Chapter 32 #3
And he didn’t just rail me, either. He laid me out on my stomach and made sure I felt every inch of his dick sliding slowly in and out.
He bent me over the mattress and teased me with just the head until I was pleading with him to give me more.
When he ordered me onto the bed on my back, I was a shaking mess, ready to do anything and everything he said as long as he didn’t stop.
He pushed my legs apart and loomed over me. “Do you want a pillow under your hips?”
“Might not be a bad idea.” I grinned up at him. “I love that angle.”
“I know you do.” He returned the grin as he grabbed a pillow. Once it was positioned under me, he pushed my legs apart and slid his cock back inside. We both moaned as he filled me up again.
“Liam…” I whispered just to say his name.
He ran his tongue along the inside of his lip as he rocked slowly and fluidly in and out of me. “You still good? Not… Not too sore?”
“Not too sore.” I ran a hand up his chest and teased his nipple with my thumbnail. “You’ll have to fuck me harder than that if you want me to be sore.”
His eyebrow lifted, and I knew he read the challenge loud and clear.
Would I regret issuing that challenge tomorrow? Maybe.
Tonight?
“Oh, God, don’t stop!” I was practically sobbing with need now, pumping my own dick furiously as he fucked me exactly as hard as I could take him. Any more and it would’ve been too much, but he rode that line as perfectly as he rode my ass. “Liam… God, that’s… Fuck me, baby, fuck me…”
He did. He fucked me deep, he fucked me hard, he fucked me so good I thought it might actually kill me.
“Get yourself off,” he panted, pounding into me for all he was worth. “I want to come again.”
I bit my lip and pumped myself harder, chasing my orgasm with total abandon now.
I loved that he got off on me getting off, same as I did.
The way he drove into me, frantic and needy, wanting me to get there, drove me wild and made me want to lose it for him.
I was hungry for my own release, but even more, I was desperate for the way he would lose it once he saw and felt and heard me come.
I knew that as soon as I came, I’d haul him right over the edge with me, and just thinking that—just anticipating him forcing himself into me and coming—took me there.
I cried out as my hips bucked, and Liam moaned a shaky, “Oh my God, that’s hot,” as my cum landed on my hand and my stomach.
I was still coming, still shooting on myself, when he thrust into me so hard, he pushed me up almost into the headboard, and his groan was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard as he released inside me.
Liam slumped over me, trying to hold himself up on shaky arms. I pulled him all the way down, letting him rest his head on my shoulder as he caught his breath.
His skin was feverishly hot and slick with sweat, and I didn’t imagine mine was much different.
When I ran my fingers through his hair, it was wet.
I could already feel muscles and joints, not to mention my ass, aching in a way that warned that I would be feeling this tomorrow.
I grinned to myself and kissed his temple. I didn’t mind at all. I felt too good to care about tomorrow, and anyway, tomorrow’s aches and pains would just have me thinking about tonight. Sounded good to me.
After a moment, he pushed himself up and met my gaze, grinning down at me as a drop of sweat clung precariously to the end of his hair. “Told you I’d make sure you came.”
“Uh-huh. And I never had any doubt.”
We both chuckled, and he came down for a long, lazy kiss. Then he pulled out and asked, “Shower?”
“Probably a good idea.” We were, after all, a complete mess.
We were both a bit shaky in his huge shower. I couldn’t help taking some pride in watching this top-tier professional athlete trembling after giving me the fuck of my life.
And the more I thought about that, the more it took my breath away. I’d quietly worried in the beginning that he couldn’t possibly want me as much as he did. That he could do so much better, so why sell himself short?
But every time he kissed me, looked at me, drilled me into his mattress—yeah, Liam wanted me.
And then there was the way he’d looked at me on the dads’ trip. When we couldn’t touch and we couldn’t let on that we’d ever exchanged more than a handshake. Every time I’d caught myself pining for him on that trip, I’d meet his gaze and see all that longing and need staring right back at me.
He wanted me, and more and more, I believed he wanted me as much as I did him. Not just sex. Not just someone to hang out with.
I couldn’t resist, and I gently reeled him in for a soft kiss. He didn’t seem to mind, sliding his hands up my back as we lazily indulged in each other’s mouths.
After a moment, he broke the kiss and met my gaze. I thought he might ask what that was all about, but instead he asked, “Do you have any idea how bad it was killing me to be staying in the same hotel without touching?”
Laughing, I nodded. “I think I have some idea, yeah.” I smoothed his wet, disheveled hair. “Especially when you called me to the parking garage.”
He laughed, and I swore if his face hadn’t already been flushed, his cheeks would’ve colored. “Might’ve been a bit of a desperation play.” As he met my gaze again, he licked his lips. “But… I was desperate.”
“Me too.”
He grinned and kissed me. When he met my gaze again, he’d turned more serious.
Not unhappy—nothing like that—just serious.
Trailing his fingertips along my jaw, he said, “I missed you. You were right there, but… I missed you.” He paused, quirking his lips, and laughed nervously.
“That… Fuck. That probably sounds really stupid.”
My throat tightened around a sudden lump of emotion. “No. It doesn’t sound stupid.” Gathering him in my arms, I kissed his temple, and my voice barely carried over the shower as I whispered, “I missed you, too.”
Because I had.
And now he was back in my arms, relaxing into my embrace as if he were relieved that I understood what he’d meant. That we were very, very much on the same page.
And if I’d had any lingering doubts that this thing was so much more than sex…
They all vanished as I held on to the man I loved.
Of course, hockey was a demanding mistress, and the dust had barely settled in the bedroom before Liam was back out on the road. Luckily, we kept in touch almost constantly, and during some of the longer stretches where we were incommunicado, I was watching him on TV.
And when he was off the ice and back in his hotel room…
“That was a hell of a game.”
On my screen, Liam smiled, sitting back against the headboard. “It was a grind.”
“You won, though.”
He laughed so softly the sound didn’t even carry through our FaceTime call. “Eventually. I thought we were fucked there for a while, but we pulled it off.”
“Yeah, you did. That was a crazy goal from Temo!”
“I know, right? And it broke his dry spell, so believe me, he’s happy.”
“I bet he is.”
In fact, everyone knew he was—the pure elation coming off the man after he scored had been infectious.
The game had been tied 1-1 since the first period, and by the final two minutes of the third, the commentators had been resigned to the game going into overtime.
Then Long Island got a power play in the final minute.
Either they’d score and finish off the Phantoms, or they’d go into overtime with sixty seconds on the man advantage. Not good.
With thirty seconds left in regulation, a Long Island defenseman had bobbled a pass.
Out of nowhere, Temo snatched up the puck and flew out of the defensive zone.
I think the power play was caught off-guard so badly, so caught up in their momentum of cycling the puck and moving in on Pittsburgh’s net, they didn’t react quickly enough.
Only by a second or two, but in hockey, that was enough to be disastrous.
With three skaters on his heels, Temo sped into Long Island’s zone. He faked left. Then right. The goalie went down, probably expecting a shot through the five-hole… and Temo sent it right past his ear.
Temo had roared as he’d thrown himself into the glass behind the net. He’d pumped his stick in the air, and my God, that had been the look of a man who’d finally—finally—cracked through a scoring drought. And with a game-winning short-handed goal, no less.
“Temo isn’t usually on the penalty kill, is he?” I asked.
“Not usually. But with Drizz getting checked out in the locker room and Morris being absolutely gassed after his last shift, Coach sent him out.” Liam grinned. “Good thing, too.”
“No kidding. How is Drizz, anyway?”
“He’s good. Just bruised the shit out of his calf.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, he looked like he was hurting.” I squirmed on my bed. “It always makes me cringe when you guys stop pucks like that.”
Liam laughed with some more enthusiasm. “I mean, it makes me cringe, too. That shit hurts!”
I shuddered. “This sport is for masochists, isn’t it?”
“I mean, I don’t know how many of us like the pain? We just sort of… don’t care about it.”
“Ugh. No thanks. I don’t like pain, and I definitely care about it.”
He chuckled. “I don’t either, but in the moment, I’m too competitive to care.” He paused, and there was some definite heat cracking through the fatigue in his eyes as he said, “And afterward, I’m too horny to care.”
My breath stuttered. “Oh, really?”
“Mmhmm.” He licked his lips. “Especially when I’ve got a man who loves getting drilled, but I can’t actually be with him.”
I squirmed some more, my dick quickly hardening in my shorts. “Do you think they do this on purpose? Scheduling the games so people can’t get fucking laid?”
He laughed. “Sometimes I wonder. The League commissioner went through a nasty divorce a few years ago, so maybe he’s taking it out on all of us.”
“That bastard.”