Page 14 of Crossing the Top Line

He releases me and stands, but I don’t hesitate to follow his orders. He might not be able to punish disobedience in this precise moment, but he would remember for the next time we’re properly alone. Getting into position, I let my jeans pool around my knees as I face away from him, arching my back to give him the best possible view of my ass and fluttering hole.

I sigh at the first brush of his slick fingers against my entrance, the warmth of his body settling over me as he leans down to wrap his other hand around my throat.

“Have you been hard all day, thinking about all the things we could do with this new omega?” he whispers lightly.

I shake my head, but the denial sits sour in my gut. I haven’t been hardallday, but I can’t deny that I did get lost in thought as I pictured how Tori would look naked and speared on mine and Oliver’s cocks. Or how she’d look under me as Oliver took me from behind, fucking us both at the same time.

“Liar,” he hisses in my ear, roughly shoving two fingers into my ass, hooking them expertly.

I slap a hand over my mouth to smother the yelp that escapes my throat from the sudden intrusion, and the moan that follows as he works his fingers in and out, twisting his wrist.

“I should leave you unfucked more often. You’re so tight,” he comments, chuckling darkly at his own joke.

And he isn’t kidding. I already feel so full with just two fingers, and then ready to burst as he adds a third. The delicious burning stretch, combined with the white-hot sparks of pleasure every time he brushes my sweet spot, makes me pant and whine. My hips rock back against him, and I have to bite down on my fist to stifle the sounds he’s forcing out of my lungs. I’m fairly vocal in bed on a good day, but somehow the need to stay silent makes me want to scream all the louder.

“I’m going to fuck this tight little hole hard and rough. And you’re going to take it and not make a peep. Do you understand?” Oliver breathes, speaking quickly but clearly.

I smile into my fist, my heart pulsing with love. Even during a quicky on the couch, he’s got to make sure I still want his rough edges. But I nod, body thrumming with anticipation. My cock twitches between my thighs as he sits up, my balls heavy and aching. And as the broad, blunt tip of Oliver’s cock breeches my ass, I press my face into the back cushions of the couch, hoping like hell they’re enough to stop the long moan from echoing up the stairs.

Oliver sets a hard pace, not giving me any time to adjust to his size again before he’s pounding into my ass, fingers gripping my hips hard enough that I’m sure I’m going to have bruises. Or at least I hope he does. We try not to leave marks on each other in an effort to keep the guys in the locker room from asking too many probing questions. But one day, I want to walk into the dressing room with scratches and bite marks from head to toe. Not only from our future bond mate, but his as well. I want people to look at me and know I’m his in the most primal ways a person can belong to someone else.

But I’m pulled from my daydreams as Oliver leans down and takes my neglected cock in his hand, his touch strong and sure, the strokes matching the tempo of his hips. I bite the couch cushion, eyes watering from the sudden, blinding pleasure.

“Je te remplirai, ma sale pute.You want that, eh? Want me to breed this filthy little hole?” Oliver growls in my ear, his breathing jagged as he loses his steady rhythm.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak right now. Fuck, I love it when he starts talking dirty in French, even if I can’t understand a word of it. I want to scream his name, tell him how much I love what he’s doing to me, how much I love him in general. I’m sick of hiding in my own home, but even in the haze of pleasure racing under my skin, I know this isn’t the right way to inform our new roommate that Oli and I are more than just “really good friends.”

I’m right on the edge, clinging on for dear life as Oli works my cock and my ass in tandem, my eyes closed tight. But with two more hard thrusts, he bites down on my shoulder, muffling his groan with my flesh as he drives himself up to the knot in my ass. The pulse of his cock, the warmth of his cum coating my insides, snaps the last thread of my control, and I arch, balls drawing up as I spray load after load onto Oliver’s hand.

We’re still for a few moments before Oliver’s teeth finally unclench and he turns his head to rest his cheek on my shoulder. I hiss as he strokes my cock one more time, oversensitive from that intense orgasm. Oliver kisses my back, sitting up slightly and taking my hair in his hand again. His grip is gentler this time, a request rather than a demand. When I look up, I find his palm in front of my mouth, my cum thick on his fingers.

“Clean up your mess,mon amour,” Oliver whispers, kissing the shell of my ear.

I don’t even hesitate, familiar enough with my own sweet-and-sour cranberry taste that mixes with the musky saffron notes of Oliver’s skin. Only once every drop of my cum has been licked and sucked from his hand does Oliver sit up, letting his soft cock slide from my aching entrance. I bask in the last moments of my orgasm as he uses his fingers to scoop up whatever drops I’d spilled on the couch and press them into my fluttering hole, goosebumps rising on my skin as he purrs his delight.

After he’s satisfied with the “clean up” and we’re both clothed again, I worm my way into Oliver’s arms, grinning as he doesn’t fight me, but instead kisses the top of my head, holding me tighter. We’re quiet for a long time, and I almost fall asleep right there. But then his deep voice rumbles through his ribs, pulling me back from the edge of rest.

“Tori isn’t like other omegas we’ve pursued in the past. We have to work with her, regardless of how things go between the three of us. We can’t force this, so don’t go overboard,” Oliver warns, giving my neck another light squeeze before releasing me.

I nod as I sit up and give him the verbal reassurance he’s looking for. Maybe my judgement’s a little skewed from the thorough fucking he just gave me, but in my head, I’ve basically gotten the green light to start the courting process. Now I only have to wait for the right opportunity.

Mondaymorningdawns,andI’m not heading to the executive box like I did last week. No, today I’m down on the ground floor, striding confidently through the tunnels under the arena toward the Head Coach’s office. I’ve been down here more than a few times every season, either to conduct an interview or do what I have planned today: convince the coach to play ball with my team. I’ve given him more grace than most of my team wanted, but that ends today. We’ve played all but two of our preseason games, and camp is almost over.

I’m going to get a player mic’d up today, hell or high water. And I only hesitate for a moment to square my shoulders before knocking soundly on the solid wood door. The shiny new placard engraved with “Logan McQueen – Head Coach” stares at me in the long silence while I wait for a response. My brow furrows as I try again, louder this time. But when there’s still no response, I let out a huff of frustration.

“Tori? What are you doing down here?” a familiar, Swedish-accented voice calls down the hallway.

I turn and grin at Jari Hakala as he strides toward me, a duffle bag slung across his chest. When he’s close enough, I reach up and give him a quick hug before settling on my feet again. Jari and I got to know each other quite well at the end of the season after his goal-tending hot streak, and I had to help him through his interviews. His English wasn’t the greatest, but he sounds so much better.

“Looking for Coach McQueen. You haven’t seen him, have you?” I ask.

Jari shakes his head, a little bit of his straw-colored hair falling into his hazel eyes. His beta scent of honeysuckle and maple syrup floats down to me, and I feel myself relaxing. I think him being a beta is part of the reason why we work so well together. That, combined with the ring on his finger and my better-than-average grasp of the Swedish language. Jari and his husband have invited me over for supper a few times, and I can admit to having a bit of a soft spot for the shy but talented Swede.

Jari looks at his watch for a moment before looking at me. “He’s probably already on the ice, getting things set up,” he says with a jerk of his head toward the entrance tunnel.

I sigh and thank him before taking off. I would have loved to stay and chat, but I need all the time I can get to get Coach McQueen on my side and then find someone willing to have me listening to them all day.

Before I can even exit the tunnel, I can already hear the sound of skates on the ice. When I emerge onto the player bench, I find Coach skating in slow circles around the far goal, looking at them with a stern frown. He doesn’t notice me right away, giving me time to admire his form.

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