Page 85 of The Boyfriend Zone

We sank into the mattress. I ended up on my back, Sean leaning over me, supporting his weight on his elbows. He kissed me slowly, deeply, as his dick pushed against my hole. It was a smooth, familiar joining, warm and full. No rush, no urgency, just a profound sense of rightness. He began to move inside me, a slow, steady rhythm that felt like breathing, like heartbeats syncing.

“Love you, Lucas,” he whispered against my lips between thrusts.

“Love you too, Sean,” I replied. My hands roamed his back, fingers tangling in his hair.

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, pushing his cock deeper inside me. A soft gasp escaped me. He watched my face intently, reading my reactions, adjusting his rhythm accordingly. This wasn’t just physical; it was a conversation spoken in touch and sensation, each movement an affirmation. We whispered quiet encouragements, praising touches, murmuring each other's names.

The pleasure built gradually, a deep, warm tide rising within me. Sean’s breathing grew heavier, matching mine. He lowered his forehead to rest against mine, our eyes locking in the dimness. I could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, mirroring the tightening in my own body. He thrust his dick deeper into my hole, a final, possessive movement, and the wave crested. Orgasm washed over me, warm and encompassing, making me cry out his name softly. My cumming triggered his own, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he pulsed inside me, spilling rope after rope of his cum.

Afterward, I lay with my head on Sean's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as his fingers combed soothingly through my hair. The rain outside had slowed to a gentle drizzle, a peaceful backdrop to the warmth of our shared space.

"I trust you," Sean whispered into the darkness, his voice so soft I almost thought I'd imagined it. "With everything."

He might have thought I was already asleep, might not have expected a response. But I nestled closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before whispering back, "I feel the same way. With everything."

Chapter 27: Sean

Nothing in my hockey career had prepared me for the particular brand of anxiety that came with championship day. I'd played in important games before—state finals in high school, key matchups throughout college—but this was different. This was the culmination of four years of work, my last game in a college uniform, and I knew professional scouts would be watching with particular interest.

The stakes had never been higher, and my stomach knew it.

"You look like you're about to throw up," Zach observed helpfully as we dressed in the visiting team's locker room. "Please aim away from my gear if you do."

"Thanks for the support," I replied dryly, lacing my skates with perhaps more concentration than necessary. "Very comforting."

"Just keeping it real." He bumped my shoulder lightly with his own. "But seriously, you've got this."

For all his joking and bravado, Zach had been my rock throughout the season—pushing me through rehabilitation, keeping my spirits up during the long weeks on the bench, never once letting me doubt that I'd return to form.

"It's been an honor," he said suddenly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Playing with you these past years."

"Same here. Couldn't have asked for a better teammate. Or friend."

Zach cleared his throat. "Enough sappy shit," he declared. "We've got a game to win."

The locker room was a mixture of tense concentration and forced casualness, each player handling the pressure in their own way. Tristan was going through his usual methodical preparation, headphones on as he visualized key plays. Freshmen tried to act nonchalant while sneaking glances at the veterans for cues on how to behave.

A knock at the door broke through the pre-game atmosphere, and Coach Barnett called out, "Five minutes for press, then we lock it down."

My heart gave a familiar skip as Lucas entered alongside Nate, both in their professional attire with press badges prominently displayed. Despite the formality of the setting, Lucas's eyes immediately sought mine, a small, private smile crossing his face when our gazes met.

"Well, if it isn't the press corps," Zach announced loudly. "Come to document our inevitable victory."

"Or your spectacular failure," Nate retorted without missing a beat. "We're prepared for either storyline."

Their banter provided a welcome distraction from my nerves, though I noticed the underlying tension between them hadn't quite dissipated despite weeks of what Lucas referred to as "their weird mating dance of mutual antagonism."

While most of the reporters dispersed to interview different players, Lucas made his way to my corner of the locker room, notebook in hand but expression far more personal than professional.

"Hey," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I might pass out or throw up or both," I admitted, keeping my voice low. "But otherwise great."

Lucas laughed, then caught himself, remembering we were in a semi-public setting. "You've been stretching properly, right? And hydrating? You know how you get headaches when you don't drink enough water before games."

From nearby, Nate chuckled. "Listen to you, like a hockey stage mom. 'Did you eat your vegetables, sweetie? Did you pack your lucky socks?'"

Lucas flushed but didn't deny it. "I care, sue me."

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