Wild Tendy (IceCats Book 2) Read online

  Wild Tendy

  The IceCats Series

  Toni Aleo

  Copyright © 2019 by Toni Aleo

  All rights reserved.

  Wild Tendy is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by: Lisa Hollett of Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  Proofing by: Jenny Rarden

  Cover Design: Lori Jackson Design

  Photo by: FuriousFotog

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Dump & Chase

  Also by Toni Aleo

  Acknowledgments

  About Toni Aleo

  To everyone who has ever doubted me, this book is for you.

  In this book, my characters overcome inner doubt—and the doubt of others. They prevail, they fight for their happiness, and they do it without apology.

  I hope that for you, as I hope it for myself.

  Foreword

  This book deals with a medical situation which has many variations. Please bear in mind that no one experience is identical and that I’ve made every effort to represent a unique issue accurately. Also, if you give me the ultimate reward of a review, please try to keep it as spoiler-free as possible. I want everyone to experience the plot as it develops. I hope you enjoy Wild Tendy. I happen to love it very much.

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  Chapter One

  Nico

  I love women.

  I know what you’re thinking—you’re not surprised. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, really good-looking—if I may say so myself—franchise and league-starring goalie. Ask anyone who is around the league, and they’ll say I am the best. My save percentage is the best hands down. Just look on my mantel, and there you’ll find the photo of me with the Vezina Trophy from when I won it this summer. It was a first for me, and I’m not even embarrassed that I cried a little. I worked hard for that fucking trophy. I wanted the Cup, but we were robbed.

  Fucking Nashville Assassins.

  Fucking Aidan Brooks. Such a douche nozzle.

  But none of that matters now. A new season has started, which means a new start. We have the arsenal needed to win the Cup, and we will. No matter what, I’ll get us that Cup. It’s number one on my goal list at home. A new season also means a new set of puck bunnies wanting all my attention. I, for one, will never deny them that. I’ll block every puck I’m physically able to, even some I don’t think I can, but I’ll never block an advance from a lovely woman. Nope, I love them way too much.

  I love the smell of them. The feel of them. A great ass and set of tits will bring me to my knees. A beautiful straight, white smile will make me harder than a frozen pipe. I love how good they make me feel. I love how they scream and squirm. The little noises that bring me to the edge. But most of all, I love their hair. I don’t know what it is about a woman’s hair, but it drives me wild. Especially when it’s fanned out across my thighs and my cock is so far down her throat, there is no way I can think of anything else.

  Not the sounds outside. Or the way the clock keeps flashing. Or so I thought… But, really, why hasn’t she set that clock? Why doesn’t she have an iHome or something? Who still has plain old digital clocks? It’s odd, but I wonder where she got it. It’s sort of retro. Neat, even.

  “You need to set that clock?”

  A pair of striking blue eyes looks up at me. They remind me of a certain someone who got away, which is why I swiped right for this sweet piece of ass. Around my cock, she asks, “What?”

  I lean back on my hand to hold my weight as I point at the clock beside her bed. “It needs to be set.”

  She removes my cock from her mouth. She licks her lips before setting me with a look. “If you’re worried about my clock, I must not be doing a good job.”

  I shrug. “It’s a distraction.”

  She draws her brows in, and those blue eyes deepen in color. A flush runs along her cheeks, down her throat. She really is beautiful. Real long and deep-blond hair, and I love the swelling of her lips. She reaches over me, her breast pressing into my taut cock, and yanks the plug for the clock out of the wall. She throws it over her shoulder, the crash making me jump a bit. The clock must have been cheap, because it shatters all over the floor. The light is gone, but now there are pieces everywhere. “Didn’t like that clock anyway, but I love how huge this dick is.”

  I know I should be more thrilled about her comment on how big I am, but instead, I’m worried about the pieces on the ground. I’m not a fan of mess, which is why I usually bring girls back to my place. After a few stalker issues, I had to relocate, and since then, I’ve found myself at hotels. This is the first time I’ve been to a woman’s house, and I don’t think I’m a fan.

  Don’t be weird. Just get off. That’s what you’re here for.

  I blink a few times and repeat that to myself as she drops her mouth back down over my cock. Ah, it feels good. I enjoy her mouth, and I’m soon proud of myself for letting go about the mess. Thank you, new therapist. I feel my eyes roll up in my head, and soon, I let my head fall back. I sense my load building. My stomach tightens as her nails dig into my thighs. My balls pull up, and this is exactly what I want. I want this release. I need this release. I start to explode, and at first, I don’t notice that she has come off my cock. But when I do, I shoot my eyes open just in time to watch myself come all over her neck and breasts.

  Don’t be weird. Ignore it. It’s fine. Some would say it’s hot… I’m not some, though.

  Ick.

  I self-talk, something I’ve been working really hard on. My therapist urges me to do this more often than I should, but it’s hard. Especially when my come is all over her. It makes my skin crawl.

  When I’m done, she grins up at me. “Man, you know how to come.”

  “Well, I’m a man,” I say offhandedly, and then I hold my breath because I think I know what she is about to do. I watch with laser focus as she grabs the side of her comforter and wipes her chest. I almost come out of my skin. She must have noticed, because she raises a brow at me in question.

  “I’ll wash it later.”

  My throat starts to close. “Are you going to use a wet rag for your chest?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re covered in come.”

  “So? Sex can be messy.”

  I hold up a finger as she crawls up into my lap, stopping her. “Key word, can. I’m not a fan.”

  “Are you a germ freak?”

  “Eh