Page 52 of Crossing the Top Line

“I want to feel your tight heat around me. Once I’m inside of you, I won’t be able to stop until I’ve filled you with load after load of my cum, fucking it into you without stopping.”

A loud moan escapes my parted lips as I set a steady pace with the dildo, matching it as best as I can to the slap of Oliver’s hand on his cock. My fingers press hard and fast on my clit, thrumming my pleasure center until my core begins to tighten. There’s something deeply satisfying about his words in a way I don’t know if I want to identify right now, or maybe ever.

“Would you knot me, sir?” I pant, words thin with need.

“If you’re a very good girl, and come when I tell you, I’ll let you have my knot. Will you do that for me? Are you close, princess?” he asks, a desperation tinting his words as they come out from between heavy breaths.

I close my eyes, letting my mind sink fully into my body, taking stock of the inferno of pleasure rampaging through my veins. He’s still muttering filth into my ear, but I can only moan and whimper, any response failing me as I race higher and higher.

“I want to hear you, Tori. You’re going to come for me when I say, do you understand? Use your words,” Oliver snarls, a bite of alpha bark at the edge of his question.

“Yes, sir. I’m close. I’m—oh, God,” I moan, my spine twisting to lift my hips from the mattress even as I continue to fuck myself deep and hard with the dildo.

“Get ready. I’m gonna—comenow.”

Oliver snarls the last word, sounding more animal than man, and something inside me snaps like a bowstring, letting loose one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had. I scream wantonly, my cries mixing with Oliver’s moans as he falls apart. The hand around my dildo slows until I push hard one last time, the silicone knot slipping into its place behind my pelvic bone. My walls clench around it, the flared base the only thing keeping my body from sucking it all the way into my channel.

“Good girl. Such a good girl. My good girl,” Oliver purrs.

My skin warms and goosebumps rise along my arms at the praise, too out of it to care about correcting his possessive pronoun usage. We’re silent for several minutes, just breathing as we come down from the high. I’ve never really done anything like this, and I brace for a post-orgasm moment of clarity, but it never comes. There’s no regret or embarrassment, especially as he continues to give me more praise and reassurance than I can handle. My body relaxes enough for me to slide the dildo free, placing it gingerly on my bedside table for cleaning later.

“I need to see you. When can we meet up?” Oliver asks, sighing contentedly.

I frown, reality sinking back into this little bubble we’d created. My impulses are telling him to come over now, to make good on all the talk he’d been talking. But even as the thought occurs to me, my phone buzzes and when I look at the notification, my heart drops when I see Dee’s name.

A well-needed reality check, right in the nick of time.

“Maybe after tomorrow’s game?” I suggest, my mind already going to war. One side wanting to walk it back and demand he come over and fuck me into the mattress right this instant; the other going into DEFCON-1 levels of panic as it tries to figure out if we can get out of seeing him face-to-face.

“I look forward to it, princess. I’m sure you’ve got work to get back to, and I can hear my roommates getting into trouble downstairs,” Oliver says, laughing a little.

I relax as we say our goodbyes and hang up, grateful he gave me an easy out and didn’t press for more. I don’t know how he always just seems to…know shit like that. When he can push closer, edging right up to my boundaries without spooking me, and then backing off at the exact right moment.

But I don’t have time to think about the subject as my phone goes off, an incoming call from Dee following up on his last message. I put myself back together, scampering back to my office and leaving those thoughts to be dealt with another day.

Hockeyisagameof highs and lows. Scoring my first NHL goal: serious high. Celebrating with the team after a hard-fought win: another high. But the mood in the locker room after this Calgary game, our first loss of the season? Well, I’m not sure it’s the lowest low, but it’s damn near close.

My evening had been nice, despite the circumstances. Coach sent me to the press box in an effort to get one last look at the few remaining prospects on the roster before he has to decide who to keep. At first, I was more than a little excited. After our intense conversation yesterday morning, Tori’d been a little distant, but I chalked that up to her being busy. We’d had to be quiet during the game, but it was nice to simply sit beside her. I’d thought up a whole plan to ask her if she wanted to get a late dinner with me, to celebrate our latest win. I wanted to wine and dine her, show her what a real date with me could look like when we weren’t trying to pretend we were just co-workers out on our lunch break. And then I would take her home and show her I’m not all talk.

But then we went down by a couple of goals, and couldn’t recover. Every time we scored, Calgary answered with a goal of their own. The longer we were in the hole, the dourer the mood in the box. By the time the final buzzer came, there was nothing worth celebrating. And worst of all, I didn’t get a chance to talk to Tori before I was summoned to the locker room for the post game debrief.

Now, I’m sitting on the bench next to Elijah and Spencer, both covered in a sheen of sweat, my elbows resting on my knees. Coach hasn’t come back yet, and no one dares to speak. Some of the guys are removing their gear, each rip of Velcro cutting through the air like a cheese grater.

Between blowing my time with Tori and the looming dread of the final cuts, my nerves are shot. I’d been so concerned with making the team that I didn’t think about what might happen if I didn’t. If I had to leave Eli behind, or if he got sent to Shreveport without me, I know we could make it work. We’ve spent seasons apart before when he was playing in the Liiga. Our relationship is the most stable it’s ever been, and we would survive the separation. If we both had to leave Spencer, we wouldn’t make him move out of our house if he didn’t want to. Though from what he’s told us, Spencer isn’t keen on living alone again. Maybe Dallas would let him crash in his guest room for the season?

What might hurt the most, more than leaving after getting this close to the thing I’ve been chasing for my whole life, would be leaving without ever telling Tori of my feelings. Because I can recognize that it’s not just lust swirling in my gut. No, I know there’s something different with her, something that wasn’t there with any of the other omegas Eli and I tried to court in the past. She could be our best shot, and if I have to leave before I can find out, I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.

But before I can get too lost in the quagmire of “what if,” the locker room door swings open, Coach McQueen and Dennis, the equipment manager, striding in side by side.

“I’ll keep this brief so we can go home and get some sleep before tomorrow,” Coach starts, coming to a stop with his hands on his hips in the middle of the room.

I sit up and swallow, heart hammering against my ribs. My entire body is tense, and I’m trying to take even breaths, school my face into a mask of calm. I can’t overreact if the worst should happen. I have to keep my cool, at least for Eli’s sake.

“We did our best with what we had, but it just wasn’t enough. We’re going to face the Flames a handful more times before the end of the season. We’ll get ’em next time,” Coach goes on, turning slowly as he looks around the room.

There’s a soft, wordless grumble of agreement from everyone present, but no one speaks up to add anything else. There are several more long, agonizing heartbeats of silence before Coach sighs.

“Boyle, Leroy, Stevens. I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to pack up. We’ve got flights already set up for you to get with the Krewe up north for their game tomorrow,” he says at last.

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