Page 7 of Crossing Lines

In a ragged voice, he said, “Yeah.” He pulled away, looked around for a moment, then snatched my hand and led me through the crowd.

As we passed the DJ, my gaze landed on the stand around him, a pair of lips with butterflies fluttering around them painted in neon colors. This place was trippy.

He hauled me through a door and shoved me into a dark stall against the gray wall tiles. I breathed in the scents of stale beer and sex. Yeah, this was where it was at.

As his mouth fused with mine, he unzipped my jeans and freed my cock, then stroked, his kisses ravaging me.

“Oh fuck.” I groaned and thrust into his hand, pleasurecoiling inside me. Skimming my hand under his shirt, I found a nipple and teased it into a hard nub.

He moaned against my cheek, then nibbled from my chin to my neck and dropped to his knees. “Want to suck you off.”

“Sounds like a fine plan.” Hell yeah, I’d hit the jackpot. I twined my fingers into his dark hair and looked down, the image of my player replacing him. Yeah, even better. I could pretend.

Owen flicked his tongue over my head, licking a bead of precum, then unfastened his jeans and slipped his cock free. As he fisted my base, he plunged his mouth over my dick and pumped it, his head bobbing.

With a gasp, I tilted my head and my back hit the cool tile wall. A wave of sensation heated my skin. He was damn good at this.

As he fluttered his tongue over my dick, he stroked himself and moaned.

The vibration on my cock tightened my balls. “Oh shit.” I wasn’t going to last. It had been too long. I watched my dick disappear into his willing mouth, the heat and wetness tingling inside me. “Do…do you want me to, to take care of you?” I gritted out, then bit my lower lip. Some guys wanted the favor returned, others were happy to jerk themselves, and others wanted to come all over you.

“Yeah.” He pumped faster and sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” I thrust into his mouth, gagging him for a beat, then sensation surged up my spine and my dick pulsed, spurting my cum inside him.

He swallowed me down, pumping furiously on his own cock, and as it slowed, he stood up, panting. “Suck me off. Now.”

I twisted him around and shoved his back to the wall, then lowered myself and shucked his jeans to his thighs. His cock stood tall and thick. With my mouth watering, I grabbed it withone hand and kneaded his balls with the other, then sucked him in.

He gasped and slapped his hands to the back of my head. “Yeah, fuck, that’s it.” He thrust his cock to the back of my throat, again and again.

Gagging, I fought to control the situation, pushing on his hips and rearing my head back. As my eyes stung, his dick twitched, and hot cum burst down my throat.

“Fuck, oh fuck.” His knees buckled, then straightened.

As it calmed, I pulled off him and swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. This guy was rough. I liked it, but something was off. As I stood, I tucked myself into my jeans. “So…”

“Yeah, so, that was good, man.” He tucked his spent dick away and fastened his pants. “Dance some more?” He lifted his brows.

“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged a shoulder. “At least join me for another beer.” It would be nice to have someone to share a New Year toast with.

He tagged my shoulder. “Hey, let me get your number first.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket.

“My, my phone number?” Did I want to give it to him? I worried my lower lip. I didn’t know anyone around here yet—well, outside of the hockey team. What could it hurt? “Sure.” I gave him my number and my phone buzzed in my pocket as he called it.

“There, now we can hang out sometime and maybe do this again?” The corner of his lips tugged up.

“Yeah, sure.” I planted my hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go get new beers.”

CHAPTER THREE

JONAH

The holidays were over, and we were back at practice, readying for our game against Northern Michigan in a few days. As I stood on the ice waiting for instruction from Coach Finley, our forwards coach, the D-men were on the other side of the rink running an interesting version of blue line shuffles. Archer was killing it down there, light on his skates as he passed his puck between the ones set up on the ice, then to Tyler. If Coach Gibson was having Archer work with Tyler, then he must be seeing something in Archer. Tyler was our best D-man.

I focused on Coach Gibson, the brown curls on his head loose and framing his face. He looked good in the maroon team sweats. It was a different look for him, more casual and approachable. God, it was fucking with my head after all the time I’d spent on his Instagram the last few days. The way he handled his skates on the ice had ex-hockey player written all over it. I wanted to know more about him. But how?

“Boehm, hello?” Coach Finley patted the top of my helmet, his browned-eyed gaze locking to mine, his short hair barely peeking out from under his ball cap.

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