Page 49 of Break the Ice
My brain can’t decide what was better, his rough hands or Finley’s dainty caress? His dark stare or her bright gaze?
Fuck.
I can’t knock on his door with my head this messed up that I can’t control my dick.
What is happening right now?
Sure, I like girls and guys. But I’ve never been attracted to both at the same time. Not like this.
Rushing back to my place, I close the door behind me a lot harder than I intended as I fall back into it. The maddening burn in my veins courses down to my aching cock. My erection throbs so damn hard that my whole body is going haywire with sensation.
The cool from the door at my back clashes with the heat radiating from deep inside me—muscles, organs, bones. I’m hot everywhere as my trembling hand cups my steel length through my sweatpants.
“Fuck.” The graveled groan escapes when I grip myself harder, trying to make this need hurt so bad that it goes away.
Except, I’m becoming some kind of fucking sadomasochist, and the more it hurts, the better it feels, the harder I become. The hotter the inferno scorches.
There’s no way I can control myself—this yearning—with therelentless pounding of my heart pulsing deep in my core. I’m fucking taunting myself blind with every merciless stroke of my cock over my pants.
Each shift of my body rips a moan all the way from my curling toes. “Fucking Christ.” The friction of my shirt rubbing over my stiff nipples sends a frisson of sensation through every dip and groove, coiling every muscle tight while my head falls back into the door.
Bracing myself with one hand at my side, I push my hand inside the waistband of my pants and squeeze my hand around my shaft, thrusting into my fist. Hard and fast, swiping my thumb over my leaking slit. The rake of my thumbnail around the sensitive ridge pulls all the breath from my aching lungs.
Every brush of my shirt over my chest reminds me of Eli’s touch. Brief, too fucking good. My balls pull tight with my desperate strokes. And I swear, I can feel Finley’s sweet breath tickle down my spine.
Goddamn, I want her. I want him. I want to fuck every breath out of her lungs and taste every drop of sweat that’s ever caressed his skin.
Tracing my other hand up my abdomen to my neck, I grip my nape, clawing my nails into my skin while I fuck my fist with a desperation I’ve never felt before. It’s manic and untamable.
“Eli,” I choke on the two syllables, jamming them together with a garbled plea for some kind of mercy. There’s no reprieve. Nothing, as I chase it with another two syllables. “Finley…”
My fist tightens with every jagged stroke. My nails claw deeper, sending a shot of blissful pain straight to my balls that sparks a wildfire through my entire being. From the marrow of my bones to my extremities. A white-hot burst of pleasure with spurt after spurt after spurt of cum soaking into my hand, through my sweatpants, over my stomach.
“Holy shit…”
I sink down to the floor, breathless, boneless. A mess of chilling perspiration and sticky cum.
Fucked.
I’m so fucked that I don’t know how the hell I’m meant to face Eli and Finley again. And yet, there’s no way I’m going to be able to stay away. Because even with the shockwaves of my orgasm still wracking through me, my body is already aching for more. For the real thing.
For her. For him. For them.
CHAPTER 16
FINLEY
After the longest three days of my life, Elijah is back today. And Jayden with him.
It almost feels okay to breathe easy. Something I haven’t done since Jayden all but had to drag Elijah away for their two-game road trip. Even so, he made me promise not to leave the apartment. Luckily, Christina spent her one day off work here with me, so I wasn't so terribly alone.
Anyway, in less than an hour, Elijah’s going to walk through the door, and I won’t have to say goodbye again for ten days. There are four games in this home stretch before another three-day road trip, a couple days back home, and an overnighter. I think I’ve memorized the game schedule until the holiday break.
Circling the last game on the calendar in my journal, I roll some glittery ink on my finger from the gel pens Elijah got for me and dab it onto the three-day ‘no hockey’ break. I spent last night painting and decorating the December page spread while Christina caught up on coursework. Being around her again has made me think about what I want to do. What I want for myself.
I love how independent she is. That she doesn’t need anyone. At the same time, I know the reasons behind the woman she is—her parents’ history has left a lot of distrust in people—and I can see how lonely she can get.
If I wanted to be lonely, I might as well have stayed in Havenview. Because that was every day of my life after Elijah left. Even when I had her to lean on, the emptiness he left behind was too big to fill with anything or anyone else.
