Chapter 28 - Hunter
I t’s no secret that the ice is my happy place. I’ve been skating since I was three years old and playing hockey since I was six. But ever since Oliver came back into my life, even the place I’ve deemed sacred has been tainted. Nowhere is safe from him. It’s not that he’s here and making me feel uncomfortable. No—he’s just in my stupid mind all the damn time. And I can’t seem to get him out. That’s not normal, considering this is where I come when I want to drown out the noise. Instead, the noise is drowning me now.
Three days have come and gone since I’ve talked to him—too long, in my opinion. I’ve seen him in passing, usually in the evenings when he gets home with dried paint up to his elbows and a soft smile on his face. He seems happy, and that’s making me itch all over. He doesn’t get to be fucking happy while our mom is six feet under. I don’t want him to have that stupid smile on his face.
Don’t even get me started on the stunt he pulled the other morning, walking around with his big dick out like the place belongs to him. Even Malia gave me an earful about how well endowed he is, even more than me. That doesn’t bother me—what bothered me was hearing him jack off in the bathroom. The fact that I became one with the bathroom door is what pisses me off. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even fucking breathe. In fact, I did hold my breath, just so I could hear him better. And then he finished, and I—well, it didn’t last long enough. Fucking hell, I wanted more. And I hate myself for that. The cum on the shower wall only reminded me of how fucked up I was for wanting more.
Tonight will be different, though.
I’m throwing a party at the apartment. Something low-key, considering the place is small, but people will still show up because I’m the hockey captain. It doesn’t even matter that the hockey house has more space. This was my middle ground with the boys—to throw parties here occasionally, and in exchange, they’d leave me alone and not hassle me about moving back in. I don’t want to live at the hockey house. It’s party central. Honestly, the thought of being pressured to interact with people right now makes me want to throw up. That’s why Dad decided to rent me an apartment off campus this year, so I could have time to grieve on my own terms. Without having to pretend everything is fine—or having to force myself out of bed every day when I’m not ready to.
I haven’t told Oliver about the party yet, and I don’t think I will. Maybe if he comes out of his room to find a crowd, he will finally get the hint and go somewhere else. Leave me in peace. I doubt it, though. Knowing him, he’d probably join the beer-pong crowd and destroy everyone. He’s always been so fucking good at it—unlike me.
“You good?” Connor asks me. “The net is that way, you know.” He points slightly to the right just as my puck bounces off the boards and rebounds back to me.
With a tight smile, I roll my eyes. “Never better.” I pass the puck back to him. “My head’s just somewhere else.”
“Oh?” Connor smirks. “It wouldn’t happen to be about a cutesie blonde you’ve been fucking around with?”
“Yeah.” I lie. “Except it’s gone a little too far.” Not a lie.
“How?” Connor shoots the puck toward the net, and our goalie, Grayson, evades it and lets it in. Connor doesn’t like that, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. “I thought you were fine.”
“Yeah, until she started discussing getting married and having babies,” I reply dryly. “I’m trying to get picked up by the NHL, bro. I’m not ready to settle down.”
“I feel that.” Connor laughs, “Girls get too clingy when they’re almost done with college.”
Malia is a senior, too, and apparently ready to settle down. It wouldn’t be this concerning if I were in the same mindset, but as it stands, settling down with her threatens to give me hives. “I think I’m gonna break things off with her.”
“For real?” Grayson interrupts, his eyes widening. “Haven’t you been with her like forever?”
“A year.” I shoot a puck, and he catches it in his glove. Fucker. “So what? It’s not working out.”
He whistles, “Heartless.” And Connor joins him in laughter.
We’ve been playing together for years now, and these guys have become an extension of myself. At least Connor has. He’s my pair—my other half. We’re both defensemen for the Riverdale Lions, and we’ve been playing together since our first year. Grayson, on the other hand, takes a while to warm up to people. We’ve known each other since freshman year as well, except he’s a little more shy until you get to know him—like he has a wall of ice built in to keep everyone out. He’s barely just defrosted this year, and now he’s the biggest jokester of the group.
“Can we stop laughing about my love life and shoot this shit?” I almost growl, but that makes them laugh louder.
Grayson sniffs loudly, like he’s in tears over this, “What love life, bro? That shit is pathetic.”
“Alright.” I shake my head. “I’m done.”
I skate away, taking off my helmet and shaking out my hair—which is sticking to the back of my neck with sweat. Thankfully, the locker room is nearby, and I make it out in record time.
As soon as I’ve showered and changed, I head to class. It’s one of those days where I don’t want to do anything except go back to bed and cry, but that means I would have to run into him at some point before I can go back into my room, and that causes the thought to die a quick death.
So much for grieving in peace.
It’s been one hour since the party started.
One hour, and Oliver is flirting up a storm with one of the forwards on my team, Dylan. We don’t usually play in the same line, so we don’t interact that much, but goddamn it, it’s the fucking principle. Why would he fuck with my brother? Is he trying to piss me off? Because he sure as hell is accomplishing it.
I look away from them, focusing on Malia as she straddles my lap on my small sectional couch, but it’s impossible not to think about them. They may be playing beer pong together, but it’s evident in their body language that they can’t wait for the game to be over. Dylan had better not try something stupid with Ollie because my patience is wearing thin today, and the last thing I need is for it to snap. It would be a shame to ruin his fucking face. Then again, if I do, Ollie won’t look at him anymore.
Under the Influence by Chris Brown plays in the small apartment, vibrating the walls. Malia lowers herself onto my jean-clad cock and rubs her cotton-covered pussy over it shamelessly, and I frown. Doesn’t she know we’re in public? What the hell is she doing? But when I look up and Dylan is cupping Oliver’s face, I suddenly don’t give a fuck about what Malia is doing. And when Oliver grabs Dylan’s hand and walks toward the back hallway with him, looking over his shoulder at me—fucking taunting me—I see red.
I grab Malia by her hips and hoist her off me, placing her on the cushions next to me. I’m sure she’s confused, hurt, pissed, or a combination of them all, but I genuinely don’t care enough to stick around and find out. I’m on a mission right now—to find out what the hell my brother is up to. And why the hell he’s taking Dylan to his room?
Don’t be stupid, you know why.
No. I refuse to believe he would stoop that low.
But is it stooping low if I’ve shown him time and time again that I’m done with him? That I want nothing at all to do with him? I guess only a masochist would stick around and keep trying, and while Ollie doesn’t give up easily, I highly doubt he likes the pain I put him through.
Before I know it, I’m headed toward the hallway, except someone wraps a tiny hand around my bicep, clawing at my skin with her nails. Fuck, not now. Malia pulls me toward her, and I go willingly, turning to face her. But she quickly approaches me, grabbing my face and pressing her lips to mine. I grimace, pushing her away softly, but her nails dig into me. What the fuck is she doing?
I finally manage to pry her off, and she frowns at me. I’m sure I have one to match hers, and I shake my head. “What the fuck is your problem?” I ask her.
“ My problem?” Malia scoffs. “I don’t see how getting laid is a problem.”
“I don’t want to get laid right now.”
“Do you ever?” She asks, “It’s like your dick stopped working.”
“ Working ?” I choke out. “Maybe you’re the fucking problem, Malia.” If you can’t make me come, then who can? Wait—don’t answer that.
“You know what?—”
“No.” I shake my head with a loud laugh. “I’m not doing this. We’re done, Malia. You’re right. Maybe my dick doesn’t work anymore. But I think it’s because of you.”
I’m officially a bigger asshole than I was five minutes ago.
“Fuck.” She seethes. “You.”
I give her a sad look.
But it doesn’t last long, because I turn around and?—
Someone is tugging me toward the beer pong table in the middle of my living room, but I don’t want to play. So I shake my head, rip my arm from his grasp, and head toward the hallway. It’s loud between the party and the music, and I try my hardest to strain my ears the closer I get to the door, but it’s useless. I can’t tell what’s happening behind the closed door—though it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure it out.
I take a deep breath and push past some bodies in front of the bedroom door, shielding it with my body as I open it, then quickly closing it behind me. They don’t even startle. In fact, they don’t stop at all. It takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing. But when I do, my fists clench at my sides, and I have the urge to fucking kill someone.
Oliver is lying on his back, his legs spread wide open for Dylan as he fucks his ass. Oliver’s hand is wrapped around his own cock, stroking quickly, and he fucking moans ?—
I shake my head, eyes zeroed in on the Prince Albert piercing that is attached to my boy’s cock. Then, suddenly, Ollie’s moans get louder, and Dylan groans and grips his thighs and I?—
Fuck this.
“Oh, fuck,” Ollie groans. “Right?—”
I grab Dylan’s hair and pull him off Ollie, throwing him on the ground. He scrambles to get back up, and I notice that, thankfully, he’s wearing a condom. At least Oliver has half a fucking brain.
“Bro, what the fuck?” Dylan growls, getting up from the floor and squaring up to me.
“Don’t fucking touch him,” I reply in a low tone as I back him up toward the door until his back is flush against it. “Or I’m going to have to ruin your face. And I bet you won’t like that.”
“Why not?” He frowns. “He was liking it just fine.”
“I don’t give a fuck what he likes. He’s—” Mine . “Done with you.”
Ollie seems to snap out of whatever he’s doing, then growls, “You have no fucking right!”
“I have every right.” I snap, then look at Dylan. “Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see your stupid face again tonight.”
Dylan nods, “I’ll see you later, Ollie.”
“Don’t get any more ideas about fucking my baby brother.”
“I’m not your baby anything ,” Ollie says, but he’s cut off by the sound of the door slamming. “What is your damn problem? You don’t want me yet won’t let anyone else have me either? How pathetic of you and?—”
“Get up,” I tell him, grabbing his boxer briefs from the ground and throwing them right at his face. “Put them back on.”
“No.”
“Put your fucking clothes on.” I take a deep breath in, my nostrils flaring with the effort. I do my best to keep myself in check, but Ollie’s cock is still hard and standing long and proud against his abdomen. I lick my lips and glance away, trying not to focus too much on the curved barbell running through the head of it. “Now.”
“Or what?” Ollie taunts and my eyes snap back to his icy blue ones. He raises an eyebrow at me and spreads his legs, running his fingers over his hole, and my eyes trail the movement. Motherfucker. He’s such a brat .
“Or I swear to fucking God I’ll take you over my knee right now.”
Ollie smirks, his full lips mocking me. “Whatever you say, daddy.”
He pulls his boxers up his muscular thighs, and once he has them on all the way, I drag him out of bed and grab him by the arm, my grip tightening. “We’re fucking done here.”
I open the door to his bedroom and push people out of the way, looking for my doorknob, which is hidden behind a sea of nosy ass fuckers. Oliver struggles to get out of my grasp, and I tighten my fingers even more. When I finally get to my room, I shove him onto the bed.
“What the actual fuck was the point of that, Hunter?” he chokes out, his voice hoarse as he discreetly buries his face in my pillow. “Why am I here?”
Because I want you in my room.
My bed.
“Go to sleep, Oliver.”
“The fuck I will.” He laughs, getting up from the bed. But I’m too quick as I push him back down onto it and straddle his hips. “Get off me.”
“You don’t actually want that, do you?”
He freezes under me, then drops his hands to his sides. “I can fuck whoever I want, Hunter.”
“We’ll see about that,” I whisper, lightly wrapping one hand around his neck. His pulse hammers against my fingers, and I grin. I hate how fucking weak he makes me, how demented. Insanity is the only explanation for why I’m lowering myself to his face and running my nose over his cheek. “You know you wish it was me instead.”
Oliver snickers at this—at me.
“Nah, pretty boy.” I inhale sharply, taking in his vanilla cupcake scent. “ You wish it was you.”
But we both know he wants it too, if the ridge of his hard cock digging into my ass is any indication. “Does daddy know his boy has a pretty little cock piercing?” I’m genuinely curious about how he got it. How it feels. How it would feel down my throat and?—
He grins and speaks softly, “You think it’s pretty?”
A grin slips free, and I want to slap myself for it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
We both stare at each other for what feels like forever, to the point where his blue eyes dilate as he observes my face. I try to ignore it—the need coursing through my veins—but it’s fucking impossible, and I can’t tamp it down no matter how hard I try. That’s why when his hands cup my face, I close my eyes. His lips are so close, only a breath away. I could press forward a few centimeters and close the space between us, and I almost do—I swear I almost do. But instead, I pull his hair back and yank him away.
He drops back onto the pillow with a whimper that goes straight to my dick, and I try my best to appear unaffected. “You’re not that lucky, Oliver.”
My dick twitches, and I know he feels it because suddenly he’s grinding his dick against my ass like his life depends on it. I feel myself thickening, my cock straining painfully against the zipper of my jeans.
Fuck.
“Alright,” I growl. “That’s enough.”
I get up from the bed and adjust my dick so no one can see how hard I am, and stop with my hand wrapped around the doorknob. “Don’t fucking come out again tonight.” Then I open the door and leave him behind.
Everyone goes silent as soon as the door opens, and I narrow my eyes on them as I close it behind me. “The fuck are you all staring at?” Everyone just stares at me, unmoving. “This is a party, so fucking party.”
Rather than talking to my friends, I walk over to the couch and rest my head back against the cushions. And this is exactly where I still find myself, hours later, even after the party is over. As I close my eyes and try to get some rest, all I see is Ollie grinding against me. All I wonder is how it would feel to have his piercings against my tongue, down my throat.
God, I’m so fucking fucked.