Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Elliot
I lower myself onto his cock until my ass meets his thighs. I feel so full. Every inch of my body tingles, causing a surge of sparks to rush through me.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips.
“Can I move?”
“In a second,” he grunts, and I grin when I notice his toes are curled tight. He lets out a long, shuddering breath before his voice rumbles, “Okay.”
I slowly rock my hips, finding the rhythm that works in this position.
His hands steady me, providing me with some support to pick up my speed.
It doesn’t take long until we’re both moaning.
My hard cock slaps against his thigh, his leg hair tickling the sensitive tip.
I want to touch myself, but I don’t think I have the strength to keep myself upright.
“Ngh, so good.” I groan, his cock tagging my prostate with every roll of my hips. “I fucking love your cock, Hunter.”
My thighs begin to tremble from being held in this stretch and the pleasure rushing through me.
“El, I need to see you,” he grunts.
With his big hands still on my hips, he lifts me off his perfect cock so effortlessly.
I spin around to face him and throw my leg over his hips again.
Gripping the base of his shaft, I sink back down onto him with a throaty moan falling from my lips.
I stay on my knees this time, not wanting to risk staying in the splits too long in case of cramping.
I use the strength in my thighs to pick up my pace, the sound of my ass clapping against his thighs a soundtrack to our pleasured moans and gasping breaths.
Hunter strokes my cock, his other hand massaging my balls before releasing them to flick my nipples.
I groan, goose bumps rippling across my chest. My nipples tighten as he pinches and flicks them. Every nerve ending feels like they’ve been charged with a thousand volts.
I love how good Hunter makes me feel. I love him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, and it comes out all growly. It’s so fucking hot.
I place my hands on his pecs, using his solid chest for support.
Spreading my fingers, I graze my pinky finger over his nipples, causing his abs to tighten.
His grip on my cock loosens for a beat, and then he’s releasing me to grab hold of my hips with one hand, while the other curves around the back of my head.
He tugs me down until our mouths collide in a clash of teeth and eager tongues.
His other hand returns to my hips, and then I’m shifted forward slightly as he plants both feet flat on the bed. He pistons his hips in slow thrusts, driving his cock deep inside me.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp against his mouth, the change in angle creating incredible pressure against my prostate.
Our tongues dive into each other’s mouths. My cock is trapped between us, the friction from rubbing against his stomach making me leak. I grip onto either side of his neck as my body starts to tremble. Heat surges down my spine, causing my balls to tighten.
I tug his lip between my teeth, then let out a loud cry when I come over his stomach. I’m shaking as I fall over the crest of my release. He grunts my name in that sexy, raspy way, and then warmth fills me, his cock throbbing inside me as he comes.
I slump on top of him. He slides his arms around my back, holding me tight to him.
Our bodies are slick with sweat, and I’m aware of my come currently being squashed between us.
It’s not going to be long until my brain decides we can’t handle the feel of everything, so I make the most of listening to his heart pounding in his chest and coming down from this euphoric high together.
“I’ve got the towels ready in the bathroom,” he murmurs, and I smile into his heated skin.
I love how he takes care of me. Like it takes no effort at all for him.
I’m conscious of his release running down my legs as I get up and head into the bathroom.
He joins me a moment later, where he washes me with his bodywash.
I smile to myself at the thought that I’m going to smell like him.
He cleans himself up, and then we dry ourselves with the softest towels I’ve ever felt. Like a terry cloth cloud.
We climb back into bed, and I curl up against his side, resting my head on his strong chest. His hand finds its way into my hair, massaging my scalp with his strong fingers, and his eyes are closed not a minute later.
“We should probably eat,” I say, but my eyes are starting to feel heavy too.
“Mhm,” he hums but makes no effort to move. “I need five minutes before I can move again. I think my brain blew out through my balls.”
I snort into his chest and press a kiss over his heart.
And promptly fall asleep with a smile on my face.
“I need you to sign all of these,” Colleen instructs, motioning with her hand to the long table covered in an assortment of stuff, then turns around to point to the other side of the corridor. “Then there’s a pile of your individual things that needs signing by you as well.”
Blaine puts his hands on his hips, jutting his chin forward in a bored expression. “Colleen, do you realize I have better things to do?”
She matches his stance and raises a brow. “Such as?”
“Taking a nap on the floor of the gym.”
Laughing, she hands him a Sharpie and points to the start of the table. “What a shame. Maybe next time.”
We’ve not long finished with practice, and I’ve had a session with Greg before coming out here to do our media obligations.
I’ve probably been seeing Greg more times than necessary, but I’m conscious about making sure I don’t let the progress on my knee slip.
Afterward, he worked on my hips and did some mobility work on my ankles.
When he asked me how my hips have been feeling recently, my face went all hot and red because I immediately thought about how I went into a split and took Hunter’s cock the other night.
I feel like I’ve given a whole new meaning to at-home exercises.
Blaine and I work our way down the table, signing posters and photographs and various other merchandise that will be auctioned off for charity.
It’s not the most fun thing to do because the media team film and take photos for social media, so we have to be on our best behavior, but it all goes to a good cause.
“Let me go—whoa, maybe not.”
I lift my head at the sound of Peyton’s voice and catch him turning on his heel to make a quick getaway. He hates doing these things the most out of all of us.
“I don’t think so, Jonathan. Get your ass back here,” Colleen calls out.
He freezes with one foot off the ground.
“If you stand really still, she won’t see you,” I say with a grin.
He turns around slowly, like when people are being chased in the movies and realize the monster is right behind them. She stomps over to him in her heels and shoves a pen in his hand.
“Now, be a good captain and sign some merch. Please.”
He makes a disgruntled noise. “Damn, do you boss your husband around like this?”
“I sure do. Now, get.” Smiling, she gives him a light shove.
He makes his way down the table, going a lot quicker than me and Blaine, and as he gets closer, my eyes drop to his athletic shorts, and I let out a low whistle.
“Those are some really tiny shorts, Peyton capybara.” I poke his bare thigh with the end of my pen. “Bend over at the wrong time and I’ll be able to see your balls, and I’ve already seen them twice today. Which is two times too many.”
His face cracks in a cocky grin. “What can I say? Thick thighs save lives, and what saves lives shouldn’t be contained.”
I snort out a laugh. “I don’t think that’s the saying, but okay.”
When I get to the end of the table, I turn to face Peyton again and crouch down, then quickly sign his leg.
“What are you doing?” he splutters but doesn’t try to move.
“Making it more valuable.” I draw a big heart next to my name, then a smiley face on his knee. I stand back to inspect my work. “Perfect.”
He looks down at his leg and sighs. “It’s going to take days for that to come off, you know.”
My smile turns wicked, but before I can move to the other side of the corridor, one of the media girls makes me pose with Peyton’s signed leg.
I point at my amazing artwork and give a wide, toothy grin.
Then I slap his inner thigh and jog over to the pile of stuff I need to personalize with a giggle.
I’m finishing up signing the stack of jerseys when the fire alarm blares. I flinch so hard at the harsh sound that there’s an audible crack in my neck.
“What the fuck is that?” Blaine asks, glancing around in confusion.
“The fire alarm,” Peyton replies, then turns to address the rookies in the corridor, like the good captain he is. “Come on, boys, get your asses moving. Outside.”
There’s a flurry of activity as people come out of the training and locker rooms, and my spine stiffens at the sense of panic coming off the others in waves, my palms beginning to sweat as my heart beats faster in my chest. When we walk around the corner that leads to the fire exit doors, we’re hit with the smell of smoke.
“Shit, there’s an actual fire?” Blaine cranes his neck, trying to look down the other side of the corridor that leads to the ice and the coaches’ offices.
“I guess so,” Peyton replies, placing his hands on his shoulders and steering him toward the fire exit doors.
One of the rookies opens the doors, and I immediately tense at the frigid February air. There’s still snow on the ground, and I’m only wearing a hoodie and my compression tights. I tug my sleeves over my hands and rub my arms frantically over my hoodie, teeth chattering audibly as I shiver.
“What happened?” Zach asks Coach Harris when he appears. There’s a deep crease in his forehead. I call it his stress frown.
“The fucking Zamboni caught fire. Apparently, they’ve known about a faulty wire or something, and nobody thought to tell me or do anything to fix it.” He runs a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know the details, but the fire department is on the way.”
In my attempt to get warm, I walk around and jump on the spot, and as everyone makes their way outside, I note an obvious absence.
I quickly turn around and storm over to Coach. He has his phone to his ear, but I speak anyway because this is important.
“Where’s Boomer?” I ask in a panic.
“Hang on a sec, Troy,” he says to the GM on the phone. Oops. “I put him in my office. Why?”
All my blood rushes from my head.
His office. That’s near the Zamboni bay. That’s currently on fire.
I don’t answer. Instead, I spin on my heels and run as fast as I can toward the open door. Blaine shouts my name, but I ignore him. I can’t leave Boomer. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to him.
Adrenaline and fear course through me, powering me to run faster.
The smoke is thicker as I near the coaches’ offices, and I cover my nose and mouth with my sleeve.
The second I reach Coach’s closed door, I push my way inside.
Boomer is on me instantly. He jumps up, putting his forelegs on my chest while bouncing on his hind legs to try and lick my face.
“Hey, buddy. Yes, I’m excited to see you too, but we’ve gotta go. I wasn’t gonna leave you. I promise,” I tell him, giving his flank a reassuring rub.
When I manage to get him down, I hook my fingers into his collar and turn toward the door. I push on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. I try a few more times, shaking the handle with more force, but it doesn’t open.
Fuck. It’s locked.
My pulse is loud in my ears, chest tightening as I gasp for air.
I try the handle again, but my hands go numb. Why can’t I get out? Why won’t the door open?
“Fuck!” I shout on a strangled breath.
Glancing around the office, spots cloud my vision. The wooden desk is blurry, like I’m looking at it from underwater. I look around frantically, trying to figure out another way out as panic soars through my veins. My heart is pounding hard in my chest, amplifying the ringing in my ears.
I try the door again, this time tugging on the door with both hands, but it doesn’t move. Why won’t it fucking open?
My lungs burn as my breath saws out of me, rough and shallow.
I fall back into the desk, knocking some paperwork onto the floor.
Boomer stands between my legs, nudging his head against my thigh, but I can’t feel anything.
It’s becoming more difficult to suck in air, and I struggle to hold my head up. I feel so dizzy.
Fuck. This is it. I’m going to die. They’re not going to find me or Boomer.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him, unable to draw in a breath.
I attempt to stand again, but there’s no strength in my legs. I stumble into the wall and slump onto the floor. Boomer climbs into my lap, pressing his weight against my chest, licking all over my face.
Smoke is beginning to seep from under the door, and the walls start to close in.
Fuck, I can’t breathe.
My arms are limp as I wrap them weakly around Boomer’s body and close my eyes. I bring up Hunter’s face in my mind, and it’s the last thing I see before everything goes black.