Page 66 of Gross Misconduct

“We need all the practice time we can get. Every day, I’m seeing posts people are sharing about the Sourwood Cup and how excited they are to watch the game. A reporter from The Sourwood Gazette wants to profile us for an article. This thing is taking off, so we need to make sure we’re the best we can be. So if that means you can’t go out Thursday night, tough.”

The groaners shut up this time. I can feel eyes on me. As the former pro that is helping to generate buzz about the event, my opinion carries substantial weight.

“No problem, baby. Count me in,” I say.

Fuentes gives me an appreciative nod. We head out the locker room onto the rink, the cold steaming off the fresh ice. As I’m about to put on my helmet, I spot Griffin by the snack stand. He nudges his head toward the locker room entrance.

“Give me one minute,” I tell Fuentes. “I forgot my lucky bracelet.”

“I thought you lost it.”

“It’s a new one,” I say, my pulse beginning to quicken.

“Be careful. You don’t want to fuck with good luck things in the middle of a season.”

“I’m not. I know what I’m doing,” I say as my dick hardens in my jockstrap.

Back in the locker room, I search the rows until I come to Griffin, leaning against the row of lockers farthest from the rink entrance.

The man knows how to lean. He wears a black hoodie that fits snuggly around his stomach and muscled frame.

“Hoping to see what a good hockey team looks like?” I ask.

“Just wanted to give you some good juju before you get out there.” Griffin closes the gap between us and pulls me into a deep kiss. Even though I’m nearly as tall as him, and I’m wearing all my pads and gear, he scoops me into his arms like I’m a newborn kitten.

I melt into his kiss, his warm lips and scratchy beard making me dizzy with lust. Griffin pushes me up against the lockers, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. Through all my gear, I can feel the heat of his hungry hands. My cock strains against my protective cup, aching for release.

“We need to be quick,” I say between dogged breaths. “I have to get back out there. I don’t want them to come looking for me.”

“Imagine the position they’re going to find you in.” Griffin arches an eyebrow.

He spins me around so my face is pushed up against the lockers. I push my ass out, desperate to know his plan, wanting whatever he can give me.

“Someone’s horny.” He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against my neck.

Griffin reaches around and unties my hockey pants, his rough fingers brushing against my bare stomach, sending a hot chill coursing across my skin. He drags them down, then my mesh shorts and long underwear. The cold air hits the bare skin of my ass with a sting.

He growls with approval at what he sees.

“Are you going to eat my ass again?” I ask in a husky whisper. I’ve never wanted so badly for the word “yes” to come from someone else’s lips.

“Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

He dips a finger down my crack and taps my hole. I gasp out in pleasure.

“Fuck. I love when you play with my hole.” I know I should shut the fuck up. Not give myself away to the guys on the ice. But the way Griffin takes over my body makes me want to be loud, the way you scream at the top of your lungs at your favorite concert. The echoey sounds of my teammates on the ice bounces off the locker room walls. Any one of them could walk in.

Griffin’s rough finger circles my rim. He gives my cheek a hard slap.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” I cry out.

A sigh of want tumbles out of me when I hear him get on his knees. Griffin lets out a little grunt of pain familiar to any hockey player with tight joints.

“Yes. Eat that hole.” I bite my lip, willing myself to shut up as the flat of his tongue presses against my sensitive opening.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Ringer.” His hot breath dances on my hole, heat crackling through my body. The tip of his tongue swirls around the hole, sending every nerve ending standing at attention.

I pull my jockstrap down to free my aching cock from the restraints. I’m so fucking hard I see white spots in my vision.

---