Page 62 of Gross Misconduct

“Take it,” I grunt. “Take it.”

I’m not as chatty as him. I get to the point.

I can’t get enough of him and the magic of his tongue. Something about Jack unleashes a beast within me. I grab a fistful of his golden hair and yank so my cock is all the way inside him, making him gag.

He smiles up at me when I pull out, like he just got on his favorite roller coaster.

He strokes me as he sucks, and the sight of my cock disappearing into his pretty, dirty-talking mouth sends me over the edge. My balls draw and everything goes white as I cream down his throat.

Once again, he collapses back onto the couch, which I will definitely make sure to wipe down before my shift ends.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say, worrying that maybe it was too much for him.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not looking for something tender. ” Jack stands and tucks in his shirt. He smooths out his pants, although he can’t get out all the wrinkles.

He checks the time on his phone.

“If you’re late, blame me,” I say.

“No need. I’ll just explain that I always try to be punctual, but your mechanic decided to finger-fuck me into oblivion.” Jack straightens his jacket and fixes the collar.

“You were the one?—”

Jack puts his hand to my mouth. “Flustered is a very sexy look on you.” He brushes his thumb over my bristly chin in a gesture that sends a dash of warmth through my veins. “I regret nothing.”

“Good luck.” I lean into him with a soft kiss that manages to crank up the heat, the taste of what just happened on each other’s lips.

I plop into one of the plane’s seats once he leaves. We are not allowed to lounge in any of our clients’ planes. And though it’s not in the employee handbook, I doubt we were allowed to do what Jack and I just did, either.

I glance out one of the windows and watch Jack jog out of the hangar. I smile to myself as he goes.

21

GRIFFIN

On Sunday, I roll into Summers Rink for the Comebacks’ next game, slightly more confident than the previous week. Sure, I’m still nervous as hell. But it’s a good, nervous energy. I’m juiced up with adrenaline and more excited to get on the ice than I have been all season.

The lobby of the rink is scattered with people who watched earlier games and some who came to see us. There’re plenty of people I don’t recognize, and it’s fuller than expected. Whereas last week most of our scant audience were family and friends of the players, I get the feeling there are actual strangers here.

One of them, a gruff guy in a puffy winter coat, claps me hard on the back. “Sourwood Cup! Go get ‘em!”

“Uh, thanks.”

“I watched you guys back in high school. Kick some Gen Z ass!” He raises a fist in the air.

I half raise my fist back and keep walking to the locker room. It’s been a long time since I had fans.

When I get to my locker, I tell my teammates about the encounter. They don’t act shocked, since the same thing has been happening to them. People have been coming up and wishing them luck. One guy came up to Tanner at the urinal to give him playing tips for beating the Blades.

“What can I say? People love us,” Hank says with zero modesty.

“I think it’s great that people are getting invested. We need to harness that momentum,” Bill says. He’s always the first guy suited up. “The Blades just played before us. I watched some of it.” He shakes his head, fighting the urge to get psyched out by what he saw. “There’s a reason Jack Gross went pro. He’s easily their top player. He has a great shot and good control of the puck.”

He also is brilliant with dirty talk, a fact I keep to myself.

Bill shakes his fear away. That’s what makes him such a great captain. He always knows how to get his focus back. “The Blades are good. There’s no denying that. But that means we have to work harder. Each Sunday game we have is another practice, another way to improve our game.” His eyes flick to me for a second. “We have the goods. So let’s use them.”

“In other words, let’s not make asses of ourselves in front of the whole town,” Des says.

---