Puck Novels & Stories

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The playful mood suddenly changed to a tempting mood. I looked into his eyes. “Arthur?” “Yes?” I smiled nervously. “Can I...” He waited. I took a breath. “Can I be the one in control this time?” Arthur's eyebrows rose. A slow smile appeared on his face. “Is that what you want?” I nodded. He stepped back, giving me room. “Then show me what you've got.” I stood up and held his trousers and slowly unbuckled it and the trousers fell to the floor..

His beautiful, carbon-fiber stick, the one he'd used for every game this season, the one his mother had given him for his twenty-fifth birthday—splintering against Sebastian's shin guard. Shards of composite material spun through the air like frozen confetti. The puck, knocked loose by the hit, slid past the defenseman's desperate dive. Past the goalie's outstretched glove. Over the goal line in a slow, mocking arc. Tie game. Three seconds left. The buzzer for regulation sounded before Damian hit the ice.

“You didn’t make Tara fall.” “Tell that to the whisper committee,” I mutter. Over her shoulder, Serene and the Hermione girl trade looks, the kind that say everything without words. Across the field, Coach Halford’s whistle splits the air. “Two lines. Puck control. What are we?” “One pack!” the team roars. Ronan taps Casen’s stick, mouth curved. I drag my eyes back to Sasha just in time to catch the little smirk she aims at me. “From the chorus,” she says too brightly. “Sell it. Loud. Five, six, seven, eight!”

I can already imagine the angry scowl on his face when he sees the puddle I’m going to leave on his chair because this tiny thong isn’t doing shit to keep me dry. I’m too busy enjoying my drink and thinking about how wet my pussy is to notice someone new has sat down next to me. I look over and see an older biker with one of the biggest guts I’ve ever seen on a man. He looks like the kind of man who used to have a lot of muscle when he was younger but then just made beer drinking his favorite pastime and it all went to shit. “Hey there. I’m Gus.” he says, lifting his beer to me in a toast. “I couldn’t help but notice you when you walked in and thought I’d offer to buy you a drink.”

Most of them have a word in common. "Tits... tits... tits... breasts, huh," I lift my eyebrows in surprise, this one particular hockey fan is very respectful, "He said, 'This broad has the best breasts I have seen. Good job, Kent' well, at least he didn't say tits. I'm going to like that one." Bram chuckles and I continue reading out loud. 'Who is she?' 'Puckslut' 'Are you okay to play again? Please say yes.' 'I missed you, I love you. She's not good enough for you.'

“Well, someone's all flared up. I can almost see how the hair on your neck stands out. Makes me start to think your wolf really is weaker. You're definitely not a beta.” “That is none of your business.” “The required rank to join hockey teams in this pack stops at Beta. You're not one. That's really shady. Really really shady.” And then, I heard the sound of the blade scratching the ice and the puck running out of my hold. I let out a grunt before turning around. My eyes stayed pinned on his backview. That bastard. I started skating hurriedly. I had to get back the puck and win. A lot was at risk.

The Pièce De Résistance was the pump she had hidden away in her hand, and when she squeezed it, fake blood shot out of the neck wound, showering those around her. “Ah, nothing.” Josephine smiled. “Great party, eh? What are you supposed to be again?” “I’m a rampant rabbit!” Steve beamed, flashing his nipple tassels and pointing to his bunny ears. “Oh god.” Josephine said in despair. “And it’s not even Easter…” Steve moved to the side of her, raising his smartphone in the air to take a photo. As he took the picture, Josephine squeezed the pump, showering him with fake blood.

I shoved the door open, expecting the silence of an empty suite, but I was met with the sight of Liam sitting on the edge of the mahogany table, tossing a hockey puck up and down. Liam had been my best friend since we were in kindergarten. We’d learned to shift together, learned to hunt together, and survived the brutal politics of the Moonstone social scene together. He was the only person who could look at me and know exactly how close I was to losing my mind. “You look like hell, Gid,” Liam said, catching the puck mid-air. He jumped off the table, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Where have you been? The campus i

"Our fated mate. Anyone has a problem with that, speak now or get off my team." Silence. Then one guy, tall with dark hair and a friendly smile, skates forward. "Damien," he introduces himself. "Right wing. Nice to finally meet you. These three haven't shut up about you for days." "Shut up, Damien," Seth mutters, but he's smiling. Another guy pushes forward. "Marcus. Defense. Welcome to the family, I guess." One by one, they introduce themselves. Most are friendly. Some are curious. A few look skeptical but keep it to themselves.

"Front and center. We’re running a simple drill. Get the puck from one end to the other and put it in the net. Your coaches and the cones are obstacles. Your job is to move around them while keeping possession of the puck. I don't care about who gets the rubber in the net. I care about how you get there." The objective sounded simply enough except when Coach blew the whistle, I realized it wasn't. The puck snapped from stock to stick as we pushed forward weaving between the cones and assistant coaches who kept shifting across our paths to force us to adjust. One second I had a clear lane ahead of