Page 29 of Second Shot

I don’t stop. I want to taste him again. I need to feel him explode in my mouth. He lets out a throaty moan as his hot release floods into my mouth. Ecstasy at the fact I made him come again washes through me, and I feel proud as he shoots down my throat. I swallow every hot, sticky drop as his body shudders with the force of his climax.

He’s breathing hard as he finishes in my mouth. His eyes are closed and his face red. After a few seconds, he pulls out and opens his eyes. He ruffles my hair and I press against his caressing hand as he laughs. “Good boy. That felt great.”

I get clumsily to my feet just as my cell buzzes. I tug my phone out of my back pocket to read the message, while Gabe straightens his clothing and zips up his pants.

Niko: Did you go to Alaska for the ice?

I wince. “We need to get back. Niko just texted.”

A flash of guilt shifts through Gabe’s eyes. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” I force a smile, trying to hide the sexual frustration I feel. I loved sucking him off, so I have no regrets. If only one of us could get off, I’m happy it was him.I text Niko back saying I’m on my way. I open the freezer and grab the bag of ice. “Ready?”

Gabe hesitates, and the guilt is still there in his eyes. It’s at odds with how bossy and selfish he seemed earlier. Is that all an act? Is he really a much more considerate person than he lets on with me? Why would he hide that? Why pretend to be something he’s not?

Don’t we all hide our true selves?

I suppose that’s true. Although, I’ve certainly let Gabe see a side to me no one else ever sees. Not even Tam had a clue how pathetic I can be. That lack of intimacy with Tam should have been a red flag. I knew he hid things from me, and I’d never trusted Tam with my darkest secrets. Was there any wonder we’d split?

So why do I trust Gabe?

Gabe reaches for the bag of ice. “Let me carry the ice.” He laughs sheepishly. “It’s the least I can do after you gave me head.”

I step back, holding the bag against my body. “No way.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

Grinning, I head toward the door. “I need it to ice down my aching blue balls.”

Gage laughs, shoving me playfully from behind. “Shut up. You’ll make me guilty. I promise I’ll make it up to you some other time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Chapter Seven

Gabe

This is probably one of the most stressful Valentine’s Day’s I’ve ever experienced. Not because I’m freaking out about impressing someone with a fancy dinner and flowers. For me and my team, this day is all about hockey. We have a game to play and weneedto win. We don’t have time for candy hearts and sappy cards. All we can think about is crushing our opponent.

But despite how serious this night is for us, all around us there are red hearts flashing on the jumbotron. The Seadragon Center announcer makes corny references to “falling in love with hockey, and half the crowd is wearing pink and red jerseys. For the rest of the world, tonight is a celebration of love. For us, tonight is about clawing out a place for ourselves in the playoffs.

It’s obvious the Direwolves feel the same way we do because they come out flying, their speed immediately obvious. They’re faster than Vegas was, more disciplined, and their power play unit moves like they’ve been playing together for decades instead of seasons. When their first line takes the opening faceoff, I can feel the challenge radiating off them like heat.

“Stay tight,” Petrov calls as we line up across from them. “Make them work for every inch.”

I settle into position on Ryan’s right, anticipation jolting through me. Our eyes meet and we send each other a silent message of solidarity. We’ve got this. We’re going to kick ass tonight. We have to. But that look between us also holds heat. An unspoken lust that we’re dancing around, only giving in now and then. This is no time to be thinking about sex, but when we lock eyes, it’s hard not to think about the Super Bowl party. I’d rather be spending Valentine Day with his hot mouth wrapped around my cock, and that’s no lie.

Focus you idiot.

We haven’t touched each other since that night, but it’s been on my mind nonstop. I don’t want to want him, but I can’t seem to stop. If anything, my desire for him has increased, fueled even more by how well we’re playing together during practice. We’re so fucking in sync, you’d never know only a few weeks ago I hated his guts.

The puck drops and Denver’s center wins it clean, sending it back to their defense before I can even react. But Ryan’s already moving, anticipating the breakout pass. He forces their winger wide, cutting off the easy outlet, andsuddenly they’re scrambling instead of executing.

“Switch,”I call, abandoning my man to pressure their defenseman. The puck squirts loose, and Ryan’s there to collect it.

This is what we’ve built over the past week. Not just chemistry, but telepathy. The ability to read each other’s movements before they happen, to anticipate decisions that haven’t been made yet. When Ryan curls behind our net with the puck, I don’t need to look to know he’s going to hit me with a stretch pass. I’m already breaking toward center ice, stick ready, when his feed finds me in perfect stride.

The Denver defenseman tries to close the gap, but I slip past him. Suddenly it’s just me and their goalie, and in my peripheral vision, I can see Ryan driving hard to the net for a potential rebound. I fake the shot, drawing the goalie down, then slide it across the crease. Ryan’s stick is exactly where it needs to be, redirecting the puck over the sprawling goalie’s pad.

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