22. Oskar
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OSKAR
“Oh God. Please, please. Yes!”
Kai’s face is covered with sweat, his eyes burning into mine, the pupils blown wide with lust. He bounces faster, stealing my breath and robbing me of my thoughts. There’s nothing left but instinct.
I grunt with every brutal descent as his body seals around my cock like he was made for it. His ass grips me tighter every time, pulling me deeper inside.
“Fuck!” he cries. “Oskar! Oh God!”
I love how he loses himself completely when we have sex.
It’s the one time his perfect control shatters.
As he fucks himself on my dick, his head falls back, exposing his throat.
The desperate, beautiful sound of his cries makes my balls ache.
He leans over and covers my mouth with his, swallowing my groans as he rides faster.
His tongue fucks my mouth in the same rhythm our bodies have found.
I can’t stop myself. My hips buck up to meet his, driving into his perfect ass. We’re a frantic, feverish machine, using each other’s bodies, chasing the same explosive release.
“Punish me.” His voice is shrill and desperate as his hands claw at my chest, nails scraping away a layer of skin while his ass clenches around me.
I growl as I slam into him, and though his rhythm falters, he catches it again.
“Easy,” I say. “Let me use your ass.”
His eyes are desperate, like he doesn’t know if he can do it.
“Take it,” I command.
He rears up as I pound him, and I grab his hands to keep him from falling off.
“Fuck!” he yells, then lets out a high, plaintive wail.
I’m nearly out of strength, but it’s too good to stop.
His eyes go wide, and he throws his head back again. “Goddammit!”
Cum spurts out of his cock, drenching my chest and splattering onto my cheek. It’s too much—his face twisted in pleasure, his urgent sounds, the way he twists on me while he comes. I slam into him one last time and freeze, grunting hard as I fill the condom inside him.
We gradually come to a stop, and Kai looks down into my eyes. He’s almost floating above me, and then crashes down and rolls to the side. I move over and throw an arm across his chest.
“Herregud.”
“Hell yeah, whatever that means.”
“Ja,” I say. “That’s what it means.”
The next morning, I fall asleep before the team plane leaves New York. The last thing I remember is the click of my seat belt and memories of Kai’s face when we dragged ourselves out of bed. We had not slept much.
Charlotte, two hours later. My body is heavy in the pleasant, worn-out way that follows a great night.
My teammates are louder than usual as we board the bus, but I hardly notice.
We’re headed straight to the arena for practice, then to the hotel for lunch and a nap before tonight’s game.
Tomorrow, Nashville. Life in the HFNA moves much faster than Swedish hockey ever did.
On the way downtown, I take out my phone and start composing a text to Kai. I try to think of something about being happy that doesn’t make me sound like what Americans call a sap.
Carson’s voice cuts across the aisle. “You look rode hard and put up wet, Olly.”
I look over at him. “What does that mean?”
He gives me a lazy grin. “It’s a Texas saying. Means you look exhausted.” He raises his eyebrows. “Or maybe satisfied?”
My face gets hot so quickly it almost hurts. “I-I… Yes? That is none of your business, I think.”
His laugh is too loud for so early in the day. Making it worse, he points at me. “Well, lookie there. Red as a beet and back to sounding stiff.” He raises an eyebrow. “Bet she liked it when you were a different kind of stiff.”
His words should not bother me, but hearing Kai used as locker room talk turns my stomach. Before I can speak, I remember what Pappa said before I left Stockholm: “Americans are different from us, but they are good people. Learn to go along, and they will treat you well.”
I force a smile and try to answer as Carson would. “Yeah, it was a long night.”
He nods approvingly. “Yep, I hear you. I didn’t want to crawl out of my girl’s bed this morning. Skipped breakfast for another round.”
“Yep,” I say, almost sounding like a Texan. “We did the same.”
That seems to satisfy him because he leaves me alone after that. For the rest of the drive, I look out the window at Charlotte going by.
Pretending is exhausting. Kai deserves better than this.
My phone buzzes as we’re pulling up to the arena.
KAI: You survive the airport death march?
OSKAR: Barely.
After a moment, another message appears.
KAI: Worth it?
Heat spreads through me all over again.
OSKAR: Very much so.