Page 23 of In Too Deep

She yelps and moans, with no attempts to quiet the sounds now. I reward her with my cock, driving deep into her pulsing pussy until she’s trembling again.

I can feel her orgasm coming like a freight train, because I’m right there with her. My cock throbs and my balls draw up into my pelvis, but I refuse to finish first. And right when I’m at the very edge of my control, Tori lets out a strangled cry, her whole body spasming as her inner walls clamp down on my shaft, pulsing with wave after wave of her release. Before I can stop myself, my teeth clamp down on the back of her shoulder and my hips push all the way forward, my knot slipping inside to lock in place at last.

Neither of us moves, settling in together to ride out the knotting high. Once enough blood has returned to my upstairs brain, I adjust our positions, pulling pillows down for my head and shuffling a throw blanket over our hips. But the movements I take while getting more comfortable have her pussy clenching with another small orgasm, driving me to distraction until I finally cuddle her.

Tori sighs, shuffling her shoulders against me for a moment before sighing. I look down at her, matching her contented smile when she turns to face me. Leaning down, I gently slant my lips over hers, our kiss soft and sweet. I’m not naïve enough to believe that one good fuck session is enough to erase the very real concerns Tori raised. But I’m more committed than ever to finding a way to make our pack dreams into reality.

Tori doesn’t really speakto me as we pack up, or for the entire flight home. Which, honestly, I sort of deserve after how badly I screwed up yesterday. She’ll spare the occasional answer if Spencer or Eli ask her something directly, but for the most part, Eli is filling the silence with aimless chatter all on his own. I get a quick smile when we drop Tori off at her place on the afternoon of Christmas Day, and then I’m once again forced to drive away from her despite every instinct I possess screaming at me to stay and explain myself. But there’s no rest for the miserable, and we have practice to attend.

Tomorrow’s game is going to suck, no two ways about it. None of us have worked out, and everyone is bound to be pissy about having to cut the holidays short to get back to work. And to top it all off, we’re going up against Philly again. I can only hope that Anders has gotten whatever grudge he’d been holding on to outof his system. But with the way things have been for me, I doubt I’ll be that lucky.

Coach doesn’t join us for the first part of warmups, which is odd for him. He’s usually here well before any of us, taking shots or stick handling or something else. But there’s weariness to this stride as Logan makes his way out toward center ice, and he’s distracted enough that he collides with Eli, nearly knocking them both on their asses. Eli’s reflexes kick in, though, and he grabs Logan’s biceps to steady them. Almost immediately, Logan shrugs off the touch and continues on his way.

“That was weird, right?” Spencer mutters into my ear, jerking his head toward Eli as the Swede skates toward us.

I nod, my frown deepening. But I don’t have any time to think on it as the shrill bleat of the whistle brings all movement to a halt and practice can really begin.

Practice is brutal, made especially worse by Coach snapping at anyone who puts a toe out of line. I catch him glaring at Spencer and me more than once, but his expression isn’t providing any clues about what’s bothering him so much. Thankfully, this was never meant to be a long practice, so we don’t have to endure Coach’s sour mood for long.

“Does anyone know what crawled up Coach’s ass and died?” Caleb complains once we’re back in the locker room.

“It could be... a humbug,” Eli jokes, pausing for comedic effect.

A half-hearted chorus of “boos” erupts, but Eli just laughs, dodging the sock thrown at him with ease. Caleb isn’t wrong, though. Coach McQueen was on an entirely different level today, pushing us harder than I’ve experienced this season. And what’s worse, it almost felt like he was singling out me, Spencer, and Elijah from the rest of the team. Getting in our faces over the smallest mistakes. Drilling us over and over on the most basic plays. The rest of the guys caught stray blows, but it was like hewanted to punish for something. Not that he would say anything, of course.

“God, my shoulder is sore.” Eli sighs as he circles his arm to loosen the joint.

“It’s all those slap shots he was making you take on your non-dominant side,” Spencer comments, nodding sympathetically.

“You should have the trainer check you out.” I phrase it like a suggestion, even if my tone doesn’t leave a lot of room for argument.

Eli shakes his head. “Coach is looking for a reason to scratch me, Ace. Can’t let him think he won.”

Spencer and I give our linemate similar looks of flat exasperation. We’ve been taught since we were in training skates to take all injuries very seriously. A nagging joint is a sign of something wrong, and at this level of play, there’s no room for error. But Eli doesn’t budge, smirking before making his way toward the showers.

“Has he always been this pigheaded?” Spencer asks.

Something in my gut twists as I nod solemnly. I should tell team staff, but it’s bad form to narc on your teammates. We’re all adults, and it’s not like I could force him to get looked at. Instead, I just sigh and finish taking off my pads. If he’s still sore after tomorrow’s game, then we’ll have to talk. Maybe I could convince Tori to help me get Eli seen.

Well, that is, if she’s speaking to me tomorrow. Another thing to worry about after tomorrow’s game. I’ve certainly got my work cut out for me.

The buzzer blares overhead as yet another Philadelphia shot hits the back of the net. Bouchier is fighting for his life out there, and the defense is all turned around. I don’t think I’ve ever seen us play this bad all season. Thankfully, we’re matching the Flyers point for point, so it’s still a one-goal game.

“What the fuck was that, Bouchy?” Logan shouts, as Gabriel skates back to the bench during the TV time out.

“Couldn’t see it. Fucking Flyers are screening more than the TSA,” he fires back, not intimidated by Coach’s borderline fury.

Whatever mood Logan was in during practice yesterday hasn’t subsided. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Our shifts are long, but he’s not calling for changes like he should. Everyone is exhausted, and we’re not even halfway through the second period. It doesn’t help that we’ve been either on the power play or killing a penalty for most of this. I’d be shocked if we’ve had more than ten minutes of even-strength hockey since the puck dropped.

“Sit your ass down. Hakala, you’re in. Black, Ace, Joker, get out there, too,” Coach snaps, his green eyes blazing as he glares at us.

I want to tell him to shove it, but I could get ejected for that sort of behavior during a game. Eli, Spencer, and I share a weary look, climbing over the wall and getting into position as the ice scrapers retreat out of the Zamboni door.

“Not this fucking guy,” Eli snarls as he skates past me.

I don’t even have to look to know who he’s talking about. Anders is back out, and he’s got his beady little rat eyes trained on Eli. And here I thought we could let bygones be bygones after Joker nearly knocked one of his teeth down his throat last game.

Getting into position for the faceoff, I watch Anders rather than the puck, my body moving on instinct and muscle memory as Spencer wins the draw. Rubber glides across ice, hitting my stick perfectly as I move toward the opposing zone, dodgingcheck attempt after check attempt. It’s like Philly isn’t even trying to play the game, but rather like they’re trying to splatter us across the boards one player at a time. Thankfully, I’m faster and more nimble than half their guys, and I cross the blue line before I’m forced over the top line and around the back of the net, at least two guys on my tail. I’ve drawn them out of position, which leaves Eli wide open next to the net, and Spencer moves to stand in front of the goalie, ready for the tip in if it’s needed.

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