6. Riley
CHAPTER 6
RILEY
TWO YEARS LATER – PRESENT DAY
The locker room is buzzing with energy and adrenaline. It smells like blood and sweat, but damn does it smell good.
Pre-season is starting off strong with a total knockout. We annihilated the Thunderbirds. Even did it without all hell breaking loose, though I did get a penalty for an illegal check when one of the other team’s forwards tried to play dirty with my goalie.
That’s gonna earn me a lecture, but it’s worth it seeing the heated gaze Griffin throws at me while he’s half undressed at his cubby. What can I say? The man likes it when I’m rough and gritty.
Coach gives us the spiel, the “good job but don’t get cocky” speech that we all snicker at. For two years we’ve been on the up and up, improving but falling short, and we have to have faith that a play like this one is a sign that we’re finally ready to pull out on top.
“How's your leg?” I plop down on the bench beside where Griffin is standing with a towel wrapped around his waist. Both of our skins are flushed red from the showers, but the way his eyes trail over me says that’s not the only thing making his blood run hot.
“Just a little bruised.” He shrugs, and I peer at the growing purple splotch on the side of his knee.
The guy that tried to fuck him up landed a nasty hit with his stick and was sent to the sin bin but not before we had to pull Griff to get him looked at. He was back on the ice shortly after, with a renewed energy to not let a single shot light the damn lamp.
“He’s lucky Coach threatened to bench anyone who started a fight.”
Griffin snorts because—yeah—he’s usually the hot head of the team, abandoning his post to get a good shot in, but I swear I saw red the moment that player flew into the crease.
“Down boy,” Griff rasps under his breath with a chuckle.
The thing about needing to both blow off steam and adrenaline is that the thing I need is a foot away but entirely out of reach because it’s not common knowledge that we’re together.
Hawks comes over to clap Griffin on the back and shove my shoulder, insisting we all go out for drinks, but what I really need is an excuse to get both of us out of here.
My phone pings from the shelf in my cubby, and I reach for it with a flicker of an idea. It’s nothing special: a message from my brother, Parker, about Dad’s insane practice schedule over the summer. That’s what he gets for choosing an interest in football knowing our father is a former NFL hopeful turned high school coach.
It doesn’t matter, though. I scroll down in my contacts until I find the one I need. It pings with a follow up message from my brother—more groaning because that’s what pre-teens are best at—but I swipe away to open the new chat.
“Texting your girlfriend already?” Hawks laughs, and I don’t miss Griffin’s little frown.
“Of course. Gotta tell her how good of a game we played.”
“Damn right we did!” Hawks fist pumps the air and he steps around to take his turn at the showers. Cap tends to wait until everyone is accounted for before settling down and relaxing himself.
Griffin pulls his phone out just as it buzzes in his pocket, and when he checks the screen his cheeks turn a handsome shade of red. He curses and ducks his head while I throw a hoodie on and hold my phone up.
“Going to make a call,” I shout to the stragglers. “I’m not responsible for what you overhear.”
Some of the rookies snicker and chuckle because they assume I’m off to have phone sex with my girlfriend, and my buddies roll their eyes with a grin because they know that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Just not with who they’re assuming.
I walk a little ways down the hall out of the locker room, then make myself comfortable propped against the wall and give my contact a call.
“Hey,” Griff’s breathless voice comes down the line.
“Hey baby.” I smile at a few of my teammates as they filter out. “Thinking about you all roughed up and sweaty.”
“Could come in here and get up close and personal with it.”
I chuckle at the strain in his voice. “Baby boy,” I say, keeping my voice low, a warning.
“Imma need you to dick me down, stat,” he says, far too confident for being surrounded by teammates. “All this testosterone is making me hot and horny.”
Little tease.
“Behave or I’ll send you to the showers to jerk off alone while I listen.”
Griff’s husky groan sounds like pure filth in my ear, and I wonder if he’s rubbing himself to relieve the pressure behind his briefs.
“You know I’m hard as hell right now?” His voice is quiet and filled with lust. I love that I have this effect on him.
“Mhm.” With the hall clear, I give my own dick a firm stroke over my clothes, making sure Griff hears just how turned on I am. “I’ll take care of you at home, baby.”
“You can’t take care of me now?” His tone is teasing but honest. He’s made no surprise out of the fact that the thought of fooling around in the locker room gets him hot, but I’m not willing to risk getting caught.
“So impatient,” I snicker and lower my voice. “If you get in the car and start prepping, I’ll let you play with my dick until we get there.”
I hear a gasp and a curse, and then the door opens to a glaring, flushed Griffin stomping down the hall. I slip my phone into my pocket and fall in line beside him unable to suppress my grin.
“For someone who doesn’t want to be outed,” he grumbles as I rub a hand over his ass and give it a quick squeeze, “you’re sure bold about touching and taunting me.”
The cool night air hits us, and before I drop my hand I smack it against his ass like that was my intention all along.
Someone whistles, and we both turn to see Rory leaning against the building with a lollipop in his mouth. Likely waiting for Mashburn.
“Taking loverboy to his boyfriend’s again?”
I resist the urge to put an arm around Griff and snarl like a rabid dog, and Griff must sense my restraint because he grins.
“Damn right he is. Locke gets hot as hell when I kick ass, so it’s going to be a loooong night.”
Rory laughs and waves us away. I always park in a more desolated area of the lot for reasons just like this: so I can crowd Griff against the passenger door, a hand on his hip, and lower my lips to his neck to suck a rough, claiming hickey.
“Fuck,” he moans with a dark chuckle. “The whole decoy boyfriend thing was your idea; you know that right?”
I graze my teeth over his earlobe, and he rocks his full, tight ass against my hardening dick. “Doesn’t mean I don’t hate the thought of someone touching what’s mine.”
His eyelids flutter, and he smiles sweet before tossing his head on my shoulder and turning his face for a kiss. It’s risky, but I cup a hand over his cheek and claim his needy mouth.
“Guess you’d better get me back and lay claim or I might forget.”
I nip his chin and step away, smacking his ass before rounding to the driver’s seat of the car.
As we drive down the road, the urgency that was thrumming between us dissipates. The need stays strong, but when Griff looks over at me with his goofy, win-drunk smile all I can bring myself to do is reach over to take his hand in mine and bring them to my lips.
“Getting sentimental on me, Easton?” His tone is teasing, but his eyes reflect the same mess of emotions tangled up in my chest.
To tease him back, I bring his hand to my lap and place it over my hard cock. “I’m still going to dick you down when we get home, baby. Humor my foreplay.”
Griffin laughs carefree and boisterously, squeezing me through my slacks. “As long as you fill me up, foreplay as much as you want.” He winks, and I resist the urge to pull off the road and kiss that little smirk off his lips.
“I’ll remember that when I’m on my knees getting you nice and loose with my tongue.”
Dirty talk has never been a forte of mine, but since discovering that it turns Griff to mush, I’ve been practicing—no matter how embarrassed it makes me.
Griff squeezes his fingers around my dick and throws his head back.
“I played my ass off tonight. Don’t I deserve a reward?”
My heart swells as his too long, dusty brown hair falls into his eyes. Ones that soften as I take my hand and draw my fingers through the strands. “Play this good tomorrow, and you can have whatever you want, baby.”
God, do I mean it. I’ll give this man anything he asks for as long as he’s smiling at me like that.
Except for one thing.
My throat nearly seals itself shut, and I focus my attention back on the road.
Two years seems to be my relationship track record, and that would put us at the end of our rope. I refuse to believe it, though, because we’re still going strong.
We play together like a dream, and afterward our apartment is filled with heat and tender caresses.
There’s no signs of danger on the dirt path to our hideaway together.
Nothing except for that pesky yellow tape with “You’re My Secret” sprawled across in permanent marker.
“Fuck.”
Griff is bent over the kitchen counter, fingers white-knuckling the edge as filthy rotten sounds fall from his lips.
In his defense, we’ve been home for twenty minutes, and I’ve spent a good fifteen of that stretching him open with my fingers and tongue.
“I really, really need you to fuck me, Easton.”
I chuckle at his impatience and trace my tongue up the seam of his crack while I stand. His shoulders shake as I pepper kisses over them, tapping my dick on one round ass cheek.
The very first thing he did when we got through the doors was strip us both of our clothes. I’ll be missing pieces of that suit for the rest of the season.
“Lucky for you, I really, really need to be inside you.” When I chuckle, he winds an arm back to tangle in my hair.
“You enjoy taunting me too damn much,” he mumbles but I lick into his mouth and quiet his protests.
It takes no effort at all to notch my dick at his entrance, the soft flesh caving at the slightest pressure. A moan slips from Griffin’s lips, soaked up by my tongue as my hips rock slow and steady, filling him with every inch of me.
“Oh, fuck. So good.” Griff’s head falls back on my shoulder, hands gripping the countertop and neglecting the thick erection nestled angrily between his thighs.
The coconut oil on the counter serves to make the glide in and out of his ass a blissful one, but as much as I love torturing him with slow and sweet, what we both need is something a little more vulgar.
I dig my fingers into his hip until he hisses through clenched teeth, gripping him around the back of his neck with the other, waiting as he widens his stance and bears more of his weight on the counter.
“Good, baby,” I say, kissing the sweat on his shoulder before pulling myself out to just the tip, checking my hold, and pounding into him with a reckless abandon that has him screaming and howling with every thrust.
He moans choked and broken sounds, and when I look down the skin where my pelvis meets his ass is a bright, filthy red that only makes me go at him harder. The sting bites at my own skin, stubble below rubbing us both raw, but I’ll put up with every moment of sweet discomfort if it means hearing Griff gasp and cry out my name like he is now.
“Riley. Riley. Riley,” he babbles, and when I lean forward to cover his back with my chest, I spot the rosy hue on his face and neck and the panted breaths wracking his chest.
“Need to come so I can fuck you better?”
He nods like a bobblehead with a loose spring, and I slam my lips to his as I take the hand from his hip and reach into the coconut oil to spread it along my sweaty palm. I take his cock in my fist, and the relieved groan that escapes his throat is brief, because my attack on his length is no easier than the one on his ass.
It’s a punishing pace—or in his case, a rewarding one—fucking him into my fist with such vigor that tears pool in his eyes and his muscles strain with the need to let go. To shoot off and bask in sweet release.
His eyes close just as he tumbles over, and instead of stroking him through it, I drop my hand to his balls and give them a firm squeeze, angling my dick just right that his eyes snap open and my boyfriend fucking screams as cum shoots in thick ropes from his dick.
It lands on the countertop. On the lower cabinets. The floor.
I gather what’s drooling from his dick and smear it over his stomach, up his chest, and around his neck where I fit my grip.
There is no moment of respite. I hold him to me, and I fuck up into his powerful body until my own cock thickens and unloads into his hot hole.
Even as I soften, I keep pressed in close so my release stays with him. Even as he slumps against the counter, taking in ragged, heavy breaths.
“God, I needed that,” he says, throwing me a shaky smile.
I kiss his shoulder, then rest my forehead there, closing my eyes to calm my own racing pulse.
Fucking Griffin is something magical. Sex was never like this before. Matty was needy and sensual, and I loved how open he was, but the way Griff and I come together is something else entirely.
It’s fun.
It fulfills a part of me inside I’d never known existed until he pulled it out of me.
When we finally separate—the need for rest and hydration from the game and our extracurriculars winning out—I watch as my cum leaks from his hole and down his cheeks.
Hot.
Griff immediately clamors for the couch, sprawling face first across it without a single thought of cleaning himself up. It’s fine. We’ve done any number of indecent acts on that couch; one more stain isn’t going to hurt.
I grab a rag from under the counter and wet it at the sink, wiping down my dick, nuts, and thighs before tossing it to Griff and smiling at the tiny yelp he lets out when it lands on his back.
“Asshole,” he mutters while I grab us two cups and fill them with water.
He’s not facing me when I turn to walk to the couch; he’s on his knees facing the door, rag shoved between his legs as he tries to clean up.
So he doesn’t see when I stumble, take a step forward and my knee just gives out. It’s only for a second, and I manage to catch myself, but the cups I’m holding tumble to the floor, water sloshing everywhere.
By the time he whips around, I’ve straightened, wincing only internally at the pain radiating in my knee.
“Fuck. You good?” Griffin jumps to his feet and runs to the hall closet for towels, tossing them down and spreading them around with his foot.
I nod and offer him my best smile. “Wore myself out. Hands are too sweaty.” When I laugh, he rolls his eyes, but keeps up with cleaning the water.
“Go sit your old ass down.”
As is his favorite insult to hurl, me being five years older and passing into my thirties means he gets free reign to take jabs at my age any chance he gets.
He’d really buckle down if he knew this isn’t the first or even the worst bout of issues I’ve had with my knee lately.
Two injuries and one surgery later, it’s a miracle the damn thing even lets me skate anymore. One day it’ll give out for good.
But that day isn’t today.
And there’s no point worrying him about something that isn’t here yet.