Page 44 of No Pucks

I glare.

He laughs and sits back up, teasing me, going really fucking slow. I follow, bringing our chests together again, mouth finding his collarbone.

“I can’t leave marks but you can?” he asks in a faux annoyed tone.

“No one will ask questions about yours.” I nip and bite, finding one of his nipples when he lifts again.

“Don’t stop.” He holds my head there.

I wrap my fingers around his cock, stroking him while I bite and suck his nipples. He rides me harder, body clenching around me until he loses it, coming on my chest. I flip us back over, the adrenaline overcoming everything else in my body. I drive my cock into him, fucking him into the mattress, drawn into the bliss of our bodies and the promised release.

FOURTEEN

LOGAN

Iwake up sore in all the best ways. Nothing like being thoroughly fucked to start the day off right. I roll over, surprised to still be in his bed. I smile to myself, picking my head up to check for a clock.

Ten minutes before I need to be up for practice. I settle back down to stretch and wake my body up. I work my fingers and roll my wrists, then lift my arms and roll my shoulders. I move through the same motions with my ankles and then pull my knees into my chest. My phone vibrates somewhere across the room. I glance over at Anthony to find he’s snoring.

Do I wake him up?

I shove myself out of bed to turn off my alarm before my backup goes off. Anthony hasn’t moved. Maybe he gets up later. He’s pretty close to our practice facility, only like half a block walk. That’s good, now that I know about his injury, but even that might be far with how he looked last night.

I pull on my jeans, wrinkling my nose because they reek of stale beer. At least I’m only going to practice. I search around for my shirt, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

Another glance at Anthony, and he’s still out. I check my phone. He’s got twenty minutes. I need to go, or I won’t be able to get my gear on and be on the ice in time. I’m never late.

I search for my shirt for another minute frantically, turning on my phone flashlight, not being quiet. Anthony sleeps through it all. I grab his shirt, bringing it to my nose to sniff. His scent is infused in the soft cotton—fresh and citrus. I pull it on and linger in the doorway.

He’s so peacefully asleep.

Must be nice.

I grab a sticky note off the desk in his room and write out a note, sticking it to his bare chest before leaving.

I jog to practice, still beating a lot of the guys into the locker room.

I throw Anthony’s shirt in the back of my bag and grab an undershirt.

One of the upperclassmen finishes changing and takes a seat next to me. “Where’d you vanish off to last night?” Ridgeway eyes my jeans and then glances at the shirt in my bag.

“I ended up going home with someone completely fucked.” I fake a yawn and blink a few times, mirroring how the guys act when they’re hungover.

He glances at the shirt again, and the hairs on the back of my neck raise. He can’t recognize it, can he? I push it out of my mind. There’s no way. He probably just noticed I wasn’t there last night. He’ll get over it. I went along with their hazing. I made it through the obstacle course and played the game. What I did the rest of the night was my business.

“Someone?”

“I didn’t ask for a name. Not my style.” I nod shoving my jeans off. “I woke up there and had to hoof it over here.”

Ridgeway searches my face then pushes to his feet, but his brother comes over and interrupts us.

“Coach still isn’t here. Do you think he forgot?” Ridgeway #2 says.

“What time does he usually get here?” #1 asks.

“He’s usually out on the ice before six,” #2 replies.

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