Page 24 of Breakneck Hockey

My phone lights up, buzzing on the table, and I know without looking it’s the fucking universe calling to prove me a liar.

“Aren’t yah gonna check that, bud?” Jack says.

“Don’t do it, Alderchuck,” Rachel says. “Have some fucking self-respect.”

I don’t know why, but I look to Mercy. Maybe because he was my coach for an entire season, and I look up to him. Or maybe because, deep down, I know he’s the only real adult in the room. Yeah, it’s option two for sure.

“You two pull each other’s pigtails all game long. I think you’re secretly in love,” is his sage pearl of wisdom for me. I think. Can it be counted as advice if it was clearly laced with judgment?

I can’t argue the first part of that. Sutter and I have a long history of wanting to beat the shit out of each other, and Mercy had to put up with us every game we played against Boston last season in the AHL.

But it’s not the advice I was looking for. I like Sutter’s dick and that’s fucking it. The man’s obsessed with boat knots, knives, and door locks. Soooo not my type outside of the bedroom.

Man, do we ever fucking click in bed, though.

“And I think that Sutter thinks Casey is a chew toy,” Jack adds, unhelpfully.

“Jack,” Mercy scolds, his eyes flicking to Rachel.

“I can see the marks, Merc,” she says. “Clearly made by human teeth.”

Yeah, I might be Sutter’s chew toy, but I kinda dig the marks.

“You didn’t ask me, but I think you’re not-so-secretly in lust.” Logan nudges me with his arm.

“So what if I am?”

“Not judging you I just … I get it.” Because of Rhett. He’s got some kinda thing going with Rhett Elkington that I do not, for the life of me, understand. Although, I might be the hypocrite pot calling out the kettle at this point. “I don’t thinkthere’s anything wrong with lust-driven sex, but the problem is hormones.”

“Please, tell me more, oh virgin oracle.” Everyone knows Logan’s a virgin. Jack let it slip. His intent was pure—Jack wanting to help him—but now it’s common knowledge.

Logan glares but as a thought grips him, he softens. “Hormones make you feel other things.”

He leaves it at that, returning to his breakfast.

But I laugh. “No chance of that for me, Lo. The only thing I feel for Sutter besides lust is the need to grind him to dust on the ice.”

Bruising fingers grip my bare hipbones, slamming my ass against him, using the same brutish power he does on the ice. My prostate takes a beating—the best fucking beating—as my dick bobs, heavy and forgotten between my thighs, sometimes knocking against the cupboard.

Yeah, I returned his text. Sue me. Anybody would. Anybody saying they wouldn’t for sex this good’s a fucking liar.

He stumbled in the door like a bear fresh from hibernation, yanked my jeans off, and bent me over the kitchen counter.

I kinda wish his dick wasn’t covered in latex, but y’know, gotta be safe. With how many places Sutter’s dick’s been, who knows what it’s carrying? Probably new diseases that haven’t been discovered yet.

“Yeah, that what you needed, kitten? My fuckin’ dick railing you?”

I did. I really did. “Yeah,” is what comes out. It’s all the breath I have for speaking.

Sutter finally gives my dick the attention it deserves. Both our orgasms are epic, somehow even more epic than the last epic time, and my knees buckle, almost gashing my face onto the lip of the countertop.

He catches me, spinning my face to his. “Easy there, Alderchuck. We need you in top form for the season, so I can kick your ass fair and square.”

“Asshole,” I murmur against his lips. He’s pretending to kiss me when what he’s actually doing is tasting me. “As if you don’t succumb to dirty cheap shots every chance you get.”

“Mhm. So do you, brat. C’mon, let’s get food in you so we can go again.”

At least he’s learned that I need to be fed. I don’t know when feeding me became okay, just that I was suddenly being led to a giant pizza box that seemed to magically appear in his kitchen one time after sex. I do not have the willpower to turn down delicious cheesy pizza when my stomach’s growling like a car engine.

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