Page 4 of Reckless On Ice

I groan, thinking of someone wearing my scent around, letting me mark them in such a primal way, wanting to be mine. My hips flex and I squeeze my cock harder, focusing on the top half, my fist skimming over the head with each tug of my hand, building pressure.

“Would you swallow, or do you want me to come on your abs and use it to get you off?” I ask, my voice guttural as I near my climax, watching this imaginary scene play out in my head and giving voice to my filthiest fantasies.

“Both. Jesus, fuck. I want to taste your cum, and I want you to stroke me with it,” he says, an urgency to his tone as he pulls faster on his cock, matching my pace.

“Mmmmm,” I growl, the sound reverberating through my chest as I arch my back and feel my orgasm building at thebase of my spine. “I’ll come on your abs, and you can clean me up with your tongue after. But I want you in my mouth. I’ll swallow that load and get every last drop when you come.”

“Fuck, I’m not going to last with that mouth of yours,” Jack says, voice ragged as his hips flex erratically into his fist. Knowing he wants this as badly as I do sends me racing toward my climax.

“I’m right there with you,” I pant, my breath caught in my lungs as my release seizes me, and I cry out. My cock swells as I pump my fist slowly across the head, hot cum shooting onto my stomach and coating my abs just as Jack comes.

His moans are quiet, muffled like he’s turned his head into a pillow, and I feel a momentary pang of sadness that I couldn’t hear his full response, even while riding the high of this mutual orgasm. Our hands slow at different times, and my breathing evens out faster than his does. I watch as his lower stomach rises and falls under the mess of cum that I wish I could taste.

Hot regret washes over me as my sticky release cools on my skin. I want nothing more than to find some sort of connection with my faceless online hookup after such an intimate act.

“Fuck, that was good,” I say, keeping my voice low and letting the sexy scratch come through. I need him to want me even more now that we’ve experienced this together.

“Yeah, I like that mouth of yours. You really know how to get me there. Thanks, man. Have a good night.”

Wait, that’s it?But what was I expecting, really? Vers is afaceless app for gay guys to send photos and videos for online hookups. It won't be where I find the love of my life when I can't even show my face.

“Yeah, have a good night,” I say, but Jack has already ended the video chat.

Three

Ryder

Media day for a brand-new hockey team is way more insane than anything I’ve experienced. We’re taking all the photos and videos for our socials, player cards, and every promotion and project they have planned for the season. On top of that, we also have a literal minefield of sports journalists to run through once we finish. It’s a long fucking day.

I hate doing anything with the media, but this is mandatory, so I can’t slip out unnoticed or shove another player in front of a camera or microphone like I would with a post-game presser. Once I complete my photos and promo videos, I’m shuffled into the press room by a twenty-year-old blonde intern, wearing a Hydras polo with a death grip on her phonethat she refuses to put away, even when we’re just waiting in line. I follow Westy and his handler, watching as he moves toward the gauntlet ahead and stops at the first media station.

“Westin Dumont, number sixty-nine, center,” he says when prompted by his handler from the PR team.

“I’m Garren Thomas with the Southern Sports Network. Dumont, can you tell us your plan for the season ahead as a new team?” a reporter calls, throwing him a softball of a question, if you ask me. We don't know the media that reports on our team yet, so they’ll have to introduce themselves now.

“We’re going to leave it all on the ice and keep a next-game mentality. Hard work pays off, boys, eh? We’re just going to do our best and play the hardest we can,” he replies, using tried-and-true answers that I’m sure the entire team has said at some point. We’ve all had extensive media coaching, even if it sticks with some of us more than others.

He moves down the line, and I take my place at my first media station with my handler nearby, who is making sure I know what to do and where to go next.

“I’m Lilah Williams with the Atlanta Free Press,” a busty brunette with pillowy red lips says as I position myself.

“Ryder Kingston, number one, goalie,” I say before my handler prompts. I want it to be done sooner rather than later, so I’ll get through the necessary bits quickly.

“Kingston, in mythology, the hydra is a beast with many serpent heads, but you seem to be taking the snake theme to a personal level before the season even begins. Can youelaborate on the comments you made yesterday about the Atlanta Condors, specifically, tight end Knox Contraire?” she asks, her winged eyeliner exaggerating her narrowed eyes and making me look twice as I process her question.

Is she calling me a fucking snake?“What comments?” I ask, not sure what she means. I was expecting the easy shit, like Westy was given.

“The homophobic comments you made while out at a local sports bar insinuating Contraire is gay. The original video now has over three million views on TikTok,” she clarifies, turning her phone around and showing me a screenshot of…holy fucking shit, that’sme. It looks like a photo of me taken over Nico’s shoulder, and the captions on the screen send a wave of nausea through me as sweat beads along my spine.

“Who posted that?” I demand, anger quickly replacing the dread that sinks like lead to my skates. Fuck my life, this can’t be happening. It was an outing with the team, and none of them were taking videos of me. Who got close enough and captured the worst thing I said over several hours of us shit-talking each other?

The reporter taps her screen, and the video plays. It’s a bit muffled and the background noise is loud, but you can clearly hear me say,“You’d think he’d be better at keeping his eye on the ball than that. He’s always liked handling them, a little too much.”The video is clipped so it immediately picks up with another damning statement, my face twisted with disgust.“Knox came onto me. He was obsessed with me and wouldn’tleave me alone. That’s not normal behavior. Knox was a fucking queer stalker. I wanted nothing to do with that shit.”

“What was your relationship with Knox Contraire, and when were you two…together?” she asks.

“What the fuck? We were never together,” I fire at her, not about to let this shit start up again. I got enough crap about Knox years ago. I won't let some pumped-up reporter twist the situation even more than it already is. “I knew Knox in high school. He was obsessed with me, which was one-sided.”

“Why did you make those comments, like you were informed about his current relationship status or sexuality? Have you reconnected with him since moving to Atlanta?” Her smile is cruel and condemning, calculating as she herds me along whatever booby-trapped path she’s set to get me to say something even more incriminating.

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