Chapter 11
CONNOR
Lying back on the bad, shaking all over with cum on my hand and stomach, I stared up at the ceiling as I tried to catch my breath.
My whole body was absolutely done. I’d officiated two games today, one of which had gone into overtime, and it was a genuine miracle my legs had stayed under me long enough to get to my room.
Wrung out as I was, I shouldn’t have been able to get it up, never mind do anything about it, but exhaustion be damned, I needed Madars.
Especially after our ongoing text exchanges, I was too keyed up to sleep without getting myself off.
No amount of tired, sore muscles were going to get between me and the orgasm I’d desperately needed, and now that I’d come…
Fuck me, I couldn’t move.
Not yet, anyway.
I closed my eyes and wiped my clean hand over my face. My legs were still shaking. My whole body vibrated, every muscle threatening to just give out if I dared get out of this bed.
Worth it, though. Pumping myself into oblivion while I’d imagined all the things I wanted to do with Madars—yeah, no amount of fatigue would’ve stopped me from getting off.
Though it was probably just as well I’d only had to worry about my own pleasure.
The best I could’ve offered Madars tonight was to lie here and let him blow me or fuck me.
Which—he’d have gotten me off, no doubt, but what fun was sex if I couldn’t reciprocate?
Eventually, the trembling stopped enough that I could get up and clean myself off. I didn’t trust my legs enough for a shower, but a washcloth got the job done. Then I brushed my teeth and shuffled back to bed. Tired as I was, I should’ve passed out as soon as I hit the pillow.
Spoiler—I didn’t.
I was right back to where I’d been a few minutes ago, if cleaner now.
Lying on the bed where I’d jerked off tonight—where Madars and I had fucked for the first time ever—my mind was still full of all those memories from the other night and all the fantasies that had driven me to a spectacular orgasm tonight.
I tried to tell myself it was just because I hadn’t been laid in a while. The horniness combined with the nostalgia of revisiting some of the best times of my teenage years—it made sense.
Except it kind of didn’t. Since when did nostalgia or horniness scramble my thoughts like this?
Especially when I was supposed to be focused on hockey?
I’d missed a call this morning (luckily the other ref caught it).
When I’d gone out to announce a penalty, I’d caught a glimpse of someone in the crowd wearing a Team Latvia jacket, and my mind had gone blank.
For a few long, horrifying seconds, I’d completely forgotten what penalty, what team, and what player.
I’d managed to play it off as having an issue with my headset, and those few seconds had bought me enough time to get my thoughts back online. By the time my headset “stopped malfunctioning,” I’d remembered what I needed to announce, and no one was the wiser.
No one except me.
I’d been rattled about it for the rest of the game as well as the one after that. Since when had I ever let anything distract me while I was officiating? My entire goal as a ref was to be focused and fair the way players expected and deserved. What the fuck?
And like, I’d officiated games while Madars had lived with my family.
Especially after I stopped playing hockey when I was sixteen, my weekends and evenings had been dominated by reffing anything from U10 to adult beer league.
I’d literally made out with Madars in a janitor’s closet between games at one tournament, and I’d still been completely focused when I’d hit the ice.
What was wrong with me now? Why had I turned so stupid the moment I’d laid eyes on him? Back when we were teenagers, I’d been as smitten with him as any kid was with their first. We’d moved on from that, though. I’d drifted away from Madars and dated other men.
And now, all these years later, I was a tongue-tied wreck. I had been since I’d first seen him coming into the restaurant where we’d met up. After we’d gone to the bone church—I mean, since when did a grown man’s world stop on a dime because of a kiss?
Since Madars Kulda kissed me in that hotel parking garage, apparently.
I shivered, goose bumps prickling every inch of my skin as I thought of all the ways he’d touched me in this bed that night.
I was no stranger to sex—definitely not the inexperienced kid I’d been when we’d experimented together a lifetime ago—but Madars had taken me higher than I ever remembered being.
The way he kissed. The way he sucked dick.
The way he felt when he moved inside me.
I closed my eyes and squirmed, my toes curling even as all my exhausted muscles reminded me I was in no condition to fuck anyone tonight.
Maybe not tonight, but goddammit, soon. I wanted him again, and I wasn’t so sure I could make it to the end of the Games before I did.
Even if we couldn’t hook up—because God knew we were both going to be run through the physical wringer this week—I just needed to see him.
Remind myself that the other night had been real, and so was the man responding to my texts.
I was losing my stupid mind over this man I’d almost forgotten about before this week. Did that mean it was long past time to get back into the dating game? Something I admittedly tended to neglect during hockey season?
Or did it mean something that had to do with Madars specifically?
No idea. All I knew in that moment was that I was going to physically unravel if I had to wait until after the Games to be in his company again.
So… fuck it. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand.
How does your evening look tomorrow? Think you have time to get a drink?
If I don’t have time, I’ll make time.
Yeah?
Absolutely. LMK when and where. I’ll be there.
I’ll text you tomorrow. Maybe 8 or 9? My last game is at 5.
I have practice at 4. Free after that.
Perfect. I’ll find a place and text you the address.
And, knowing I’d see Madars tomorrow, I finally gave in to exhaustion and slept like the dead.
It was almost nine-thirty the next evening when we were finally able to meet up.
Madars got tied up with some media obligations and a team meeting.
My last game of the day went into overtime.
By the time I was finally showered and in normal clothing, I was terrified he was going to bail.
He did, after all, have to practice early tomorrow morning.
He’d had a game and a practice today on top of his media thing and the team meeting, and I wouldn’t have blamed him if he wasn’t up for a drink this late at night.
To my surprise and relief, though…
Madars
Got a table near the back. You want me to order you something?
My heart fluttered as I wrote back that I’d be there shortly and asked if he minded getting me a glass of wine.
Though my legs ached and felt like they were being held together by chewing gum, I strode through the snowy night toward the place we’d agreed on.
I didn’t care if I had to be carried back to my hotel afterward—I was not missing this chance to spend a little time with Madars.
And when I walked into the restaurant and found him, and his eyes lit up in the same moment my pulse started soaring… oh, yeah, being out this late was well worth it.
“Sorry I took so long,” I said as I neared the table.
“Not long at all.” He rose, touched my waist, and kissed my cheek. Just a brief, light peck—probably all he dared to do out in public, even at a restaurant this dimly lit and intimate.
Definitely all I dared to do, and it was enough to have my spine tingling and my dick stirring as I took my seat opposite him. What the hell? This was so not like me.
I’m usually not out with Madars, though. Grown-up, seriously hot Madars who’s looking at me like that. Fuuuck.
“I got you a white wine.” He gestured at the glass in front of me. “I don’t know wines very well, and I wasn’t sure if that was what you wanted, but it was what you had the other night, so…”
“It’s fine. It’s perfect.” I smiled as I picked up the glass. “Trust you to be that observant.”
Even the dim light couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks. “Glad I got it right. I thought about waiting until you got here, but…” He trailed off as if he wasn’t sure how to finish the thought.
“All good. Thank you.” I sipped the wine, and ooh, yes, it was perfect.
I’d never had Czech wine before this trip, and I made a mental note to see if I could take a few bottles back to Canada.
That was something to think about when I wasn’t spending precious time with Madars, though.
As I put the glass back down, I said, “So how is it going with the team?” I grimaced.
“I’ve never understood how you guys can play in a tournament when you just started playing together as a team. ”
Madars chuckled, absently turning his own wineglass between his long fingers.
“Eh, it’s not so bad. It takes some getting used to, and we have to get our timing right and learn the coach’s system.
But we know each other and we know how to play hockey, so…
” He half-shrugged. “It’s a little like getting traded on to a new team mid-season, except everyone is new to the team. ”
“That sounds stressful.”
“To be fair, all the teams in the tournament have to do the same thing.”
“True. But a lot of Team Canada and Team USA play with or against each other all the time. So they’re used to each other’s playing styles.”