Page 121 of Puck Your Friend

Ford’s grip on my hips tightens as he drives deeper. His knot stretches my opening but doesn’t push past it enough to lock inside me.

It gets to focus and pump their cocks as I get closer to coming.

Wes’s thumb finds my clit, and he rubs it hard. Just how I like. “Are you close?”

I nod, my voice is gone. My walls pulse around him.

Ford leans in over my back and growls as his teeth scrape along my nape.

I arch into him, wanting it more than anything.

“Are you ready, Love?”

My hips jerk. I’m on the cusp of an orgasm. “Yes!”

Logan and Jace lift my hands. Their lips brush over my inner wrists. Wes sits up and kisses the left side of my neck, right over my scent-gland.

Ford hums, “Now.” He and Wes thrust one last time, locking their knots with me as all four of them bite down, sinking their teeth into my skin.

A white heat floods my body as I have the strongest orgasm of my life. Just when I think it’s over, another aftershock hits.

Their moans rumble through me. Their cum floods my passage as Logan and Jace’s hits my outer thighs.

I don’t know how long it lasts, but soon they release me and the bite marks tingle, but don’t hurt.

I sag between them. My breath is gone. I can’t move. I feel fully sated. My mind and body are calm.

Wes runs his hand along my spine, letting me rest my head on his chest.

Ford leans over my back, careful to not put his weight fully on my spine. Jace and Logan collapse on the bed.

A smile pulls at my lips. I’m one with them now, fully a part of the pack as their Omega. For the first time in eleven years, I’m fully where I need to be. I’ve found my family and I belong.

Chapter 23

Us Bears, wearing blue and white, enter the ice to a roar that rattles the roof. Heathstead Arena is packed shoulder to shoulder. There’s nothing like the crowd that gathers for the Alpha Cup game. The energy buzzes in every corner.

The Canval Reapers wear black and red as they warm up. They’re cold-eyed and cocky as hell. They’ve put on a mean streak this year, so we have our work cut out for us to win the cup. They’re a mid-tier team, but they’ve got bite. Their goalie’s solid this year, but not as good as Jace. First line knows how to bury rebounds. If we give them too much ice, we’ll pay for it.

I slow by the glass near our bench. Frankie stands behind the rail, camera in hand. Press badge tucked into her hoodie, hood half up. The League gave her and Doug full access forthe documentary. They have a bigger team today, too. More cameramen are here, paid for by the League.

She lifts her lens, offering me a smile and a thumbs up. I hold her gaze through my face shield and nod. We warm up, and I zero in on what needs to be done. There’s no coming back if we lose this one. It’s the last game of the season, and if I’m honest, I wouldn’t mind retiring after this. Now, with Frankie in our lives, we want to figure out what’s next, and our bodies are slowing down. Injuries take longer to heal, and it’s not as fun as it used to be. So we have to make this one count and pour all we have into winning.

The ref signals the start of the game.

I push off hard and glide toward the dot. My focus locks on to my stick. I lower my stance and square up across from their center, Emory Kincaid. His eyes don’t twitch. Mine don’t either.

The puck drops.

It thuds on the ice and skitters between us. We scramble. They gain control.

Fuck.

Their winger swings behind our net and slips it out front to their center. He snaps quickly it glove-side before Jace can seal the post.

1–0 Reapers.

Damn it, we’re not even five minutes in and they scored.