Page 96 of Penalty Box
“I’m coming. I’m—”
“Show me,” he begged. “I want to feel you come around me.”
That was all I needed to hear.
I ruptured around him, hips jerking, nails trailing angry lines across his shoulders. I didn’t care how loud I was, or how primal it sounded. No one had gotten more from me. Ever. Not like this. Not like him.
He cursed quietly, body tense as he pushed into me with quick, sharp thrusts. Again and again. Until—
“Fuck…”
He came with a drawn out groan that shook through us both, his cock pulsing deep inside me. My pussy clamped down at the sound of him, refusing to let go until every last drop was spent.
We stayed that way for a while longer, panting into each other as if we were sharing a life force. His forehead came to rest on mine, both of us trembling, shattered.
“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, lips lightly grazing mine.
My heart bloomed, full to bursting, and I smiled into the soft kiss he gave me then. “And I’m in love with you, Mason. So much.”
30
Mason
Our first time in the finals, and we couldn’t have made up a more tense show for the fans. The Florida Panthers stole the first two games, but by Game 3, our team stopped playing scared. We clawed our way back, trading wins until it all came down to tonight.
I wasn’t in my body when the anthems were sung. I don’t think I even blinked.
The lights above the rink were brighter, the crowd rowdier. Every molecule in me was on high alert, like I could feel the air ripple and shift as players moved. Could hear the menacing flex in their muscles when the Florida Panthers took the blue line with us.
Game 6. Cup hanging in the balance. We trailed the series 3–2, and now it was do or die. One chance to stay in the running and force a Game 7.
We’d never been this close, and had to play as if we would never be again. That was Coach’s advice before coming out here, and I held onto it with a death-grip. Jaw clenched tight enough to break bone.
They were just as wired, which made the ask all the more daunting. They’d fought hard all series, and played fast and brutal. Nothing rattled a Panther, it seemed, and tonight, they came out the gates even faster.
“Head down, eyes up,” were Grayson’s last words before the puck dropped.
That advice didn’t help much in the face of the Panthers’ relentless assault. They scored within seconds, and left us reeling on the counter, which I fumbled. Their defense was suffocating, and their goalie was made of wall.
First shift, I took a hit so hard my lungs forgot what they were for. Got up grinning, and that’s how I knew I was totally in this. The crowd lost their shit whenever someone laid a body, and it happened often. Grayson threw a check that sent a guy flying into the boards. Tucker took a high stick to the chin and just kept on skating.
We were banged up, bruised, and flat-out exhausted, but not one of us eased up. Running on adrenaline and pure stubbornness, we kept throwing ourselves at them.
Late in the second, we finally cracked the scoreboard when Grayson finished a power play. The San Antonio fans lost their minds. It didn’t last, though. I was still thinking about Cass blowing me a kiss on that assist when the Panthers came back. They crushed our celebrations with a wraparound that snuck past our goalie’s skate. I couldn’t help but wonder if Hunter would have blocked it.
Now we were down, 2–1.
Third period, and tension bled from the boards. Every face in the crowd was drawn with either fear or canned elation, praying for that final buzzer to sound. I just played. I barely heard the whistles anymore. It was just my skates slicing ice, the thunderof full body impact, and the breathless determination of my team pushing through.
Then, with less than two minutes on the clock, a Panthers forward slipped past our D, deked left, and scored.
3–1.
The air got sucked out of the building, along with the collective voice of our fans. No one was chanting. No one dared breathe.
The Surge rallied with Grayson’s help, talking us up as we set for the next shift. Coach lost his voice in the box, screaming at us to, “Empty the tank!”
So we did.
