It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

20. Ryder

20

RYDER

I gazed down at Dakota.

She was already half asleep after I’d toweled us off. Now she was tucked in under my covers.

“If you’re not going to fuck me again, MVP hockey player,” she murmured, her eyes closed, “you’re going to have to carry me to my car.”

I nuzzled her neck. “I’m not letting you leave. You’re staying with me.”

She opened one eye. “You let girls sleep over after the second date?”

I smiled against her collarbone. “Just you, Dakota. I’ll even cook you breakfast.”

“Nooo, I’m cooking you breakfast.” She moved her hand and brought it down with a too-hard smack on my arm. “You deserve it. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. It’s like you’re not even real,” she murmured, kissing the nearest part of me she could reach.

I basked in her adoration, in the feel of being wanted, being desired.

Maybe even loved.

I played with her hair while she drifted off. I knew I shouldn’t say the words, knew the heartbreak that it would lead to, but she was asleep now, right?

“Dakota?” I whispered.

Her breathing didn’t change.

“Dakota, are you awake?” I kissed her softly. No change.

So I indulged it.

The fantasy.

“Dakota, I love you,” I whispered, “I love you more than anyone else in the world. You’re everything to me. I’d do anything for you. I’ve never loved anyone like you. Please be mine. I want you to be my wife. I want a family with you. I want us to be together forever. Say yes, say you’ll marry me. Say you’ll never leave me. Say you love me.”

“I stole one of your shirts.”

I turned around when Dakota walked up to the small kitchen island that looked over the living room the next morning.

She was swimming in one of my Icebreakers T-shirts.

A grin formed slowly on my face.

Her nipples hardened under the thin T-shirt fabric.

“Guess I did fuck the Arctic Avengers out of you after all.”

Her mouth dropped open. I used the excuse to pick her up and set her on the counter. Her arms wrapped around my neck as I kissed her. The soft T-shirt fabric came up easy, exposing the glistening slit between her legs.

“I can’t believe you can go again.” She moaned as I stroked her swollen pussy.

The moans she made against my mouth went straight to my cock. It grew hard in the exercise pants I’d worn on my run.

Dakota let me pull the T-shirt over her head and wrapped her arms around my head as I attacked her tits, her nipples hard in my mouth. Her pussy was swollen under my fingers as I teased her, stretched her opening, my cock growing harder and harder until I had her coming, grinding that swollen pussy all over my hand.

I wasn’t done with her. But I had the game tonight, shouldn’t give in and fuck her until my legs were jelly.

I’d just have her once. Had to make it count.

She panted as I spread her legs, groaning as I widened her, angling her hips so I could see all of the wet, dripping slash of her cunt.

“You gonna fuck me?”

“I just went on a five-mile run. I need to eat something first.”

“Asshole,” she hissed as I sank down into a crouch in front of her. “Cocky fucking asshole.”

The curses were swallowed up in a low moan from her chest as I trailed my tongue over the dripping slit.

Her pussy lips were smooth, the dark, pink heat beneath full of ridges that I traced with my tongue while she wriggled against me. I licked her swollen pussy until she was coming hot and wet all over my mouth and face.

“You taste so good.” I groaned, rising out of the crouch.

“Show-off,” Dakota gasped.

“That’s nothing.” I kissed her, made her taste herself on my mouth.

Her pussy was hot as I ran the bare length of my cock against it, teasing her, letting her grind her clit against the tip.

Though I wanted to take her bare, spill inside of her, start the family with her I’d always wanted, I fished out a condom.

“You don’t want to give me your cum?” Dakota leaned forward to slur against my mouth as I rolled on a condom.

I grabbed her tits, squeezing hard, making her yip against my mouth. “You don’t want to fuck with me right now.”

“Yeah, I do, I—” She shrieked as in one motion I yanked her forward then spun her around, shoving her against the counter.

She braced against the quartz as I forced my whole length into her tight cunt—the heat, the pressure excruciating as I thrust deep into her. “I’m going to fuck you just like this after I win the game tonight. Spread your tight little pussy,” I growled as I gave her my cock, “and fuck you while you scream the fight song. Then throw you down on the floor and fuck you again. You don’t know”—she shuddered as I gave her a hard thrust of my cock—“how good it feels to be buried inside of you.”

Her tits bounced against her chest as I fucked her harder than I had last night but not as hard as I’d fuck her tonight after the game.

“I know you can take it, little Icebreakers cum slut,” I growled as my balls slapped against her wet pussy. “You take a cock like such a good little girl.”

I forced her hips up so she’d arch her back, really let me pound into her cunt until I felt her clench around me, then she was coming, screaming my name as I churned into her, spilling into the condom.

Dakota let out a long whimpering moan that almost, almost , made me want to say to hell with winning the game and fuck her until I was exhausted. Instead, I sank my teeth into her shoulder, marking her for later.

“I bet you feel so good coming in a girl’s ass.” Dakota wiggled back against me.

I slapped her ass, making her squeal. “Now that I don’t do until marriage.”

She spun around in my arms, almost tripping over her feet. I caught her, cradling her as she pressed kisses to my bare chest. “Then you better marry me right now, Boy Scout.”

My heart shot straight up, blowing a hole in my chest and going supersonic through the ceiling.

Dakota wanted to marry me. We were going to get married. We were going to be together forever. It wasn’t in my head.

I leaned in and kissed her wildly. “Dakota, I need you to know I lo—”

She screamed. “Who the hell is that?”

“Uh…”

Four hockey players blinked in the doorway to my apartment, carrying bags of flour, packages of sausage, and cartons of berries.

I shoved Dakota behind me.

“Sorry, bro…” Mike said, backing away.

“We were going to make pancakes.” Erik held up his jug of maple syrup.

“There was a calendar invite?” Pete added.

“Out!” I hollered.

“What about breakfast?” Erik protested. “Coach said you need to carb load.”

“Fuck, Canada, get the fuck out.” Mike dragged them all out.

The door slammed behind my teammates.

I turned around slowly to grovel and apologize to Dakota. She was bent over, shaking.

“Dakota?” I reached out hesitantly.

But when she stood up, she was trembling with laughter. “Oh my god! They came over to make pancakes!” She wiped her eyes.

“That’s sort of our thing on big game days. Carb loading,” I explained.

She made a heart with her hands, leaning forward, her chin resting on my chest. “You are too pure. Bring them back in.”

“No way!”

“It’s game day, O’Connell.” She swatted my shoulder. “You’re supposed to be taking this seriously. This isn’t the beer league.”

“I don’t want to share you,” I said stubbornly.

“Hockey takes precedent above all else.” She wagged her finger at me. “Besides, I can make a mean pancake.”

Dakota sauntered to the shower. Grumbling, I grabbed my pants and jogged to the door, wondering if I’d catch the guys before they left.

“Geeze!” I yelped as I almost bowled them over when I rushed out of the door.

“Ryder, what are you doing?” Mike yelled. “You can’t leave a girl in your apartment alone.”

“She wants to make breakfast,” I explained.

Mike sighed, irritated. “No, she doesn’t. She’s trying to be nice.”

“Dakota’s a hockey fan. She insisted. She thinks I’m not taking my hockey career seriously enough.”

Mike slowly shook his head.

“I hope you have lots of carrots stocked for your new puck bunny!”

I turned on Erik, furious that he’d talk about Dakota, my future wife , like that.

The defenseman took a wary step away from me.

“All right, College Boy,” Pete murmured. “Save it for the game.”

I tried to calm my hackles.

“She’s not like that,” I spat at Erik.

“Okay, sure, man.”

“We’re going to get married.”

“Oof. Ryder.” Rick shook his head.

“No,” I said as Mike dragged me toward him and shoved me against the opposite wall in the hallway. “I swear I’m not delusional or making things weird. She mentioned marriage first . I think she loves me. She said she wanted to marry me. She said it. And now she wants to make us all breakfast.”

The door to the apartment opened. Dakota stuck her head out, toweling her hair. “You boys hungry?”

She looked at the jug of Canadian grade A maple syrup cradled in Erik’s arms. “You didn’t have to carry that over here. Ryder’s got some in the fridge.”

“Ryder’s fridge contains piss-flavored sugar water,” he said flatly.

“It’s Mrs. Butterworth’s,” Dakota scoffed. “Don’t do her like that.”

“You Americans are so crass.”

My teammates crushed through the doorway.

“Damn,” Dakota said when they were all crowded into the tiny kitchen. “Ryder, we gotta get you some better digs. This kitchen is too small.”

See? I tried to silently communicate to the guys. She’s already thinking about our future home.

Dakota tossed the wet towel over the door to the bedroom.

The guys all started in on her as Dakota deftly started mixing up a soupy batter.

“You need more flour in that,” Erik said.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“You didn’t go to culinary school, College Boy.”

“Neither did you, Canada,” Rick retorted.

“This is my grandmother’s recipe,” Dakota chirped. “Modified. She puts whiskey in hers.”

Erik made a strangled noise.

“So,” Mike said after a long awkward pause. “How was your date last night?”

I recognized the glint in Dakota’s eye from when she got into a fistfight with her own cousin at her family party two days ago.

“It was not a date,” I said loudly before Dakota could say something really uncouth.

“Buuut…” Rick said, eyes shifting from side to side. “But you guys…” He squinted.

“Oh,” Dakota said sweetly as she slapped sausage on the griddle. “I can understand how it would be confusing. Ryder has all these rules about dating. He’s like a bored 1950s housewife, but he’s adorable, and we love him.”

She loves me!

“See, the no sex until the third date isn’t a rule, just a manufacturer’s recommended guideline. The hard-and-fast rule is actually no coming up the ass without a condom until the marriage certificate is signed.”

Pete inhaled the blueberry he was eating.

Not missing a beat as she continued to whisk the batter, Dakota elbowed him sharply above his waistline, and the blueberry flew onto the floor.

“This is why we need a dog,” she told me as I tried to chase down the berry so I didn’t have to look at the guys.

“See? Marriage,” I hissed at Mike, who was rubbing his hand over his mouth.

I chucked the berry into the sink.

“Hey! Those are expensive.” Dakota washed it off, sliced it in half, and stuffed them in Pete’s mouth. Then in one swift motion, she scooped the sausage off to the side of the griddle.

“You need to mop up the grease before you… Oh no .” Erik hugged his maple syrup.

The griddle sizzled as Dakota poured out perfect batter circles into the hot grease.

“Aren’t they going to…”

“Taste like meat? A little salty and sweet?”

My face was hot.

“Soo,” Rick drawled. “When’s the baby due?”

Mike kicked him, but Dakota just grinned at me. “I think that’s also an only-in-marriage rule, right, Ryder?”

My heart sang. I didn’t care that I was going to eat meat-juice-soaked pancakes. Dakota wanted to marry me and have my children. How many would we have? She was one of six, so at least that many, right?

The first round of pancakes hit the plates.

“We have to eat a lot,” Pete said, rolling his eyes while I daydreamed. “But you don’t have to cook that many.”

Dakota hoisted the spatula. “I regularly cook breakfast for fifty. Hazards of a large family.”

Maybe eight kids? How many was too many?

I reached for the maple syrup. Erik yanked it away.

“You better go pour your high fructose corn syrup all over that monstrosity.”

“Shit,” Rick said around a mouthful of steaming pancake. “This is so fucking good.”

“Frying dough in pork grease built this country, my dude. You act like I made this up just to fuck with you.”

“You are an Arctic Avengers fan,” Erik said, sniffing his plate. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I think Ryder took care of that last night.” Dakota winked.

“My man!” Utah fist-bumped me.

“Fuck.” Pete shoveled the whole stack in his mouth, chewing furiously, and held out his plate. “Hit me, Mama.”

Dakota snorted and loaded up his plate. “You need to share that.”

Erik stabbed at Rick when he went for the maple syrup.

I shoveled the food in my mouth. The pancakes were really good, the best things I’d ever eaten.

Or maybe it was all the sex last night.

Or maybe that finally a girl not just liked me back but loved me back. And she was absolutely perfect.

“Eh?” Rick said in a fake Canadian accent as Erik chewed a small bite of pancake.

“All right, all right,” he said, opening the cap on the maple syrup. “It’s fine.”

He took another bite. “Okay, it is really good.”

Dakota served him up three more.

“So,” Mike said to her. “Ryder said you’re trying to get him to take his hockey career seriously.”

“He could easily play for a big-name team.” Dakota cut a sausage lengthwise and rolled it in a pancake while the next batch sizzled, dipping it in a cup of syrup.

“Witchcraft!” Rick whispered then copied her.

I sank in my seat, wondering if the guys were going to be mad. “I don’t think I’m that good.”

“Listen to him. He is,” Mike assured Dakota. “Coach made him captain after one game. And he was an eleventh-hour walk-on.”

“Coach said I was made captain because I have enough executive function to shave every morning and I can spell my own name.”

“I don’t know why you hockey players have an aversion to shaving.” Dakota crossed her arms.

“Well, in the Arctic Avengers’s case,” I said letting the smugness enter my voice, “it’s because they’re depressed we keep beating them.”

“Hell yeah!” My teammates whooped.

I smirked. “And that their women like it better when we eat them for a pregame snack.”