Page 78 of Fresh Ice
It took them a while to strip bare, but when they did, it was another level of relief. Of coming home. Levy plunged two fingers inside him as he fucked Alonso’s mouth with his tongue, languid and teasing, sucking on his bottom lip to add a little sting.
Alonso moved his hips, dripping onto Levy’s hand, making a mess of the sheet underneath them. “Levy,” he whined. “Comeon.”
Levy laughed, breath mixing with Alonso’s. “Just a little while longer, okay, baby?”
Alonso growled. “Don’t you wanna fuck me? Don’t you wanna fill me up? Make me feel it?” he teased brazenly.
Levy stared down at him, eyes blown wide, mouth plump and wet and round with shock. “Jesus.”
“Come on, Levy. Fuckingcome on.”
This time, Levy listened, a moment of emptiness as he removed his fingers and then the sheer bliss of his cock sinking into Alonso.
God, it felt good.
Alonso let out a little, wanting noise, and Levy leaned in to lap it right from his mouth as he started rocking into Alonso.
Alonso arched, meeting him thrust for thrust, eyes rolling to the back of his head when Levy finally sat up and gained enough leverage to snap his hips forward.
“There,” Alonso cried out. “God, there.”
Alonso melted into a moaning puddle as Levy made it his singular mission to hit Alonso’s prostate on every try. Fuck, he was so beautiful—his broad chest, brown skin dusted with gold in the morning light, sweat collecting in the dip of his collarbones, eyes focused and adoring.
How had Alonso ever thought he could give this man up?”
Alonso tried to hold on, but the pleasure was too much. He shook apart without having to even touch his cock, Levy groaning above him and tumbling over the edge a moment later.
Levy pressed in deep as he came, filling Alonso up, and the mere thought of it had another burst of pleasure ransacking Alonso’s body.
They lay together in the aftermath, two cooling bodies wrapped up in each other, their whole future a bright path in front of them.
EPILOGUE
Going back to New York was a smooth transition.
Alonso would miss Levy’s family, his friends, Minnesota, but he was excited for the new season.
The coach and training staff had been replaced, and it lightened the locker room from the start. The new coach, Steve McCormach, gave them a little speech at the beginning of camp and then they were all on the ice again, being put through their paces. It was weird to no longer be a rookie—Alonso still felt like he had to establish himself, but it wasn’t like the previous year. He wasn’t fearful of being sent to the OHL or AHL. He was part of the Hounds now, and as much as he had to prove, it was something he knew he had to do with the help of his teammates.
Levy, of course, welcomed the prospects with open arms.
It was funny to see him charm them, dragging Alonso along.
Gabby watched their shenanigans with resigned exhaustion. “Stop being so young and perky,” he called out to them early one morning. The prospects laughed nervously as Levy stuck his tongue out at him.
Training camp went on just like that. Alonso would show up to practice and video review and team events and try to be as personable as he could manage. He sat through teammates showing him pictures of their kids, skated through gruelling ice sessions, sweated through hours at the gym. He forced himself to open up to the new guys—he wasn’t close to being in a leadership position yet, what with all the veterans already on the team, but it was never too early to start.
Everything was made easier with Levy by his side.
They’d go home at night to the same space, the same bed, and it just feltright. He knew that they would stumble upon difficulties on the way, but right now, he’d never been happier.
It felt like maybe, just maybe, he deserved what he had.
Cynthia had sat him down not long before summer was over and talked to Alonso about his dad.
“I don’t want to push you, but I worry, Alonso. You are such a bright light, and your father tries to dampen it. Can you see that?”
Alonso hadn’t known what to say. Eventually, though, he’d agreed to go to therapy when he returned to New York. Levy helped him make the appointment—not a sports psychologist, but an actual therapist.
