CHAPTER 14 #2
He looked down. His dark eyes were completely black, stripped of all humanity, operating purely on a deeply possessive, biological imperative to claim his partner.
Everett pushed forward.
The intrusion was slow, massive, and overwhelmingly thick.
Dorian let out a loud, broken cry, his head falling back against the pillows.
The physical stretch was absolute. Everett filled him completely, sliding deep into the tight, burning core of his body.
The friction was a heavy, dragging heat that short-circuited Dorian’s nervous system.
Everett stopped at the hilt. He buried his face in the crook of Dorian’s neck, his entire towering frame trembling violently as he fought to hold back the urge to simply slam his hips forward.
"Are you okay?" Everett ground out, his voice a harsh, jagged rasp against Dorian’s skin. "Dorian. Look at me."
Dorian forced his heavy eyelids open. He looked at the thick, sweat-dampened hair plastered to Everett’s forehead. He felt the terrifying, solid reality of Everett lodged deep inside his body.
Dorian didn't answer with words.
He shifted his hips, tilting his pelvis upward to take the captain even deeper.
The heavy, guarded muscles of his powerful thighs entirely relaxed, falling wide open.
He lifted his long legs, hooking his calves firmly over the backs of Everett’s massive thighs, crossing his ankles and locking them tight.
He bound the defenseman flush against his own hips, entirely trapping Everett inside his guard.
Everett let out a deep, guttural roar.
The final thread of his control snapped.
Everett began to move. He pulled his hips back, the slick, wet slide of skin breaking the silence of the quiet hotel room, before driving forward with a heavy, brutal force.
The impact slammed Dorian flat against the mattress.
A sharp, high-pitched vocalization tore out of his throat, entirely unrestrained.
He couldn't keep quiet. The institutional paranoia, the fear of the federal agent listening in the hallway, the threat of the press—all of it was drowned out by the localized, consuming fire in his groin.
Everett set a primal, punishing rhythm. He wasn't making love. He was executing a physical claiming. He drove his hips down, the heavy, loud slap of their bodies colliding echoing off the walls. Each thrust was a deliberate, violent erasure of the trauma Dorian carried. Each impact was Everett using his own body to grind the fear out of his husband’s marrow.
"Mine," Everett snarled, his right hand sliding up to grip the bruised curve of Dorian’s hip, his thumb pressing hard into the purple flesh. He drove deep, hitting a dense, highly sensitive knot of nerves that sent a blinding flash of white heat behind Dorian’s eyes.
"Yours," Dorian sobbed, his head thrashing side to side on the pillows. "Everett... God..."
Dorian’s taped left hand clamped desperately onto Everett’s thick bicep, holding on as the world entirely dissolved into friction and heat.
The angle was devastating. Everett’s heavy chest crushed against Dorian’s ribs with every downward stroke, the coarse hair on the captain's chest creating a harsh, agonizing burn against Dorian’s sensitive nipples.
The sweat began to pour off them. The dark, amber light of the Toronto skyline caught the slick sheen coating Everett’s massive back.
The rhythm accelerated, turning frantic and disorganized.
The controlled, elite athlete vanished, replaced by a desperate man seeking absolute oblivion.
Everett’s breathing was a loud, ragged rasp in the quiet room.
He abandoned the careful, deep strokes, opting for short, violent, rapid thrusts that pounded against the deepest part of Dorian’s anatomy.
Dorian felt the pressure building in his own groin, a massive, uncontainable wave of localized heat. He was completely overwhelmed. His vision fractured into static. His legs tightened convulsively around Everett’s waist, dragging the captain down even harder.
"Everett!" Dorian screamed, the sound tearing through the quiet suite, entirely uncaring of who heard him.
Everett reached down between their heavily colliding bodies. His rough, blood-stained hand closed tightly around Dorian’s slick length, executing three rapid, brutal pulls.
Dorian shattered entirely.
His spine bowed sharply off the mattress, a massive, agonizing pulse of release ripping through his system.
He came with a violent, whole-body shudder, his slick fluid coating Everett’s hand and stomach.
He cried out, a long, broken wail of absolute physical surrender, his nails digging a bloody path down the dense muscle of Everett’s back.
The intense, localized contraction of Dorian’s internal muscles clamping down tightly around his length was the final trigger.
Everett let out a deep, animalistic groan.
He drove his hips forward one final, punishing time, burying himself to the absolute hilt.
His massive body locked up, the thick muscles of his thighs trembling violently as a heavy, scalding wave of climax tore out of him.
He flooded Dorian entirely, his breath catching in a sharp, agonizing silence as the orgasm wrecked his nervous system.
Everett collapsed.
His arms gave out, his towering frame dropping completely onto Dorian. The sheer, crushing weight of two hundred and thirty pounds of dead muscle pressed Dorian deep into the dark mattress.
Dorian couldn't breathe. He didn't care. He wrapped his arms tightly around Everett’s wide back, his long fingers pressing flat against the sweat-drenched skin, anchoring the captain against his chest.
They lay there in the absolute, ringing silence of the hotel suite. The only sound was the chaotic, overlapping drag of their ragged breathing.
The amber glow of the city lights cast long, heavy shadows across the tangled bedsheets.
Everett didn't move his hips. He remained buried deep inside, a heavy, solid weight of absolute security. He turned his head, burying his face directly into the damp, sensitive curve of Dorian’s neck.
Slowly, the violent adrenaline began to bleed out of the room.
Everett’s massive right hand lifted. He moved with a heavy, exhausted sluggishness.
His thick, calloused fingers found the base of Dorian’s spine.
With a trembling, agonizing gentleness that entirely contradicted the sheer brutality of his size, Everett began to trace the individual vertebrae of Dorian’s back.
It was a slow, reverent motion. A touch that sought to map the physical reality of the man he was holding. The captain, the heir to a ruthless legal dynasty, the man who dictated the violence of the locker room, was currently performing an act of absolute, devastating tenderness.
Dorian closed his eyes, his breathing finally leveling out into a slow, heavy rhythm.
He pressed his lips against the dark, sweat-soaked hair at Everett’s temple.
The federal audit, the hostile press, the massive deception they were feeding the government—it was all outside the heavy oak door.
Inside this room, pinned beneath the massive, protective weight of his husband, Dorian was entirely untouchable.
On the far wall, the glowing red numbers of the digital clock clicked forward.
2:00 AM.
The brutal reality of Game 2 was calling them back to the battle lines in less than eighteen hours.
The federal snare was still tightening around their ankles.
But as Dorian let the deep, resonant thud of Everett’s heart lull him toward unconsciousness, Part 2 of their war reached its halfway point, and the goalie knew he was never surrendering the crease again.