Page 164 of Friendzone Hockey
“Don’t do this,” Dirk says in a voice I’ve never heard before. It’s pleading, it’s raw, it’s maybe the most vulnerable that’s ever come out of him.
There’s quiet. Then somebody might be talking, but it’s hard to make out the voice. Suddenly, the door’s flung open. Stacey swings us around the opposite corner, pressing us against a cold wall. I hold my breath. Heavy footsteps storm away, but new ones plod a tired rhythm toward the door. Knuckles crunch wood, and Dad’s curse echoes down the hallway.
Holy fucking shit—Dad and Dirk? I had my suspicions, but without proof, I could convince myself I was seeing things.
The door clicks so quietly as it closes, you’d think the door was tired too.
For several long seconds, we can’t move or speak. Then Stacey nods his head, and we do our best impressions of ghosts, so no one knows we were ever here.
My pants are yanked down far enough to give him access. No one’s home, and we were feeling nostalgic because we closed on the house today, and that means we’re moving before the hockey season starts. We’ve still got time. Rhett’s got a crew in there, remodeling the basement, but our time is limited.
This is where we became a family. This is where our best and worst times happened. Soon it’ll be the last time we snuggle on that couch with the light hitting us in just the same way it always had.
We decided we needed to fuck in every crevice of the house before we leave it.
“Keep your hands on the fucking counter, Dashie.”
Stacey smacks my ass, I yelp. We’ve been tested, he’s clear to fuck me bare now, and oh god how good he feels.
I can’t help wanting to touch him, but I’m willing to sacrifice that for how bossy he gets when we’re fucking. I was the one fucking him last night, but there was no question as to who was in charge. He gave my dick a fucking workout, wouldn’t let me come until I’d earned it.
God was it hot.
“An order like that shouldn’t be followed by something cute like ‘Dashie’, just sayin’.”
“Bitch?”
Unfortunately, I’ve heard Sutter say that way too many times through the thin walls—our new place better have thicker walls.
“No.”
“Slut? Whore? Are you my needy whore, baby?”
“Fuck. Yeah … Yes, I am.”
My balls clench on every thrust, building, getting closer. He wraps a meaty palm around them, squeezing, preventing any hope of orgasm.
This is when my phone rings, lighting up with a name I haven’t seen in a while—one that turns my blood to ice. It’san ex-boyfriend of mine. Fuck, did I really never delete Gator’s number from my phone?
Stacey hasn’t forgotten Gator either. His hips pause, but his cock remains firmly in my ass.
“What’s he doing calling you?” he snarls.
“No fucking clue. I?—”
He seizes the ringing phone. What do I do? Stop him? I should, but I’m not gonna. I’d rather remain tethered to his dick and if he’s gonna answer my phone, he could at least keep fucking me.
“Don’t you dare cum, yet, understand?”
“Yes,” I pant. I’m pretty close, and he’s so fucking hot when he turns into a jealous lunatic.
He puts the phone to his ear, starting a new—slower—rhythm. “Dash can’t come to the phone right now. He’s too busy moaning like a whore for me.”
Yeah, that checks out. I’m also whimpering and writhing on his cock. It’s so big. The biggest I’ve ever had. I’ve been missing out.
“Yeah, no,” he continues. “He won’t be calling you when he’s done, and you’re never gonna call him again.”
All the while, Stacey fucks me, hitting that special place inside me, bringing me closer to the edge. I’m so close to going over. I clench my straining nuts, not wanting to find out what happens if I come before he’s done.
