Page 5 of Two Guys One Puck
His upper lip curls in annoyance, and I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do, but what can I say? My body is primed for a fight after a lifetime of it.
I curl a finger when he doesn’t make a move. “Come here, sunshine.”
He doesn’t move closer. Instead, he throws a punch, and I’m not ready for it. I don’t get my arm up in time, and he nails mein the jaw. Rage burns in my synapses as the dull pain gives me a rush of adrenaline.
Fucking lefties. They’re impossible to read.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting blood. I smile with bloody teeth and return a quick jab that strikes him right in the nose. His head cocks back, and he stumbles.I suddenly fear he will fucking fall back and hit his head. That’s the last thing I need because I can’t explain why I’m at the other team’s hotel or why we are fighting out back. This shit would get us both suspended by the Myth Hockey League.
He doesn’t fall, though. He catches himself, bringing his hand up to the cut along the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”That will teach him to keep his hands up. Fucking arrogant prick.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drink before fighting.”
His eyes narrow. “I haven’t been… This is going to be impossible to explain.”
“Don’t worry. It makes you more attractive, sweet pea.” I make a kissy face at him, delighting in his anger.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He puts his hands up, guarding his face.
We dance around each other for a few moments. He’s light on his feet—something I didn’t expect at his size. A few blows are traded, nothing that hits, while we feel each other out, but he quickly gets frustrated and moves in, throwing wild punches. I block them and hit him in the kidney. He grunts, getting me in the chest.
“If you want to feel me up, you could have just asked,” I say as I back off again.
He charges me, shoving me back into the brick wall. Our fight quickly devolves into a brawl. Hit after hit after hit, and then out of nowhere, my lips are on his.
I’m not sure who started it, but I’m kissing him.
And he’s kissing me back.
What the fuck are we doing?
My body reacts to his before my brain has time to catch up. I’m already half-hard, and I’m not sure if it’s from the fighting or the kiss, but I’m not stopping it.
We’re roughly grasping at each other, still wrestling.
Seaborn uses his free hand to dig his fingers into my hip, trying to control the encounter. I fight it, nipping at his tongue. He growls into my mouth, and I love how the sound radiates through both of us. I’ve never kissed a man before. I’m not sure I even like men, I don’t think, but I like this. He’s not delicate, giving back all the force I’m using.
I grab his throat, tongue delving deeper into his mouth. He bites my lip and then fists a hand in my hair, pulling hard. I expect him to shove off me, but he doesn’t, and our fight doesn’t end while we’re kissing. My fingers tighten around his neck, and he digs his into my scalp. It hurts as much as it stimulates, and I can’t stop.
He flattens his body against mine. I press my shoulder blades against the wall, using the leverage to force my hips out, to grind against him, and to my absolute pleasure, I find him rock fucking hard.
He pulls at my sweats, thumbs hooking under them to skim over my hip bone. My body ignites under the touch.
What is happening?
I’d never much cared for sex, or women for that matter, but that’s because I’d been focused on my goal of playing for the NHL.
Seaborn’s touch is something else. I could see myself getting as addicted to it as hockey.
I can’t do that.
I can’t get distracted.
My brother depends on me.
That sobers my mind. I shove at him, but he presses against me harder. I tighten my fingers on his throat and finally throw him off.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. A little of my blood is smeared on his lips, while the cut on the bridge of his nose left red smeared across his face. It must be on mine, too, and that makes me smile.
