Chapter 39
ASHER REYNOLDS
My first game back is an away double-header against New York College. I’m lucky enough to be back on a line with Coop, and we’ll have Carter between the two of us, ready to make magic tonight.
We’re standing in a huddle, smacking one another’s helmets as the frenzy builds. I’m focused on the team, but I don’t miss the chance to find Chase over on the bench and shoot him a wink.
He rolls his eyes, but I’m pretty sure that he’s blushing a little bit.
And yeah, we’re not going to come out to the rest of the team ahead of me graduating, but it doesn’t matter. I get to see him every day–and every night–which is all that I’ve really wanted anyway.
Plus, since meeting Chase, my relationship with hockey has changed for the better. Sure, I love the game, but I’ve always felt like there was something missing. For me, hockey’s always been an escape instead of a path toward something.
And I’ve always been shit at enjoying the moment, intent to examine things from every angle.
But tonight? I’m excited to get out on the ice with my teammates and kick some New York ass. Simple as that.
Rehabbing after my injury made me realize that if I didn’t have the sport anymore, I would feel like I’m missing a piece of myself. For Chase, that option was taken away from him.
I’m not sure that trying to make it to a minor league team or playing in any professional capacity is for me, but I want to stay close to the game. Which couldn’t be more different than when I stepped back on campus what feels like a lifetime ago.
I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was lucky enough to have a group of people around me that didn’t let me disappear, even when I wanted to–badly.
And at first, it felt like a punishment.
Now, I can see it for the gift that it truly is.
Chase. Coop. Kellan. West and Dane. Even Carter, whose wide-eyed freshman enthusiasm helped me remember that this is a team sport, and we’re all only as strong as our ability to work together.
The Renegades let out one last raucous cheer, and the other lines skate off to the bench for the puck drop.
I head to my wing position, flanking Carter.
He gives me a cheesy smile. It’s crazy when I remember that he and Wells are brothers because they couldn’t be more different. Except with Kellan, I think that Wells would rather cut off a limb than look goofy in public.
Luckily for me, it’s easy for me to give Carter the same stupid smile right back. My limbs are jittery with excitement, but I’m focused.
I’m not sure if we have Frozen Four potential this year given the start to our season, but I’m committed to showing up for these guys every day until the end of the season–and beyond–to make the back-half of the year the best that it can be.
Right before the drop, I scan the bench, my eyes zeroing in on Chase. He’s watching me, and I get the fluttery, excited feeling in my heart and stomach that’s pretty much a constant these days.
I’m a starting forward on a D1 college hockey team stacked with some incredible guys that I get to call friends, and I’m in love with the best man that I’ve ever known.
I’m not sure what else I could ask for.
I didn’t know that I could be asking for this, or I would have done so long before now. But I don’t think that Chase was ready until now, and that’s completely okay with me.
We won the game with a score of 2-1, but I’m not thinking about the goal that I scored in my first game back or how fluidly I worked with my line, like I was never gone.
No, I’m looking at Chase as heat curls in my stomach, wondering if I heard him correctly.
“You want me to fuck you?” I ask, making sure I didn’t hallucinate his words.
And god if he isn’t the most beautiful man that I’ve ever seen. His hair is still wet from the shower he took in his hotel room after the game, and he’s only wearing a pair of joggers, slung low on his perfect hips.
Now that he’s put the idea in my head, all that I can think about is wrapping my hands around those exact hips and thrusting into him. From the front. From behind. Whatever he wants. The visual–and the feeling–will be incredible no matter what.
He’s not wearing his glasses, but he touches near his ear anyway, like he sometimes does when he’s self-conscious about something. I’m not used to seeing Chase nervous about anything, and I’m walking over to him before I realize it.
My arms snake around his warm back, and I pull him close. He exhales, and I nuzzle my beard against his own slightly stubbled cheek. We stand like this, until finally he says, “Is that something that you’d want?”
I try not to nod too eagerly, but he laughs when he sees my head bobbing up and down so fast that it leaves no doubt.
But I don’t want him to do this because he thinks that it’s what I want–even though I do want it so badly that my cock is already hardening in my pants.
He has to be able to feel it, pushing greedily against his thigh.
“I would love to fuck you like that, but only if it’s something that you want, too. ”
Shifting back, I look at him. Really look at him, so that he can’t hide. Because I can do that now. We’re together. He’s my boyfriend, and there are no conversation topics that are off-limits anymore, especially his comfort.
When I met Chase, he came off as a calm, confident guy who had everything figured out. He didn’t want people to see the hurt or uncertainty always brewing just below the surface. But I get to see that now.
And I take it more seriously than I’ve ever taken anything in my life.
“What do you want?” I ask him, running my hands through his damp hair. Little droplets fall on his shoulders, and I dip my head down so that I can lick suck them gently into my mouth.
He exhales and slides in closer to me again, so that I can feel the truth of his words in his own arousal, rubbing against my own length.
I exhale shakily, taking care not to wrap my arms around him too tightly. I want to push him back on the bed and strip him out of his clothing without another care in the world, but I won’t do that… yet.
“Baby, I need to know what you want. And whatever it is, I’ll give that to you.” My words are soft, coaxing in his ear, and I feel his cock twitch against me.
“Trust in relationships doesn’t come easy for me.
Not since Becca and definitely not since I’ve been a single parent.
And letting someone in like that takes a lot of trust for me.
But god do I fucking want you inside of me,” he says, my stomach swooping low, thinking about how good it will feel to fill him, rutting against his incredible body with precision that I know will turn into reckless abandon.
And then I think about his other words. The trust that he’s putting into me. It makes it easy for any nerves to calm inside of my buzzy body, everything coming into soft, persistent focus.
“Take off your pants for me. I want to watch you undress,” I direct, knowing instinctively that he wants me to take control. His entire life is about keeping it together for himself and his daughter. But here–in this room together–I’ll be in charge.
I’ll keep him safe while I strip him down to his most base instincts and have him rocketing into oblivion when he lets go.
I don’t consider myself an especially confident guy, but it feels so easy when it’s with Chase. When I know that I can trust him, too. It’s a two-way street, as the understanding flows between us, and it makes it all the better.
Makes me feel more sure of myself than I’ve ever felt before.
I watch him hungrily as he stands in front of me and slides his fingers into the waistband of his joggers. Slowly–I’m not mistaking the tease in his movements–he lowers his pants over his thighs and then pushes them the rest of the way down.
He steps out of them, wearing only his boxer briefs, and I can see the hard swell of his erection through his underwear, just begging for my attention.
But that’s not happening just yet–at least not by my hand.
Because his cheeks are flushed and his nipples are hard and his chest is rising and falling faster now, and all I can think about is him working himself while I get to watch. “Take off your underwear and get on the bed for me. On your back.”
His nostrils flare, the want written across his face. The need that he knows that I’m going to satisfy if he does exactly what I tell him to do.
He does as instructed, and I catch him trying to brush his knuckles across the tip of his cock while he takes his boxer briefs off.
“No touching until I tell you,” I warn, my voice low.
I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I’ve started touching myself through my own joggers, my palm wrapped around my long length.
I’m needy for a place to put my cock, and I only get harder when I think about exactly where that’s going to be.
I follow him a few steps behind to the bed, where he sits with his back against the headboard and pillows. His legs are bent at the knees, bowing out slightly.
“Open your legs for me. Let me see that beautiful cock,” I tell him, surprised at the hunger in my own voice. Of its strength and confidence in the face of this new experience.
But this is exactly who I’m meant to be and exactly what I’m meant to be doing. It feels like some kind of divine gift that Chase and I work so well together–outside of the bedroom and inside of it.
“You were so fucking sexy on the ice tonight,” he says, spreading his legs eagerly so that I can see all of him.
The hard ridges of his abs. The soft cut of the v that trails down into his groomed hair, all like a guide for me to zero in on his wanting cock, sprung upward and already spilling wetness onto his tip.
My mouth is watering as I start to rub through my pants harder. I want to take him in my mouth, but not just yet. “Is that why you’re so hot for me, baby? Watching me play?” I tease, not sure which one of us is getting more of this experience right now.