Page 9 of Unrivaled

From the looks of it, that realization hit like a six-five defenseman twelve inches from the boards. Armstrong flushed an unfortunately attractive red from the apples of his cheeks down to his collarbones, lovingly displayed in the slutty V-neck T-shirt he was wearing. Damn, he’d dressed to impress in that shirt—Max wanted to put his hands all over him. Mouth too, if Armstrong was amenable.

It would really suck if Armstrong wasn’t amenable, but at least Max would have solid gold chirp material for the rest of his career.

“You’re…?” Armstrong said. Even his eyes were unfairly pretty, a blue-green color a model would die for. Right now they were as big as hockey pucks.

“A man of my word,” Max filled in. He stepped into the role he’d made for himself like he was stepping onto the ice. It was easy—right foot forward, then left, until he didn’tquitehave Armstrong boxed in against the wall. He was going for sexy, not threatening.

He and Armstrong were the same height, which Max always forgot on the ice, where the twenty pounds of muscle Armstrong had on him made him seem enormous. Not that Max let that stop him from checking the guy every legal chance he got. It was fun.

This was fun too, and something else besides.

Armstrong met Max’s gaze, but he’d schooled his expression. Max couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “You want on my dick that bad?”

“Hockey players who live in glass houses, bud.” Max flicked his eyes down Armstrong’s broad chest to his crotch. He was wearing sweatpants. His dick wasn’t all the way hard, but he wasn’t soft either. “You’re telling me you never thought about it?” Yeah, right. Max would bet his lucky cuff links he had.

Armstrong wet his lips. He’d thought about it, all right. Maybe only since Max made that pass at the NHL Awards, but Max wasn’t gonna get in his feelings about that. Armstrong was thinking about it now, and that was all that mattered. “Thinking about it’s not the same as acting on it.”

Max leaned closer—close enough that Armstrong would feel the words leave Max’s mouth when he spoke, voice a low promise. “Don’t you want to know what’s better? Your imagination…” He took a half step forward, so his thigh wasn’tquitebetween Armstrong’s. The heat from his body radiated through Max’s leggings. “… or my reality?”

Armstrong inhaled sharply. He was either going to break or balk.

For a second, Max was sure he’d balk. Disappointing, but he wasn’t going to be an asshole about it. But then, before he could take a step back, Armstrong put his hands on Max’s hips.

A challenging light came into those pretty eyes.

Energy zinged up Max’s spine. He should’ve known. Armstrong never backed down on the ice either. It wason. But he was going to make Armstrong say it. Max was a good multitasker. He could get his ego and his dick stroked at the same time.

“Tick tock,” Max said. “I’m into informed consent. You wanna take this for a test-drive or what?”

Armstrong’s eyes slammed closed and his head thunked back against the wall. He made a noise like he was in deep physical pain.

But Max didn’t have time to be disappointed, because the next second he’d been spun around andhewas up against the wall, Armstrong crowding into his space, shoving his massive thigh against Max’s hard-on.

Max opened his mouth to swear, but he didn’t get a sound out before Armstrong’s crashed down over his and swallowed every syllable.

Oh fuck yes.

Grady Armstrong wasn’t fucking around. He kissed with his whole body—all two hundred pounds of it. He was mean about it too, tightening his fingers on Max’s shoulders and scoring his teeth over Max’s lip.

Max knew he’d be like this. He gasped under the onslaught and scrambled to shove down Armstrong’s waistband. That was the unspoken rule of the hookup basement—don’t linger. Get down, get it up, get off, and get out.

They’d checked off the first two, judging by the firm line of pressure against Max’s hip, and they were making excellent progress on the third.

This probably wasn’t going to last long enough to warrant the condom Max had optimistically shoved into the tiny pocket of his leggings.

The lube, on the other hand—

Armstrong pulled his mouth from its bruising campaign on Max’s lips and bit at the hinge of his jaw when Max wrapped his hand around his dick. Just like Max figured: thick to match the rest of him, and cut—too much friction.

Max snagged the lube from his pocket and shoved his own leggings down while ripping the packet open with his teeth.

“Really?” Armstrong said with more than a hint of judgment. “You brought lube?”

Max emptied the contents into his palm and took them both in a rough grip. “You’re welcome, bro.”

Armstrong sucked hard on the side of Max’s neck, right where he was sensitive. “Don’t call me bro when your hand’s on my dick.”

Somehow Max got out a breathless laugh instead of a moan. “What, you need some sweet nothings?” Thank God his mouth worked on autopilot. His brain was busy thinkingfuck, fuck, that’s so goodas Armstrong’s cock leaked all over both of them. “Want me to call you Daddy?”

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