Over the Line

Chapter 32 #4

“I know, right?” His shoulder moved, and I thought he might’ve been adjusting himself. “One more game, though, and them I’m home for a week and a half.”

“Thank fuck,” I breathed. We hadn’t had sex in…

God, at least a week and a half. Liam had been on the road with the team for a week, and before that, we just hadn’t been able to find a night to tear up the sheets.

Even after the dads’ trip, the calendar hadn’t been kind.

Then I’d had to work late to meet a deadline.

Liam had been pulled away for some media obligations in between games and practices.

Now he was on the road, and my hand was not getting the job done in his absence.

It was my turn to adjust myself. “I can’t wait until you get home.”

“Neither can I. In fact, I don’t want to.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

He drew his tongue across his lips again. “Touch yourself,” he whispered hoarsely. “Let me watch you get off.”

“Touch…” I swallowed. “You want to watch me?” It always made me so damn hot when he wanted that.

“What I want to do is suck your dick until you’re on the verge of tears,” he said. “And then fuck you until we both are. But since I can’t do that…” The telltale motion of his arm and shoulder made my toes curl. “Let me watch.”

I wasn’t about to say no to any of that.

“Hang on.” I put the phone aside so I could strip off my shorts. Then I picked it up again, and I angled it so Liam had the view he wanted.

“Oh my God, yeah,” he purred before I’d even touched myself. “Fuck, I can’t wait…” He trailed off and bit his lip.

When I did start stroking my dick, his arm moved a little slower, as if falling into rhythm with mine.

“Don’t I—” I paused, catching my breath. “Don’t I get to watch you, too?”

“You want to?” He grinned.

“I can’t suck it or ride it right now,” I said. “The least you can do is let me watch it.”

His eyebrows flicked up as if he hadn’t expected that. Hell, I hadn’t expected it; dirty talk had never been my strong point, but he seemed to draw it out of me.

And he also adjusted the angle of his phone so I could see him. Christ, what a view—those six-pack abs, taut and bare above his fully hard dick, the muscles in his powerful arm rippling with each slow, restrained stroke.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “That’s so damn hot.”

“Uh-huh.” Liam gazed at me with heavy-lidded eyes full of heat and lust. “Hot as hell.”

There was a part of me that wanted to remind him I had the much, much better view right now. I took care of myself, but I wasn’t in tiptop professional athlete condition.

Except the way he watched me… The way he bit back a moan as he tightened his strokes…

I didn’t have to understand what he saw when he looked at me. I didn’t have to get how a man carved from marble could get that turned on by what I had on offer. It didn’t have to make sense.

The reality was that what Liam saw made him hot, and he was pumping himself while he watched me do the same, murmuring, “Baby, I can’t wait to touch you again.”

“S-same.” I sped up my strokes, my spine arching off the bed as heat coursed through me. “Jesus, Liam…”

“Mmm, yeah, I love it when you say my name,” he whispered. “I’d make you beg for my dick when I see you, but let’s be real…” He pushed out a ragged breath as he shifted on the bed. “I’m going to be begging to fuck you.”

“Don’t need to beg,” I slurred. “I want it too. God, I want you so bad.”

His choked whimper almost sent me over the edge. “Fuuuck…”

Yeah, my sentiments exactly. Watching him while I was getting myself off—this was too damn hot. I didn’t even have space to be self-conscious. I was just too turned on by him and by the way he watched me like he wanted to eat me alive.

That dirty goddamned mouth didn’t hurt a thing either.

“As soon as I have you in the same room,” he rasped, fucking into his own fist, “I need to be balls deep in you.”

“Oh God,” I croaked, letting my head fall back. “Yes, please?”

“Yeah? That what you want?”

“So much.” I licked my lips, tightening my strokes as I sought more friction. “Baby, I need to be fucked.”

“I know you do. And I need to fuck you. Your mouth, your ass—you’re not going to be able to move when I’m done with you.”

“Promise?”

“You better believe it. I’m—” He pressed his head back into the headboard. “God, I’m gonna come.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Please do.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth into his lip. Then he opened his eyes and looked right at me, and his words came out as a groan: “Fuck, I can’t wait to come in you.” And then he was coming, thrusting into his own fist as cum dotted those perfect, tight abs.

Money shots had never done much for me, but when it was Liam going off just after he’d said how much he wanted to come in me—oh, yeah, that took me there. In an instant. I shuddered and gasped as my toes curled and my back arched, and I shouted as I came on my own hand and stomach.

“Oh my God, that’s hot,” he whispered. “That’s it, baby. God, yeah…”

I just pressed back against the headboard and breathed. Jerking off hadn’t even come close to scratching the itch lately, but when it was accompanied by filthy promises rolling off Liam’s tongue? Holy fuck.

I exhaled and loosened my grasp on my dick. On the screen, he was doing the same. Trembling. Panting. Lying there like he needed to collect himself as much as I did.

Still out of breath, he said, “One more game, baby. Then you’re all mine.”

I nodded. “One more game.”

I couldn’t fucking wait.

“Saints is down behind the goal line, and he’s slow to get up.”

I sat straighter as my heart jumped into my throat. The camera panned and found Liam by the boards.

It had all happened so fast. One second, the players were in motion. Then there was a whistle, the camera panned, and Liam was down.

Heart pounding, I silently begged them to show what happened. I didn’t want to see it, but I needed to. I had to know how he’d gone from skating to… that.

Is he okay? Will someone please say if he’s okay?

The camera panned to the visitors bench and showed one of the trainers hurrying out onto the ice.

Then it shifted back to Liam. He’d made it to his hands and knees, which was promising, but he still wasn’t getting up.

His head was bowed. His arms were shaking.

Temo was crouched beside him, a hand on Liam’s back.

Chris stood next to them, watching with concern written all over his face.

I held my breath as the trainer joined them.

He knelt beside Liam, ducking his head almost enough to be eye-to-eye with him, a hand on Liam’s shoulder as he spoke to him.

From this angle, it was impossible to tell if Liam was responding.

If he was bleeding. If… fuck, there were so many possibilities.

I clung to the fact that he’d managed to get to his hands and knees. That ruled out a lot of worst-case scenarios. It didn’t rule out enough of them, though. Especially when I knew just how much hockey players could and would push through pain to get up.

I tried not to remember the defenseman several seasons ago who’d been boarded and played another intense shift before the team doctor apparently said, “No, you’re done. And you’re getting an X-ray. Now.”

The man had gotten up, played hockey, walked into the back—and the X-ray showed a fractured cervical vertebra.

I shuddered at the memory. With my son playing hockey, that incident had given me literal nightmares.

With my boyfriend struggling to get up off the ice right now…

Fuck.

The camera switched to a slow-motion replay.

Liam was coming around behind the goal on the heels of the puck carrier.

The puck carrier clipped the goal, which knocked him slightly off balance, and they collided, sending both of them into the boards in a heap.

Liam went down first. The other guy landed awkwardly on top of him.

I sucked in air through my teeth. Even if he didn’t come away with an injury, that still had to hurt.

When the camera returned to the real-time footage of Liam, he was very slowly and very gingerly getting to his feet with the help of Chris and Temo.

Then, as the crowd applauded and the players tapped their sticks, he skated just as slowly toward the bench with his arm around Chris’s shoulders.

Upright, partly bent over as if his midsection hurt, but mostly moving on his own power.

Definitely a good sign, even if my heart still refused to slow down.

I pushed out a ragged breath as Chris handed Liam off to another trainer at the bench. The sight of Liam disappearing down the tunnel, limping hard and leaning heavily on the trainer, had me sick with worry.

Hockey injuries were weird. Players could bounce back immediately from what looked like a disastrous collision. Or they could seemingly graze each other or the boards, and suddenly they were being carted off on a stretcher. Moving at that high of a speed on a hard surface—shit definitely happened.

It kind of made me miss the days when Chris was on a youth team.

They moved almost comically slowly at that age, and the worst part about falling was getting back up on their skates.

A “check” was basically two tiny people running into each other in slow motion, then dropping onto the ice on their butts or in a heap.

As the kids had aged, they’d picked up speed, and the collisions and injuries got worse.

At this level… well, there was a reason they kept EMTs on site at every game.

I shuddered at the memory of a video I’d been sent on social media during Chris’s minor league days.

I could still feel the visceral horror of watching my son getting wheeled off the ice.

We’d still been firmly estranged at that point, so I couldn’t even call or text to make sure he was all right.

I’d checked with Katie, pleading with her to just let me know he was okay since I knew they were in contact.

“I know he doesn’t want to talk to me,” I’d said. “And I respect that. But please, just let me know he’s okay so I don’t worry.”

Ironically, that had been one of the catalysts toward us reconciling.

Not wanting to violate her brother’s boundaries, Katie had asked him if she could update me.

He’d told her yes, but apparently it got him thinking, and he’d reached out to me himself not long after.

First to let me know he had whiplash, but they hadn’t wanted to take chances with his neck. Then, later, to actually talk to me.

Even with that silver lining, I would never wish that moment on any parent.

Turned out it wasn’t so hot for a partner, either. As the game resumed, I still couldn’t relax. Was Liam okay? Was he heading to the hospital? Were they X-raying him now to figure out if he needed to go to the ER?

Could someone tell us something? Please?

The game went on. The third offensive line made a drive into the other team’s zone. One turnover later, the action was in Pittsburgh’s zone.

And still nothing about Liam.

I fidgeted on the couch, literally queasy with worry. There wasn’t even any point in texting him because he kept his phone on silent in his locker during games.

Come on, come on. Can we get an update? Like, maybe before the game is over?

They’d just started the third period when Liam had gotten hurt, and now they were better than halfway through it. So, there was a chance we wouldn’t get an update until the postgame media availability, and even that might not be—

“Good news for Pittsburgh fans!” the commentator exclaimed. “Liam St. Clair has returned to the Pittsburgh bench.”

The camera shifted to the bench in question, and sure enough, there was Liam, sandwiched between Temo and Chris. His features were still taut, but he was there, which meant he wasn’t seriously hurt.

All the air rushed out of me as I sagged back against the couch.

He was okay. Sore, probably, but he was okay.

Thank fucking Christ, he was okay.

In fact, a moment later, he and his line were out on the ice. As he skated up to the faceoff dot in the defensive zone, his lips were so tight, they’d completely blanched. His eyes were full of pain, and he didn’t bend down quite as far as he usually did for a faceoff.

The puck dropped. Liam fought for it, same as he always did, and sent it to Temo.

Chris, Temo, and the defensemen were heading north with the opposing players hot on their heels.

Liam, too, but he lagged behind a bit. Not terribly so, but he definitely wasn’t playing at full speed.

The more he moved, though, the better; maybe he’d just needed to loosen up a little?

His shift ended, and the camera caught him making a “thank God that’s over” face as he sat down on the bench.

He was okay, right?

He played one more shift in the final three minutes of the game, and he got an assist on Drizz’s empty net goal. When the final buzzer sounded, the Phantoms had won 3-1.

As the players filed off the ice, I grabbed my phone and sent a text.

Hey, you okay? (grimace emoji)

I fully expected his reply to take a little while.

Media availability, hydrating, showering—he often didn’t check his phone for an hour or more after the game ended.

That was fine, even if I couldn’t draw an easy breath while I waited.

I needed to know he was okay. Not just okay enough to play hockey—he’d said himself hockey players would play through pain—but truly okay.

Finally, my phone pinged.

Liam

I’m good. He just caught me at a weird angle.

Good to hear. I was so damn glad when they showed you back out on the bench. I was worried!

Sorry to worry you. (sad emoji) I was honestly okay. Trainers just wanted to be absolutely sure I hadn’t fucked myself up.

And you didn’t? You’re sure you’re okay?

Just sore. (sad emoji)

I’m sorry. Glad you’re okay, though. Mostly.

I’ll be fine by the time I get home. Then I’ll make us both sore.

In a good way?

In the best way.