Page 77 of Ricochet

“Fuck, Stone,” he moans as we continue rutting against each other. “When do I get to watch you again?”

I pull back, narrowing my eyes at him as I move my hips away from him as well, denying him friction. My next words come bursting out of me. “Are you using me?”

“What? No.”

“So if I told you I didn’t want to kill in front of you?”

He frowns, but he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’d still want you.”

Relief has my shoulders slumping as a weight lifts off of them. I didn’t realize how much that thought was killing me.

“I’m sorry,” he says like he realizes it too. “I can wait until you’re ready. I’ll drop it. I swear.”

I nod as I press myself against him again. “Just be patient, baby. I’ll make it worth the wait. I promise.”

Our mouths come together again in another war of tongues. I feel him push against me, but I refuse to budge, instead grinding against him harder than before. Again and again and again.

His head hits the wall when he throws it back, panting as I kiss and bite along his jaw.

“Fuck. Stone, you’re gonna make me—”

His body shudders against me before he can get the rest of his words out. A mere few seconds later, I’m right there with him, my boxers flooding with cum.

The room is quiet save for the sounds of our breathing returning to normal and the footsteps that echo out in the hall.

Callum squirms and groans, grimacing uncomfortably. “Dick.”

I chuckle and pat him on the cheek. “You started it. Looks like we’re going commando the rest of the day.”

A few days later, Ishow up to practice about half an hour early to get some solitude on the ice. Callum’s joined me a couple of times, which I haven’t minded one bit. But I think he respects my ritual more than he needs to—he’s the only person alive I don’t mind spending that time with—because he’s refused the majority of my invitations.

After changing into my gear and grabbing my stick on the way out of the locker room, I’m passing by Coach’s office when heated whispers reach my ears.

I hobble closer on my skates and lean my ear toward the door. The words I manage to catch are broken and few.

“I’ve tried to…again…”

“You’re not…need to prove…”

“…with Callum…same line…trust me…”

“…staying on the first line…keep him happy…”

There’s movement inside, maybe a shuffling of furniture. Before anyone can come out of the office, I turn and head back to the locker room. Once inside, I close the door behind me and press my ear against the wood. A few seconds later, I hear the door to the office open and footsteps march past.

When I crack the door open and peer out, I see the back of Eric’s head just before he turns the corner.

What the fuck was that all about?

Leaving the locker room for a second time, I head down the tunnel with my mind reeling.

As I get out on the ice, I try to piece together the few words I caught from Eric and Coach’s conversation. Skating circles around the rink, I replay them over and over in my head.

They were talking about Callum and the first line. Those are the only real bits of information I was able to glean. Since it was Eric, of course my mind wants to assume he’s trying to weasel his way onto the first line with Callum forreasons.

I don’t give a fuck what line he or I are on.

He’s not getting any closer to Callum than he already is.

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