Chapter 38
The locker room was empty. Overhead lights hummed like distant static. The air smelled of sweat, ice, and metal.
I yanked off my helmet, dropped it on the bench with a clatter, set my glasses beside it. Started stripping the borrowed gear, moving fast, adrenaline still screaming through my veins.
Andrew stood in the doorway, still fully geared, blond hair damp and sticking to his forehead. Watching me.
“Matthew—”
I crossed the space in three strides, grabbed the front of his jersey, and kissed him like I’d been waiting to since we stepped off the ice.
He made a startled sound—half laugh, half groan—then kissed me back, fierce and immediate. His gloved hands came up to my waist, yanking me flush against all that padding. I shoved him backward until his back hit the lockers with a metallic bang that echoed.
“Damn.” His voice came out rough. “What’s—”
“Shut up.”
I kissed down his jaw, his neck—biting just hard enough to make him hiss.
My hands yanked at his jersey; he lifted his arms so I could rip it over his head.
Then my palms were on his chest, sliding over sweat-slick skin, tracing the hard lines of muscle I’d stared at on the ice for months.
The black explosion tattoo on his ribs stood out sharp against flushed skin.
“Fuck,” Andrew breathed, head tipping back against the metal.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was red, pupils blown, chest heaving under my hands. I could feel how hard he was already, even through layers of gear.
“I want you,” I said.
“Yeah.” His hands tightened on my hips. “I fucking got that. You sure? Here?”
“Here. Now.”
Something feral flashed in his eyes. “Okay. Let’s fucking go.”
He surged forward, trying to flip us, but I shoved him back harder—palms flat on his chest, pinning him to the lockers. I kissed him again, deeper, dirtier, tongue sliding against his while my hands worked the straps of his shoulder pads. Frustrated by the buckles, I growled against his mouth.
Andrew laughed, low and breathless. “Let me.”
He stripped efficiently, pads hitting the floor, pants shoved down, jock and everything else following until he was bare, cock thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. I yanked my own shirt off, kicked my skates aside, shoved my jeans and briefs down just enough.
Andrew was on me before I finished, mouth crashing into mine, hands everywhere: in my hair, gripping my ass, pressing me back against the cold lockers so the metal bit into my spine. His hand dove into my open jeans, wrapped around me—hot, calloused, perfect—and stroked once, firm and slow.
“This what you want?” he rasped against my lips.
“Yes.” I bucked into his fist, head thunking back. “Fuck—yes.”
“You’re so fucking hard for me.” He kissed me again, messy, teeth clacking. “No idea what you do to me, Matthew. Watching you out there. . . I’ve been dying for this.”
I didn’t answer. Just rocked into his hand, let him stroke me faster—thumb swiping over the head, grip twisting on the upstroke.
The adrenaline from skating mixed with this: heart slamming, skin buzzing, every nerve lit up.
I wasn’t thinking about anything except him, his mouth on my neck, his hand working me, the way he looked at me like I was everything.
“Matthew.” His voice cracked. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” I bit his shoulder, muffling a moan. “Just you—fuck, don’t stop.”
He groaned and sped up, stroking hard and fast now, wrist flicking, other hand braced beside my head.
I came apart in seconds, shattering against his palm, spilling cum over his fingers, gasping his name into the crook of his neck.
My knees buckled; he held me up, murmuring low filth against my ear until I stopped shaking.
When my vision cleared, I looked at him—eyes dark, face wrecked, still painfully hard against my thigh.
“Your turn,” I said, voice hoarse.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I dropped to my knees before he could argue.
The tile was cold and hard. I didn’t care. I wrapped my hand around the base of him—thick, hot, pulsing—then took him into my mouth in one slow slide. He choked out a sound above me, hand flying to my hair, not pushing, just gripping like he needed the anchor.
I worked him slowly, tongue flat along the underside, swirling around the head on every upstroke, hollowing my cheeks and sucking hard. His hips jerked—small, helpless thrusts he tried to control. His breathing turned ragged, thighs trembling.
“Fuck—Matthew—I’m—”
I didn’t pull off. Took him deeper, let him hit the back of my throat, swallowed around him. He came with a broken groan, hot pulses flooding my mouth, body shaking as I took every drop.
When he was done, I pulled off slowly, licked my lips, looked up at him.
Andrew stared down—chest heaving, blue eyes blown wide, wrecked. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I stood on unsteady legs. He didn’t hesitate—grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me. Deep. Slow. Filthy. Tasting himself on my tongue like it was nothing—like he wanted more. No flinch, no pause, just raw want.
We broke apart gasping, foreheads pressed together.
He exhaled a shaky laugh against my mouth. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”
I smiled. “Good.”
We stood there a long moment, breathing each other in, hearts still racing, the locker room quiet except for the hum of the lights and the distant drip of a shower down the hall.
Finally, Andrew pulled back and glanced around at the disaster we’d made—gear scattered everywhere, our clothes in a heap on the floor. “Fuck, we destroyed this place.”
“We should probably clean this up before someone sees.”
“Probably.” But he didn’t move. Just pulled me closer, hands settling on my hips. “You scored on me.”
“I did.”
His grip tightened. “Do you have any idea how hot that was?”
“After what we just did, I might.”
He huffed a laugh. “Watching you out there—you were good. Really fucking good.”
“I was rusty,” I said automatically, then stopped myself. Thought about it. About that shot, the way I’d read his movement, the satisfaction of watching the puck slip past him. “Actually, no. I wasn’t. I was pretty good.”
Andrew’s grin went sharp and pleased. “Yeah, you were.”
“I mean, I did beat you.”
“You did.” He looked genuinely impressed, not just saying it. “You were better than half the guys I’ve played with. Better instincts, better read on the ice.”
My face heated, but I didn’t deflect this time. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll take that.”
“Good. Because you’re doing it again.” He pulled back, eyes intent. “We have that thing on Thursday, and my first game back, but after that, we’re skating.”
Thursday. The event.
Reality tried to creep back in, but I shoved it away. Not yet.
“Okay,” I said.
“Not ‘okay.’ Yes. Say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now get dressed. I’m fucking starving.”
We cleaned up and got dressed quickly. Andrew kept shooting me looks while he pulled on his clothes, that competitive energy still radiating off him.
“You hungry?” he asked as we headed out.
“Starving.”
“There’s a place open late. We’re going.”
“I should get home. Angelica—”
“Text her. Tell her you’re getting food.” Not a request.
“Andrew—”
“Come on. When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?” He grabbed my jacket, tossed it at me. “Live a little, Quinn.”
He had a point. And I didn’t want tonight to end yet.
“Fine. But nowhere fancy.”
“Fuck fancy. I want pancakes.”
We pushed through the exit doors into the parking lot. The cold air hit us immediately, sharp and clean. The Porsche’s lights flashed as he unlocked it, and I slid into the passenger seat. Andrew was already starting the engine, revving it.
“Was that necessary?” I asked.
He pulled out of the parking spot too fast, tires squealing slightly on the pavement. “You’re complaining about my driving when I’m buying you pancakes?”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me pancakes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m doing it anyway.” He shifted gears hard, the engine roaring. “You fucking earned it after that goal.”
We made it to the parking lot exit when Andrew suddenly braked.
“Forgot something.” He turned to me, grabbed the front of my jacket, and pulled me in for a kiss that made my head spin. “Okay. Now we can go.”
Shifting back into his seat, Andrew grinned, that cocky grin that should have been annoying but somehow wasn’t.
Across the street, hidden in the shadows near a parked van, a camera shutter clicked rapidly.