Page 116 of Lucky Shot
I’m nearly giggling when he cups the back of my head and straddles my chest. “Put that sweet mouth to use, Pretty. Get me wet and ready for this condom.”
I shiver as he pushes his cock between my lips. I look up at him and for a moment, we’re suspended just like that. The moment frozen as he looks down at me with blazing fire in his eyes. But it’s more than that. The soft brush of his thumb along my cheek. The way he holds me, making sure I’m comfortable and yet still able to swallow him down. And through all that fire, I can see how much he loves me.
Maybe a moment in which you really feel someone’s love for you isn’t supposed to be when you’re choking on their dick. But this moment will forever live in my head—his touch, the way he looks at me, knowing that a man who rarely feels attraction for anyone is hard and leaking in my mouthfor me. And perhaps more importantly, this man doesn’t care what I look like; he never has. This relationship has always been about the connection we share. For some reason, all those little ingredients play out right here as I stare up into his eyes with the head of his cock lodged against the back of my throat.
Right before he fucks me until I feel like I’m going to be torn into several pieces over the next ungodly number of hours. I’m not sorry. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ll do anything to keep it.
THIRTY-FIVE
ELIXON
Two months ago,I woke up next to Pretty for the first time. It was a strange out-of-body experience that felt just so… unreal. Dreamlike because this was Noah Kain, someone I had simply never thought of in any kind of romantic way whatsoever. And yet, in that moment, I couldn’t imagine waking up to anyone else ever again.
It was like he was always supposed to be the one next to me. He wasn’t small or short or thin, yet he was just that much smaller, shorter, leaner than me that he fitexactly rightagainst me in all ways. In all positions. Everything about this man who has been floating in and out of my life for years has all the curves and rough edges that fit perfectly with my own.
I’ve let him sleep for the past hour, but true to my word, I kept his sexy ass awake all fucking night. Fucking being both an adjective and literal. Honestly, I surprised even myself. Kudos for stamina I didn’t know I had.
While I let him sleep, I remain awake. I worked to put on a brave front and reassured him with everythingI knowto be the truth, but I feel the same unease he does. It does feel like today marks some kind of ending. In just under five hours, I’ll be dropping him off at the airport. Everything inside me is rebelling at the knowledge.
I hate it. My world feels all tipsy and unbalanced. Like the ground under my feet is going to fall away and when I return home, I’ll realize that this has all been a dream. It’s not real. I didn’t anonymously meet Noah in a game and fall in love with him. We didn’t then spend the better part of two months together.
Sharing the same space, the same breath, our bodies.
It didn’t happen.
I hold him a little tighter and forcefully tell myself that it sure as shit did happen. He’s right here in my arms. Proof. He’s imprinted on my heart.
Pretty murmurs in his sleep and turns his face to press it to my skin. He sighs. Even in sleep, he feels a little tense.
“This isn’t the end,” I whisper fiercely. “It’s not. I won’t let it be.”
He murmurs again and I squeeze him to me. He wakes with a groan and muffled laughter. But then his arms on me tighten just as punishingly as my hold is on him. “Noooo…” he whines. “Why did you let me fall asleep?!”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, though maybe I’m telling myself. “Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”
He swallows and buries his face in my neck. For a while, we remain like that. Silent and holding each other in a desperate way. Eventually, I coax him out of bed and into the shower, where I wash him gently but thoroughly. We definitely made a mess last night.
When he’s gotten dressed and I’ve packed his suitcase, Pretty is just standing in the door and looking at me like he wants to burst into tears.
“Come here,” I say and hold my arms out. He basically falls into me. “I love you. So, so much. You know that, right?” Pretty nods. “And I know you love me.” He nods again, this time more sternly. “This is going to work because we want it to, and we won’t stop fighting to make it work. And in eight months, we’ll be together and this time, we’ll never have to be apart for this long ever again.”
“You’re really going to retire?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes. It’s time. Sometimes I think that hockey was the first phase of my life. Well, maybe adolescence was. Pro hockey was the second. But anyway, it’s been a phase of my life when I was capable of dedicating everything to it. Every breath, every thought, every ounce of energy. All my goals and accomplishments were tied directly into hockey. That phase is over now. Hockey will always be important to me, but it’s no longer the center of my world. The Stanley Cup is no longer the most important thing I chase. It’s no longer the epitome of my highest attainable achievement.”
“Don’t make me cry again,” Pretty says, sniffling.
I smile and don’t say the words. I don’t need to for us both to know that he’s now the center of my entire fucking life. My heartbeat. My soul. The one thing in my life that I’m constantly chasing.
Shuffling us along the side of the bed and just barely not tripping over each other to the point where we’re both laughing, I gently push him off me so I can look at him.
“I know that this is going to suck for both of us, but I have something for you that I hope will make it just a little easier.”
Yes, I’m predictable in that it’s yet another collar. But this one is special. Specific. It’s black with iridescent pink shimmering scales that Pretty looks at with big brown eyes when I pull it out of the drawer. I fit it around his neck and it’s like a damn glove.
At the front of his throat, I stick the metal eye loop through the hole and twist it to lock it in place. Then I reach for the little lock and show it to him before sliding it through the loop and securing it. I arrange it so it lays perfectly on his neck.
Turning him to face the mirror that hangs on the back of my open closet door, I let him look at himself. His shaking fingers touch the lock. Pretty’s eyes are glassy, but he doesn’t cry.
