22. Jack
22
JACK
I don’t believe in luck. I believe that there is no rhyme or reason to why things happen or why people behave the way they do, and that no amount of prayer or tarot cards can explain the cruel twists of the universe.
Except when it comes to hockey.
Hockey is bound by a higher spiritual code with a strict checks and balances mindset. Every action we do or don’t do can impact that balance and effect our game. Hence, to appease the hockey gods, I must get it on with Griffin Harper.
I’m sorry but I don’t make the rules.
At first, I don’t know when exactly we’ll be hooking up next. Is that part of the good luck arrangement? Do we have to knock boots at a designated time or place? Now that Griffin fixed my car, I could easily pop over to the hangar and have him rail me on top of an airplane wing. Or we could meet up in the alley again so he could have his way with me with the mallet swinging between his legs.
Even though he was the one who brought up this idea, a part of me wonders how serious he was. Having a really good game can mess with a guy’s head. Maybe when he got home, he realized that he didn’t need me.
That might explain why I haven’t heard from him since Sunday night. Time goes slower when you’re unemployed. I could text him, but I don’t want to find out that he had a change of heart. I’d rather this wild idea fizzle out and awkwardly avoid him at Summers Rink.
I get to the rink early Wednesday morning for team practice. A light drizzle falls on the grounds, puddles forming in the parking lot. In the locker room, I get myself in the zone. I have my own rituals for pregame preparation. Things I chant to myself. I try some of Miller’s breathing techniques.
Fuentes walks to the center of the locker room, all business. “Guys, I talked to Marcy, and we’re going to double up on practice time for the next few weeks. She was able to maneuver the schedule so we can practice on Friday mornings, too.”
Some of the guys groan.
“Hey!” Miller yells before forcing himself to take a deep breath. He then hands the floor back to Fuentes.
“We need all the practice time we can get. Every day, I’m seeing posts people are sharing about the Sourwood Cup and how excited they are to watch the game. A reporter from The Sourwood Gazette wants to profile us for an article. This thing is taking off, so we need to make sure we’re the best we can be. So if that means you can’t go out Thursday night, tough.”
The groaners shut up this time. I can feel eyes on me. As the former pro that is helping to generate buzz about the event, my opinion carries substantial weight.
“No problem, baby. Count me in,” I say.
Fuentes gives me an appreciative nod. We head out the locker room onto the rink, the cold steaming off the fresh ice. As I’m about to put on my helmet, I spot Griffin by the snack stand. He nudges his head toward the locker room entrance.
“Give me one minute,” I tell Fuentes. “I forgot my lucky bracelet.”
“I thought you lost it.”
“It’s a new one,” I say, my pulse beginning to quicken.
“Be careful. You don’t want to fuck with good luck things in the middle of a season.”
“I’m not. I know what I’m doing,” I say as my dick hardens in my jockstrap.
Back in the locker room, I search the rows until I come to Griffin, leaning against the row of lockers farthest from the rink entrance.
The man knows how to lean. He wears a black hoodie that fits snuggly around his stomach and muscled frame.
“Hoping to see what a good hockey team looks like?” I ask.
“Just wanted to give you some good juju before you get out there.” Griffin closes the gap between us and pulls me into a deep kiss. Even though I’m nearly as tall as him, and I’m wearing all my pads and gear, he scoops me into his arms like I’m a newborn kitten.
I melt into his kiss, his warm lips and scratchy beard making me dizzy with lust. Griffin pushes me up against the lockers, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. Through all my gear, I can feel the heat of his hungry hands. My cock strains against my protective cup, aching for release.
“We need to be quick,” I say between dogged breaths. “I have to get back out there. I don’t want them to come looking for me.”
“Imagine the position they’re going to find you in.” Griffin arches an eyebrow.
He spins me around so my face is pushed up against the lockers. I push my ass out, desperate to know his plan, wanting whatever he can give me.
“Someone’s horny.” He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against my neck.
Griffin reaches around and unties my hockey pants, his rough fingers brushing against my bare stomach, sending a hot chill coursing across my skin. He drags them down, then my mesh shorts and long underwear. The cold air hits the bare skin of my ass with a sting.
He growls with approval at what he sees.
“Are you going to eat my ass again?” I ask in a husky whisper. I’ve never wanted so badly for the word “yes” to come from someone else’s lips.
“Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
He dips a finger down my crack and taps my hole. I gasp out in pleasure.
“Fuck. I love when you play with my hole.” I know I should shut the fuck up. Not give myself away to the guys on the ice. But the way Griffin takes over my body makes me want to be loud, the way you scream at the top of your lungs at your favorite concert. The echoey sounds of my teammates on the ice bounces off the locker room walls. Any one of them could walk in.
Griffin’s rough finger circles my rim. He gives my cheek a hard slap.
“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” I cry out.
A sigh of want tumbles out of me when I hear him get on his knees. Griffin lets out a little grunt of pain familiar to any hockey player with tight joints.
“Yes. Eat that hole.” I bite my lip, willing myself to shut up as the flat of his tongue presses against my sensitive opening.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Ringer.” His hot breath dances on my hole, heat crackling through my body. The tip of his tongue swirls around the hole, sending every nerve ending standing at attention.
I pull my jockstrap down to free my aching cock from the restraints. I’m so fucking hard I see white spots in my vision.
“Tongue me, Griffin. Yes.” I palm the locker for balance. With my other hand, I grab Griffin’s hair and shove his face deeper inside my opening. The coarse hairs of his beard rub against me as his tongue goes to work.
“Give me all of that good juju,” I say.
I bite my elbow pad as his tongue breaches my hole and slides inside me, spiking in and out. A cruel tease. I clench around his tongue.
“I love the way you tongue fuck me. I can’t wait for it to be your big dick stretching me open.”
Griffin moans against my hole. We haven’t discussed sex yet, but my thought on the subject is that I want it. I want it bad. And I want it from Griffin.
He stands up and leans into my ear. “You want that, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whine.
“You want my dick.”
“So bad.” Griffin reduces me to a begging puddle of a man, and I’m okay with that as long as he delivers the goods.
I hear the teeth of his zipper break open. He grips my shoulder and steadies himself behind me. My legs can barely stand upright. The need pooling in my stomach rips through me with unrelenting intensity. I stroke myself faster, harder.
“Fuck me,” I cry out.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he teases. He drags his cock up and down my slick crack.
“No shit.”
“You want this cock.” His plump head pushes between my cheeks and presses against my opening. Just when I think he’s going to push through and penetrate me, he pulls back. His cockhead circles my hole.
His teasing shreds my patience. Heat and lust rage in my chest.
“Give it to me,” I plead with him like I’m fucking entitled to his cock.
He laughs against my neck. “You’d like that.”
Again he slides his cock down my crack, pushing against my hole, and stopping just before breaching.
“I was tested recently. I’m good to go.” Not even the talk about STDs can ruin this mood. I jut my ass closer to his crotch. At this point, I wish I were a Jedi so I could use the Force to move his cock inside me.
“We’re not having sex. You have to go to practice.” He spreads my cheeks apart and thwacks his cock on my sensitive opening. Every nerve in me pulses in response.
“We can be quick.”
His breath dances beside my ear. “Not with the things I want to do to you.”
Fuck. I can barely see straight. I tighten my grip around my own cock and jerk myself faster, harder, my mind scrolling through every potential scenario on his list.
He holds his hand by my mouth. “Spit in it,” he commands.
I lick his hand because I need to disobey him and show him he’s not the only one with a say here. Then I spit a glob into his hearty palm.
I hear him slick up his cock. He slips a finger inside me and grunts into my ear.
“Ringer, I can’t wait to come all over you,” he murmurs in my ear. I glance over my shoulder and catch him jerking himself off, his cockhead resting above my slick hole. “I want to watch you on the ice knowing that my come is sliding down your leg.”
“Fuck. Yes. I want your come.” My body tenses into a tight ball as desire fully takes hold of me. Hearing his grunting in my ear as he gets closer hurtles me over the edge.
He fists my jersey as he lets out a stifled groan and unloads down my ass. His hot seed drips down over my most sensitive areas, sliding between my cheeks. My balls draw up and I shoot onto the locker. Fortunately, metal is easy to clean.
Griffin rests his head against my shoulder as he catches his breath. “I love good juju.”
“We’re going to crush it on the ice this week.”
He grabs a roll of paper towels from the bathroom sink and runs over. He rips off a piece for me to wipe off the locker I sullied. He’s about to clean me up down there, when I push his hand away. I pull up my jockstrap, base layer, and hockey pants with his come still on me.
“You can watch me skate out there.” I wink at him and enjoy that shocked grin he gives in response. “For the good juju.”