Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

33. Callie

33

CALLIE

“Callie! Callie!”

I hear Owen’s voice behind me, but I keep running.

I have to get out. This isn’t a panic attack or me overreacting. Spencer is here, and he has been watching me.

I can’t be upset with Kennedy, though. She never met him, and it’s not like I kept pictures of him on my phone. She has no idea who he is. If anything, I should be worried for her right now, but I’m in fight-or-flight mode.

I bolt out the main entrance of Pour Boys, shoving past the groups of people congregating on the sidewalk under the red neon sign, and dart around the corner of the brick building.

Only then do I stop running. Only then do I lean against the cool bricks and take a breath. Or several jagged attempts at one, at least.

Owen catches up to me, panting and with wide eyes. “Callie, hold up. Jesus.” He stops in front of me. “What the hell is going on? I thought we were having fun. I thought?—”

I shake my head, unable to fully form words at first. I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon. “I just… Take me home. Please.”

“Take you home? I don’t understand.”

“I want to go home.”

“But why? We’ve been having a great night, haven’t we?”

“Yes, but—” I’m gulping in air like water, and I can’t decide if it’s helping or I’m choking on it.

“Then why do you want to leave? It’s a game day party. We usually shut this place down. I can’t just?—”

“I’ll get an Uber then.” I pull out my phone.

Owen’s eyes lock on my shaking hand as I try in vain to pull up the app. Then his face softens. “Okay. Tell me what happened, and then we’ll go home.”

I don’t want to tell him.

That would require me telling the truth—the whole truth, and nothing but the ugly truth—about my past, which I am not about to do in the dusty parking lot outside of a bar. A bar Spencer is currently inside of.

The last thing we need right now is Owen splattering Spencer all over the dancefloor.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice comes out strangled, hopeless.

Owen chews his lips for a moment before accepting my words. “Alright, let's go.”

The car is quiet as we drive back to our complex. I watch the streetlights and cars as they fly past us. I gaze at the Houston skyline, thinking about how lovely it is where I live now. I look at people in crosswalks, dressed for a night out, talking and laughing.

I do pretty much everything but look at Owen.

He does nothing but look at me.

I can feel his eyes shifting between the road and my face. He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw is a reliable narrator. I know the curiosity must be killing him.

Once we get to the complex, we take the elevator to our floor. Owen puts his hand on my lower back, ushering me to our familiar crossroad.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight?” he rumbles, half-statement, half-question.

“Yeah.” My voice is small. “I guess it is.”

“Alright. Well. Have a good night then.”

Owen and I both pull out our keys. I am about to shove mine in the lock when my heart drops into my stomach.

What if Kennedy goes home with Spencer? I should warn her…

“You good?” Owen asks.

“Yeah, I just— Wrong key is all. I’m tired.”

I fake smile.

He fake smiles back.

… Or worse. What if Kennedy brings him home? Brings him here ?!

“Callie…?”

My chest is rising and falling, and I think I am going to be sick.

She can’t.

She wouldn’t.

She might…

Fast, hard footsteps on the staircase make me whip around. My heart is pounding so frenetically it physically hurts. I nearly gasp as the door to the stairwell opens. And out comes?—

No one I’ve ever seen before.

It’s just a group of guys screwing around—drunk, loud—but I find myself clinging to Owen anyway.

“Hey, hey,” he croons in my ear. “You’re okay. I got you.”

“Right.” I nod, but I’m anything but okay.

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. “What happened back there?”

“Nothing. I thought I saw something. Someone. It’s nothing.”

If I keep saying it, it will become true. This will go away.

“You sure?” he asks. “Because your spider monkey grip says differently.”

“Can I stay with you?” I blurt out.

“You mean…” His voice trails off, but his hold on me never falters. “You want to stay the night?”

Desperately. More than anything.

“Yeah.”

I expect more questions. Or maybe a snide comment. Something Owen-esque.

But his eyes just search mine before softening. “Yeah. You can stay with me.”

He opens the door to let me in. I stand in the foyer and breathe as he closes it behind us, locks the deadbolt, and fastens the chain. It smells good in here.

It smells like Owen.

He tosses his keys on the counter and goes down the hall.

I take slow steps deeper into his space. I’ve only been here a few times before, but I feel strangely at home. Weirdly comfortable. A moment later, he reappears with a pillow and two blankets.

“My couch is no Cali King, but I’ve passed out on it enough times to give it a three-star review.”

“So better than Super 8, but a far cry from Hilton?”

He makes the leather sofa into a bed. “More like a Holiday Inn. I have nice sheets and the pillow is cooling.”

“Fancy Pants Sharpe.” It makes him smile, and I’m glad about it. I’m still pretty embarrassed, so anything that deflects from my meltdown is good news in my book. “Sorry. For all of this. But also, thank you. For all of it.”

“Sure. I’m thinking a hot shower might feel good.”

I actually groan at the thought. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”

His mouth crawls into a grin. “I meant… for me.”

I blush, practically face-palming myself. Obviously, you idiot.

“ … but if you want to join me…”

I look at him in the dim light coming in from the blinds. His eyes are burning mischievously. There’s a beat of unanswered heat between us—because how do you respond to that?—and then he turns and makes his way down the hall.

“Door is open. Invitation is, too.”

I hear the faucet, the rainfall showerhead, and the unzipping of pants.

He can’t be serious. There’s no way he’s serious.

I peek around the corner. Sure enough, the door is cracked halfway open. Enough that I can see the reflection of him tugging his jersey up over his head, not to mention his pants hitting the floor.

The mirror is fogging quickly. Too quickly.

I swallow hard.

I can’t. I shouldn’t. I…

… want to.

A moment later, my feet are carrying me down the hall.

My hand is pressing the door open farther. The skin-colored silhouette of him behind the steamy shower glass, flexing as he lifts his arms up and runs his hands through his hair, is enough to make my shorts wet.

I undress completely, my clothes falling into a pile next to his, and quietly slide the door open. I slip in behind him. He turns around, and I see him in all his glory—toned quads and biceps, rippling abs, and hard… well, everything.

His eyes are still closed as water streams down his face, but I can’t help myself. I press all of me against all of him, kissing him urgently.

I need this. To smell him, feel him. I need to be reassured by how strong and solid he is.

Owen moans into my mouth, his hands sliding down my back, cupping my butt in his palms. I stand on my toes to push the kiss deeper. His cock, which has never been more ready to go than it is right now, presses into my clit. Just the hint of pressure is enough to ignite a fire, and I moan, too.

“God, you taste good,” he says huskily, his mouth still on mine.

“You feel good,” I whimper.

“Oh, yeah?” Owen pulls back enough to look down at me. “I bet I can feel even better.”

Before he can do anything, though, I grab his hands in mine and take a step back. “Not… not yet.”

Gingerly, I lower myself to my knees.

Owen watches, his solid chest rising and falling. His abs tense even more. Slowly, I kiss him. Just the tip to start with. It’s a subtle, barely there brush of my lips, but it’s enough to make him suck in a breath.

“Jesus, Callie. You’re going to end me.”

“Not yet.” My voice is a purr. Because the only thing better than running this man over the edge is dangling him slowly off of it, not quite letting him fall.

I point my tongue, dragging it slowly down the length of him.

“Fuck me.” Owen braces his hands on the tile wall and the glass door.

“If you’re lucky,” I say softly.

Owen lets out a gravelly laugh. “Girl, you better tread lightly.”

“You mean like this?” I glide my tongue back up his cock. Owen’s jaw goes slack as he tilts his head back. I can feel his knees wanting to give out.

I take him in, sucking, teasing, pumping. The tension is building inside of him, hot and ready to break. But before it can, he pulls me to my feet and presses me to the wall.

His mouth crashes into mine as he leans against me hard, his hands tugging at my hair before finding their way down to my breasts. His thumbs circle my nipples, teasing. I squirm under him, whimpering in his mouth.

“How does it feel to be teased?” he asks. “Hm? Do you like it when I make you squirm?”

I want to answer, to shoot something back at him. The push and pull is half the turn-on. But before I can, he thrusts his hips into mine, grinding our bodies together.

“Fuck!” I gasp.

Owen grins devilishly. “Are you going to come for me before I’m even inside of you?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Tell me what you want, Callie.” He presses his forehead to mine, his hips pulling away just enough to keep me from the edge.

I’ve forgotten all the rules. All the shoulds and shouldn'ts. Everything that has happened and anything that could.

I just know what I want right now.

Need right now.

Owen stops everything and looks at me. And without hesitation, I answer him: “You.”

That’s all it takes. He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around him. His strong arms hold me up, and I feel him inside of me.

Both of us let out a groan.

I tangle my hands in his hair as he presses me to the wall again, thrusting in and out of me. It’s slow at first. I can feel the friction of every inch of him inside every inch of me.

Then he picks up the pace. Hungrily. Mercilessly. I dig my fingers into his back, arching my own, until both of us plunge off the cliff together.

No second-guessing.

No worry about the earlier events of the night.

No lines.

No regrets.