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  Filled Potential:

  Stag Brothers Book Two

  By Lainey Davis

  © 2018 Lainey Davis

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Individuals pictured on the cover are models and are used for illustrative purposes only.

  Many thanks to Nicky Lewis, Doodle , and Keith G for editorial input.

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  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  One

  JUNIPER

  There's nothing like the pull of the oars on the river at sunrise. I'll never grow tired of this feeling, alone in the water, just me and the current. I was a girl on fire this morning. I pulled out a 10k in record time. Probably because I'm so excited about my job offer. I was fairly certain I'd get offered a position at the firm where I interned my last year of law school, but nothing is ever certain until the ink is dry on the contract.

  I feel so proud of myself as I slip back into my sandals on the dock before hoisting my boat above my head, carrying it back into the spot I rent in the boathouse. I pay more to house my beloved scull than I pay Zack for rent. I don't feel too badly about that, though, because his parents have been paying the lease on our apartment for years.

  I wonder for the thousandth time why I'm still with Zack. As I walk toward home, I hear my father's concerned voice. Juniper Jones, I didn't raise you to settle. All through college, Zack was just…safe. Between my training for crew and trying to graduate early, I didn't have much time to devote to relationships. I fell into an easy rhythm with Zack. He was a year older than me, but we graduated at the same time and moved in together into the apartment along the Charles a few blocks from his father's investment company where Zack now works.

  As I walk home, I think about how I've been wanting to move. Somewhere maybe closer to my new office. We could find a middle ground, a place that's really just ours, now that I won't be living off student loans. My mind is adrift with possibility as I mount the stairs to our townhouse on Sparks Street. A light in the front room is on, which registers as strange this early in the morning, but I throw my keys on the table and head upstairs. I'm quiet so I don't wake Zack. He's not a morning person. Stopping in the bathroom to turn on the shower to warm up, I walk toward our room and strip out of my sweaty clothes, tossing them in the hamper.

  I'm not sure what makes me look up, but I do. I look at our bed and see Zack sitting in it. Next to a naked woman with the covers pulled up to hide her breasts. Zack looks stunned. The woman sneers at me and says, "Are you planning to join us then?"

  Two

  TY

  I stare at my name on the contract, watching as the black ink dries on the page. The background noise of the restaurant fades out as I look at the papers on the table. My brother Tim sits across from me, grinning from ear to ear. "Welcome home, little brother," he says, rising to fold me into a hug.

  Well, he doesn't really fold around me. I'm probably twice the size of him now, and I remind him of this. "You can barely get your arms around me these days, dude." But not even a tradition of goofing around can overpower the emotions I'm feeling right now.

  After years playing with the Vancouver Blades and then festering back in the minors, I've been signed by Pittsburgh. Hockey has taken me all over the world and now, finally, it's bringing me back home. This time with a hefty raise and a multi-million dollar, air-tight NHL contract. My brother represents the players' union and worked with my agent to fine-tune my contract. My agent Matty, the execs from the Fury, and Tim all took me up on Mt. Washington to sign my contract with their idea of a celebration dinner: fine dining with a sprawling view of the city from the glass windows of Le Monte. "I can't thank you enough for this, Timber," I say, looking into his eyes.

  Tim's looked out for me and my brother Thatcher ever since our mom died in a car accident when I was 9. Our dad never got over it and has basically been drunk ever since. Tim took over as our parent. Enforced our curfew, made sure we kept our grades up. All that shit. Now he's making sure I'm treated right, and I'm grateful to him.

  I shake hands with the suits from the Pittsburgh Fury before they head out, leaving me with my agent and my brother and our rare steaks.

  Matty, my agent, starts talking about arrangements. I got called up pretty late in the season, but career ending injuries for other guys mean life-changing opportunities for me. As my brother reminds me, this is my chance to get my shit together, rein in my temper, and play some fucking hockey. The Fury are in the Stanley Cup playoffs and my contract has me starting practices this coming Monday. I haven’t even moved my shit out of my apartment in Canada yet. I'm getting bored already with this meeting. I want to really celebrate. I nod along as Matty explains how he'll send in some professional movers to pack up my personal shit and ship it over here. I'll have to get all new Fury-branded gear anyway, so I don't need much more than the Armani suit I'm wearing. "Matty," I say, clapping my hand on his shoulder. "I'm 100% certain you'll take care of everything and whatever you miss, my brother here will clean up." I stand up. I need to get out of this place, to celebrate and live a little. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'm going to find some fans."

  I slip off my tie and jacket and hand them to my brother. He shakes his head as I walk out of the fancy-ass restaurant, shouting after me to “wrap it up, Ty! I’m serious!” My brother knows me well. There's only one thing I want on an evening like this, and that's a firm pair of tits in my face while I'm balls-deep in some pussy.

  I walk along Liberty Ave until I find a club where the bouncer recognizes me and sends me inside with a nod. I slide up to the bar, order myself a top shelf tequila, and almost immediately, a smoking hot chick winds her way through the crowd, straight toward me.

  Three

  JUNIPER

  This is so unlike me. I don't wear short, tight dresses. I don't wear high heels; I don't go to nightclubs. I also don't move 600 miles with two days' notice, accept a job after a phone interview, or put french fries on my sandwiches. And yet, here I am. This is New Juniper. Pittsburgh Juniper. Doesn't-take-shit-or-tolerate-cheaters Juniper.

  That morning I found Zack in bed with that woman, I threw on a bathrobe and walked right back out of the house--I didn’t even stop for my shoes. One of my crew teammates, Lisa, lives close by the house I used to share with Zack and I crashed at her place while I made frenzied phone calls. She, as it turned out, has a brother who works for a law firm in Pittsburgh. They do sports law, had just landed a contract with the local NHL pla
yers union, and needed to bring on new attorneys pronto.

  I had an interview with Tim Stag, the owner, over video chat. He offered me the job and actually smiled when I negotiated extra PTO instead of a higher salary than his initial offer. Like I explained to my Boston rowing team, I'll move just about anywhere that's got a river and a boathouse. But I'm not going to give up the regatta circuit and I need plenty of vacation time if I want to race with a women’s team.

  Lisa and her brother, my new colleague Ben, actually reached out to the rowing club in Pittsburgh for me. He doesn't row, but he knows from his sister that crew is a tight community. They hooked me up with a lead on a furnished apartment down the bike path from their boathouse. I didn't even go back to my townhouse to get anything. Fuck it. I can afford new clothes with the salary Stag is paying me. Everything I really cared about was already stored in the boathouse in Cambridge. I just packed it all up, strapped my boat to my roof rack, and drove to my new home without looking back.

  For the first time in years I feel like I’m making the best decision for me. Not the safest. Not by a long shot. But this job feels like it’s got growth potential and it felt good to walk away from that cheating slimeball.

  There's only one thing left to do to cleanse myself of that entire experience with Zack: I need to fuck someone else.

  Zack was my first and only so far. I'm 24 years old. I've always done everything just like I was supposed to do it. Stayed a virgin all through high school. Kept good grades all through undergrad and dated the first guy who asked me out after we met studying at the library. I didn't even sleep with him until we'd been together for a year. I realize now he probably only accepted that because he was probably fucking other women the entire time. Who the hell gets a booty call at 6 in the morning anyway? I try not to think about the logistics of him fucking someone else during my morning row.

  Tomorrow, I'll meet my new rowing team and take out my frustrations on the Allegheny River. Tonight, I've decided to get laid. I probably could sleep with any number of guys from the boathouse. But that would get messy and complicated and I'd have to see them again almost daily. I want someone whose name I don't even know. Some cocky, attractive asshole who isn't interested in my number. Sex has never been that great for me anyhow, so I figure anyone will do. I just need for Zack's dirty dick not to be the last one that's been inside me.

  I straighten out my too-short skirt, smooth down my short, inverted bob, and walk into the night club. I take a look around until I spot my target. Over by the bar stands a massive man who looks cocky enough that he won’t want to talk to me again after tonight. He must be at least 6'3", without an ounce of fat on his firm body. I can see the muscles of his shoulders filling out his shirt and immediately want to run my fingers along his arms. I don't bother to look away when he sees me staring at him. He's got a messy crop of dark hair, but striking, grey eyes. The way his designer clothes hug his body tells me he appreciates nice things. He'll do just fine, I decide, and walk right up to him.

  Four

  TY

  This chick moves with absolute confidence. It's like she parts the crowd with her attitude. People seem to move out of her way as she glides straight toward me. I can tell from her toned, tan arms that she's in great shape. She’s solid--not skinny, or fragile. I like a girl with meat on her bones, and this girl has it stacked in all the right places.

  I sip my drink and watch her walk, noting her defined quads beneath a tight, black tank dress. When she stands in front of me, she's almost as tall as I am, which throws me a bit, because the women I fuck are usually so short it's hard for me to do them standing up. This chick is in heels, but I'd guess she's 5'10" in her bare feet. I run a hand through my hair and decide she will be just the right size for just about anything.

  She holds eye contact with me as the bartender asks what she wants. Not moving those liquid brown eyes an inch, she says, "I'll take whatever he's having."

  I give her my best smile, the one with two dimples, and tell the guy to stick it on my tab. This is going to be interesting. I raise my glass to her and say, "What should we drink to?"

  She frowns, thinking about it, and says, "The Steel City and new adventures." We clink glasses and she downs the shot. No salt, no chaser. Just belts it down and doesn't even cough. She's used to good tequila I guess.

  I realize that she's not here with anyone, which is unusual. Chicks usually move around in groups to ward off jerks like me who just want to fuck them. "You're here alone," I say, eyebrow raised.

  "No," she says, signaling to the bar tender for another shot. "I'm here with you." And damned if that doesn't make me hard in an instant.

  We spend another few minutes in a weird sort of silence that isn't quite awkward, but not quite comfortable, either. This chick doesn't do small talk. She also seems to have no idea who I am, which is unusual in a club like this. A lot of the pro athletes in Pittsburgh come here to unwind. I can see a few football players surrounded by women on the dance floor and over on couches in the VIP area. Hell, a few of my new teammates nod at me as they head off to dark corners with a scantily clad woman on each arm.

  "So," I start to ask, touching her arm. She doesn't bristle or move away, but she doesn't lean into me, either. "You wanna dance?"

  She shakes her head and grabs my hand. "What I want is for you to take me someplace private and fuck me."

  My eyes go wide and I look around. Is this chick for real? I mean, I'm totally down to fuck, but I don't usually get offers like that. I have to work a bit harder, even with the puck bunnies. Most of them want a little dancing first, at least. Some sort of pretense that we're not going to just go screw our brains out and then part ways. There's something really different about this girl, but I don't think she's drunk.

  She doesn't seem high. "What gives, sweetheart? Are you for real?"

  Her eyes flash and I can tell she's fired up about something. "I'm as real as they come. Now are you going to fuck me or should I find someone else to do the job?"

  Hm, so she wants an angry fuck, I think. Well, if it's got to be somebody, it might as well be me, I decide. I pull her hand and walk toward the VIP bathrooms. I tip my chin toward the bouncer standing discreetly in the shadows as I push open the door. The bathrooms here are singles, each one a separate room with a door that locks. Habitual chivalry kicks in and I hold the door open for…shit, I don't even know her name.

  She walks in ahead of me and as I close the door, she crashes against my chest. Her mouth is on fire against mine, pleading and desperate. I sink my teeth into her plump lower lip and I love the tortured little moan that escapes her throat. I twist the lock on the door and get to work with Jane Doe, sliding one hand along her ass and bringing the other slowly up to cup her tits.

  Her body is firm and muscled. I love the feel of her against me, those thick thighs wrapped around my leg. She opens her eyes and I think I see a flicker of doubt, but then I start circling her nipple with my thumb and her face melts into pleasure. "You like that?" I keep my voice low and she nods as I tweak her nipple into a firm peak. I like watching this chick respond to my touch. I dip my head to suck on her breast, my tongue soaking the fabric of her thin dress. She thrusts her hips against me, her hands digging into my shoulders as I go to work on her chest.

  God, even her tits are firm. What the hell does this chick do to work out? I shake my head a bit to resume focus and then move a hand down her chest, rubbing her pussy through her dress. Everything about her body is so firm, and I fucking love that, but what I really like is how she's so into this. She seemed really angry back at the bar, but I can tell she is as turned on right now as I am. I can feel the heat of her arousal, the damp cloth of her dress as I press my finger against her slit. I can hear her breathing fast as I begin to slowly, slowly circle her clit with my thumb, but I see in her eyes that her mind is wandering. No fucking way is she going to think about something else while she's fucking me. I'm going to be the only thing she can think about. I'm goin
g to take over her mind as I make her body explode with pleasure. I move one hand to lift her skirt. I slide a hand between those hot thighs that she spreads wide, straddling my leg. My fingers reach her slit and--"Holy fuck, baby. No panties?"

  She looks me in the eye again, those dark eyes almost black, her pupils are so dilated. She slides her hand down my chest toward my cock and says, "I told you. I came here to fuck." She struggles with my belt, trying to get my pants down in a hurry.

  "Easy now, beautiful." I take her wrists in one hand and spin us so she's pressed against the white tile wall. "See that mirror over my shoulder?" She nods and I start to stroke her clit. She is sopping wet, slick with arousal. "I want you to watch yourself come on my hand, and then you're going to come on my cock." I slip a finger inside her, then another. She's into it, and it's making me very, very hard as I pump my hand in and out of her body. But soon I feel her attention drift again. Fuck that. When her eyes lose focus again I kiss her, pulling back to say, "Eyes on me, then. I'm going to watch you come."

  Five

  JUNIPER

  What is he doing to me? Nobody has ever done anything like this to me before. As soon as my thoughts slip away to Zack and how his pitiful ministrations were nothing compared to this, my Romeo grabs my chin and forces me to look him in the eye while he fucks me with his fingers.

  He's got my wrists pinned above my head against the wall and I'm totally at his mercy here. And I fucking love it. He's taking charge of this entire situation, so confident. Everything he's doing feels like a custom move designed to drive me wild. He is literally stirring my body into a frenzy with his long, thick fingers. God, if his fingers feel like this, what will his dick be like? Zack always fumbles around in his own rush to climax without much skill at getting me there, so I usually let my mind wander off. But this feels so good. I want to be here, in the moment. This is new to me. I never feel focused like this except when I'm rowing.