Page 59 of Reckless On Ice

I feel him at my entrance as I arch my back, needing more. He parts my legs, pushing his thigh between mine, and drives into me slowly. The stretch is delicious, and I moan as he fills me with short thrusts of his powerful hips that have me seeing stars and crying his name in ecstasy already.

“Fuck, Ryder. Yes, like that, baby. Harder, please use me. I need you to own me, make me yours,” I cry, lost to the pleasure of Ryder’s body covering mine from shoulder to ankles, his big arm holding me tight around my waist, fisting my cock as he drives deep and hard into me.

“How are you so tight and perfect,” he groans into my ear, his face buried in my neck as he takes ragged breaths, inhaling against my skin like a junkie looking for a fix. “You’re mine, Knox. God, you’re all mine and I’m yours.”

He bites into my trap, the sharp pain a stark contrast to my entire body being lit up like a Christmas tree from the pleasure he’s infusing into my system. Every nerve ending is alive, theenergy of Ryder powering me like a live wire connected to the largest power bank imaginable—endless love and devotion from someone who knows you better than anyone.

“Baby, I’m right there,” I groan, reaching back and gripping his thigh, pulling him tighter against me. His thrusts turn jerky, and I feel the impossible swell of him inside me as he squeezes my cock and works me in short tugs.

My release comes in waves that feel prismatic, hot ropes of cum coating his fingers as he strokes his fist over the head of my cock, finishing me off. His groan is muffled, his mouth still pressed against my skin where he bit me, as his hips snap against my ass and still, his cock spasming as he paints my insides with his release.

His heart beats against my back, mine syncing to his rhythm like a familiar song, and our breaths slowly even out as he holds me tight and kisses along my neck and shoulder. I grab the towel he put on the side of the bed and clean up as he pulls out of me and groans in delight, watching the mess he made of me.

“You’re such a dirty monster,” I tell him with a laugh, knowing what he’s enjoying.

“I love seeing your ass marked with my cum, Knox. You have no idea what it does to me.”

“Oh, trust me, baby, I know.” I toss the towel to him, and he cleans up the rest before he tucks himself in against my side, throwing his leg over mine, and lets me wrap my arms around him. “This should always be our life together,” I say quietlyinto his hair as he rests his head on my chest. “I want us coming home to each other, fucking like maniacs, and so in love we make people sick to see us because they want what we have.”

Ryder raises his head and looks at me with excitement in his eyes. “Let’s show the world what this love looks like. Hard launch us. Now.” He sits up all the way and starts looking for his phone amongst the clothes scattered on the ground. “Let’s take a photo right now and put it on our socials. We’ll tell everyone that I was such a hateful douchebag because I couldn’t admit what I wanted and who I am, so I hated that part of myself, never you, but I took it out on you anyway. Your sensitivity training and lessons helped me overcome my dickery and internalized hate to acknowledge what I truly wanted while learning about acceptance, or whatever better way you can say it. I don’t want to suppress that part of myself anymore. I want people to know we have feelings for one another and want to be together.”

“You want to take a photo right now and post it on socials?” I ask, pointedly looking at his dick.

He looks down, then at my dick, and shrugs. “It would get the point across really fucking well that we love each other if they realize we’re naked in bed together, right?”

I laugh as he comes back to bed with his phone in hand and curls up in my arms again. “I am not taking photos of us naked to post online, Reckless,” I tell him, using the old nickname so he knows he’s not thinking this through. “It’s one thing to jack off together on an app or send spicy photos to each other,but baby, think about it. We can do this so much better.” I chuckle at his frown now that I refuse to go along with his impulsive idea. “I have a whole folder on my phone called Fire Photos of Kingsy where I’ll save anything you take right now for my private use, but let’s not scandalize the professional sports world with our racy selfie from bed, okay?”

In the end, we take the photos anyway, because our love should be documented in a way we can look back on anytime we want. I manage to convince Ryder not to post them at midnight to his social media like a psycho. A psycho in love, but still a crazy man. We do, however, find time to take fully clothed photos the next day, me sitting behind Ryder with his head on my shoulder, face turned toward mine as he smiles with Goldie in her fish tank next to us. We post to both our socials with a caption that includes the two guys holding hands emoji and readsSometimes, your family looks a little different, but the love is just as big. It was a long, bumpy road to get here, but the journey is where all the memories are made. Looking forward to all the future holds for us.

Epilogue

Ryder

The roar of the crowd is a tinny sound blocked out as I focus on the play happening to the right of me, staying pinned to the side post, ready to spring across and defend the net. Rook and Campbell are fighting to take possession of the puck along the boards against two Boston players as the clock races down in the third period. The score is two-to-two, and we need to clinch another goal to seal our win. This playoff series has been especially contentious, with both Boston and the Hydras having three wins each and needing this deciding game to see who will advance to the Stanley Cup Finals. Having this final game in our arena, on home ice, gives us even more to play for. We don't want to let our fans down.

Playoffs have always been a struggle for me, my nerves becoming a problem, and my focus lost when a goal is scored, leading to more mistakes and letting my team down. Or at least it was in Boston, which was a contributing factor to why they traded me away after ten years with them. I’ve proven through this playoff series that I can be dependable after all, staying sharp and shaking off the goals, knowing my teammates have my back and will do their part to even the score. It’s been good to know I wasn't destined to always be a fuck up when it mattered the most. Having a coach and a team that believes in me despite my past has been game-changing, literally.

This season, the mental game has been completely different. I've been learning to manage my emotions and think before I speak, and that’s translated into how I play on the ice. I’m more focused on the game and less caught up in my head, which has made a big difference. The Hydras have restored my faith in my playing ability, making me feel like a god on the ice, and with Knox by my side, I feel like a god off it, too. Hell, I’m not as reckless on ice or off, period.

Rook snaps the puck out to Westy, who clears it up to Monty along the boards, and they race for the other goal. Monty passes to Nico and switches spots with him, taking the Boston D-man with him, leaving Westy open for the pass Nico sends sailing his way. Westy slaps the puck and clears Upton’s right shoulder just as he was turning, too slowly, to defend from Westy’s angle. The lamp lights as the goal horn blares, and our guys surge into the boards, smothering Westyas he takes us out of our tied score, while fans scream their excitement all around Olympus Arena. Now, we just have to defend and not let another Boston goal in for the last minute of game time, and we’ll be onto the Stanley. Holy shit, it’s so close.

I turn to get water with the break in play, lifting my mask and spotting Knox in the stands behind me, clapping with the other spectators and grinning like the proud boyfriend he is. He holds up a sign that says "Kingsy, you'll always be my king, on the ice and off!" making me damn near burst with happiness. I spray water on my face to rinse off the sweat that’s stinging my eyes and making them water, shaking out my wet hair before I put my mask back on, but not before blowing him a quick kiss of thanks. He just shakes his head shyly and sits back in his seat as I return to my position in the goal.

The boys set up for a face-off at center ice, everyone tense and ready to spring as the refs reset them several times before they can get a clean puck drop. Boston wins the face-off, and once again, I’m faced with my former teammates looking to score against me. They’ve changed up their plays and adjusted to the Hydras’ style throughout this series once they realized I could pick out all their old plays and their old style wouldn't be effective against me. Now, I have to watch for each player’s tell, and focus on minute details that keep me riveted on where the puck is and who is around to take a pass for potential shots.

The Boston center fakes a pass that sends Rook after the winger it was intended for, leaving a gap as he drops back andlets the D-man who was behind him take the puck instead. He passes to the right winger, who passes again, and I’m on alert, my glove up and legs ready to sprawl whichever way the puck comes. I see the wind up before the puck is even passed back, and I make my move, hoping like hell it’s the right one. When the stick connects with the puck and it comes sailing at me where I’d anticipated, I’m able to stop it with my shoulder as I fall forward, my head craning back to follow the puck’s progress as my glove whips around and I somehow manage to trap itbehindmy back despite the weird angle. I’ve clamped my glove shut before I’ve even hit the ice on my chest, the game-ending buzzer a beautiful sound that fills me with relief.

I stopped the goal. I kept the score three-to-two in our favor, and wewon. We’re going to the fucking Stanley Cup Finals, and I didn’t fuck it up, for once!

My teammates pile on top of me in the net, screaming with elation and more joy than grown men are usually capable of. When they finally get off of me and help me up, they move out of my way, patting my back and kissing my helmet. I go to the glass for my ritual with Knox, which they now know is more important to me than anything. I rip my mask off, dropping my stick and gloves as I glide and crash into the plexiglass barrier where he already has his hands pressed. All around him, fans are screaming and pounding on the glass, but all I see are his deep espresso eyes that hold my heart, his smile that is infinitely calming and reassuring, and so much love. He makes a fist and I knock my knuckles into his. We pull our hands awayand press our index fingers to the glass, scar-to-scar. He bobs his chin, shooing me back to the celebration on the ice.

I return to my teammates, everyone now on the ice with gloves and sticks scattered all around as they celebrate and hug. I glance over at the bench and catch Coach Kennedy’s rare head nod, a silent but unmistakable sign of his calm approval.

When Knox and I finally make it home, I’m exhausted from the insane travel schedule going back and forth to Boston for the series, and the incredible adrenaline dump this last game was. After the game, we celebrated at The Hideout, which has quickly become a Hydra favorite for post-game celebrations and where fans go to watch our games when we’re on the road. The Condors aren't the only team with a fan base in Atlanta now. Hockey is picking up steam, and we’re winning over the South.

“What kind of prize do I get for stopping that last shot and getting us to the Stanley Cup Finals?” I ask Knox as I drag him through the condo toward our room.

“Oh, your eleven million dollar a year salary isn’t enough? You want something frommenow?” he asks with a grin.

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