you, Boy Scout,” she whispered against my mouth, moaning as I rubbed my knuckle against the soaked fabric.

I wanted to dip my head to taste her, let her feel my tongue against the wet slit.

Her nipple was tight and pink when I slipped it out of the cradle of lace, hard under my tongue. The soft moans she made went straight to my uncomfortably tight pants. It was playing with fire, but I eased my zipper down, biting back a groan of relief.

“Let me see you,” she gasped.

I stroked her harder, through the lace between her legs, feeling like I was breaking a thousand rules when my fingers slipped under the fabric. It was worth it for the way she ground against my fingers, seeking the pleasure I gave her.

“Oh, that’s good,” Dakota moaned, drawing out the words. “You’re so good.”

She grabbed my wrist as I slipped two fingers inside of her, and my balls seized at the look on her face.

“What I want to know,” she gasped as I sucked on her breast, “is do you fuck like you play hockey?”

I shot back, knocking my elbow against the steering wheel. “I’m not going to do this with you in my car.” The words came out in a low growl.

Dakota let out a string of expletives. “Fuck you. You better fuck me. I cannot wait until whenever this fucking mythical third date is happening. You have me half-gone already. I thought you were a gentleman.”

In the quickly darkening light of the late afternoon, Dakota shifted in the seat, her legs splayed, her breasts out, proud on her chest, her clothes in disarray, her hair around her face. She looked like an image in a porn magazine that one of my crappy older foster brothers had shown me on family number thirteen or fourteen.

Her head tipped back as one of her red-painted fingernails slipped under the band of lace.

I grabbed her wrist before she could start stroking herself, forcing her hand above her head.

“Don’t,” I snarled softly against her mouth, feeling her jump against me. “Cover yourself,” I said brusquely, biting back the rest of the sentence.

Before I drag you into the back seat and give you exactly what you’re asking for.

I put the car in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. Dakota fussed with her clothes while I drove, my foot heavy on the gas until I realized I was going over the speed limit.

Her panting breath in the dark, the smell of her in the car—it was literally making me salivate.

“You can’t just leave a girl with coal in her stocking,” she murmured, trailing her fingers down my bare chest. Her fingers that were moments ago between her legs, in her—

“Santa’s supposed to come down the chimney on Christmas.” Her hand cupped the bulge under my open zipper then moved back up my bare abs to my chest.

My teeth ground.

The fingers that smelled intoxicatingly of her trailed under my jaw to my mouth.

“I’m driving.”

Dakota huffed, crossing her arms next to me.

The taste of her lingered on my lips. I wanted her. I wanted her more than I wanted anything, more than I wanted to get adopted, or a puppy, or to win the playoffs.

It was dangerous, this wanting. I knew I shouldn’t, knew I should take her back to her car, send her home, concentrate on the game tomorrow, give her a chaste kiss goodnight.

That would be the right thing to do.

But what had doing the right thing ever gotten me, really?

You do the right thing because it’s the right thing.

“You know,” Dakota said, her voice husky in the dark. “I’m going to make myself come tonight while I think about you. I’m going to stroke my clit and touch my tits while I imagine it’s you there, watching, telling me how you’re going to flip me over and fuck me like one of your puck bunnies as you—”

Dakota screamed, thrown back against the window as, tires screeching, I wrenched the wheel, doing a sharp U-turn in the middle of the street.

“What the hell?” she gasped out. “Where are we going?”

The engine roared.

“Ryder, did you fucking lose your fucking mind? Let me out of this car right now if you’re going to drive like a maniac.”

I floored it, sparing one glance over to her in the dark. “I’m not letting you out. I’m taking you back to my place so I can bend you over and fuck you.”