Page 9 of Breakneck Hockey

“No fucking patience. If you were mine, I’d make you have patience, Alderchuck.” He says all this while ripping his clothes off, full of the rage I’m used to seeing. “Take your clothes off and get on the fucking bed. Face down.”

I take my clothes off, but I’m not getting on the fucking bed like a dog no matter how hot that sounds. I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Not rolling over for you, dickweed.”

“God damn it, you’re the most impossible brat.”

He said brat. I’m counting it.

Without warning, he heaves his naked body at mine, tackling me to his fancy-ass bed.

And then we maul each other. Years of real, honest-to-God frustration come out as a savage act of desire. There’s biting, lots of scratching, and manhandling as we take turns tumbling over the other and trying to position the other how we want.

He wins, latching his mouth onto my dick, and swallowing it whole. I can’t breathe for five whole seconds, arching my back and finally surrendering. I don’t run away from him anymore, letting him suck and corkscrew two burly fingers inside me.

I wanna come so bad, but he keeps his promise of not allowing it, backing off just in time to deny me as he expertly takes me apart. “Beg me for my dick, Alderchuck, or I leave you hanging.”

If he does that—he fucking would—I might die. My swollen dick begs me to beg him.Fuck your pride, Alderchuck. You need to take one for the team here.

Yeah, I might.

“Okay, fine. Fuck me, Sutter.”

“No. You can do better. Beg Top Dog to stick his monster dick inside you.”

“What a psychopath—I’m not calling you that.” His mouth pops off my dick. “Wait! Fine. Stick your monster dick inside me, Top Dog,” I say with little to no enthusiasm, but maybe just a hair of desperation.

“C’mon. Make me believe you.” He climbs over me so that his lips are next to my ear. “You won’t regret it,” he whispers.

There’s no reason for me to believe him. There’s more reason for me to believe this is all some elaborate ruse to get me to admit how badly I want his cock, only to kick me out.

What if…?

Aw, fuck. It’s a helluva time for Coach Meyer’s stupid “what if” speech to pop into my head. Even if I’m about to make the biggest fool of myself ever,what ifit’s worth it?

I take a shaky breath and make my voice sultry. “Please, Top Dog? I need you to fuck me with your monster cock so badly, I’ll feel you all next game. I wanna feel your dick while I’m speeding down the ice.”

That sets him off. He slides his dick, wet with precum, along mine. He sucks a hickey at the base of my neck while he humps me, and then he reaches into one of the two bedside drawers for a condom and lube.

He makes a “turn over” gesture with his finger.

“C’mon. What’s your deal with that? Don’t wanna see my face?” I know what this is we’re doing—just a fuck—but I don’t know why I care if he pretends that I’m someone else while he fucks me.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

I don’t know what “it” is, but damn right he’s saying it. I wait.

“I have an ass fetish. Your ass is second nicest in the league, and I’m going to watch my dick go in and out of it.”

Well fuck. I raise a brow. “Second nicest?”

“Only second to mine,” he says.

“Naturally.” His reason’s hot enough to convince me, though. Even if he’s lying, I’m willing to pretend it’s true. “So long as you know it’s my ass.”

“I’ll know it’s yours, kitten.” He smacks the right cheek. Sting in the shape of a handprint blooms there. “Turn over.”

This time I do, with all kinds of vulnerability I’m not used to gripping to my insides. What the fuck, man? I’m a showoff.Everyone knows this. I especially like to show off when I’m in these kinds of positions because I do have a nice ass and I love being on display. Guys like Top Dog—I refuse to acknowledge him as Sutter for this statement—are who I dig for. The lone needle in the haystack.

To hide my shivering, I claw the sheets. I want this. My cock pulsates with need. If he doesn’t stick it in soon, I’m going to rut into the sheets.

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