Page 1 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

ONE

DEVAN

Then—Eight Years Ago

I should've told him.

The second we stepped off the ice, still high off that win, I should've opened my mouth and said something. But how the hell do I say "I'm leaving you behind" to someone who doesn't even know I was trying to stay?

The locker room's chaos of sweaty gear flying, half the team still shouting about playoffs, beer cracked open even though Coach would lose his damn mind.

I should be celebrating. Hell, I am, in that numb, buzzed way that happens when your body's still riding the high but your mind's somewhere else entirely.

All I can think about is the envelope tucked in my duffel, and the call I took yesterday while hiding in the stairwell of our dorm building.

The contract I signed this morning with hands that wouldn't stop trembling.

Dallas. A shot at the league. My shot. Everything I've worked for since I first laced up skates aged five, when my dad promised me the world if I just worked hard enough.

Tobias.

He's across the room, shirtless, still damp from the shower, laughing at something our goalie said about Coach's face when we pulled off that last-minute play.

He laughs with his whole body, head thrown back, dimples deep enough to drown in, chest rising and falling like he hasn't got a worry in the world.

That laugh used to be mine. For three years, it felt like I was the reason he smiled like that.

Like I'd somehow earned the right to be the cause of his happiness.

We never put a label on it. Never said boyfriend, never said it was more.

But it was. It always was. Late-night study sessions that turned into something else entirely.

Road trips where we'd pull over just to touch each other.

Secret smiles across crowded rooms that spoke volumes no one else could hear.

He glances over and catches me watching him. He smiles, not just polite, it’s the smile. The one that always says ‘come here’ without a single word spoken. The one that makes my knees weak, even after all this time.

"Hey, superstar." Tobias crosses the locker room, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to the smooth planes of his shoulders like they can't bear to let go.

"You planning on standing there all night, or you wanna celebrate properly?

" The invitation in his voice is clear, intimate, meant only for me despite the dozen guys surrounding us.

My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I'm surprised it doesn't crack bone.

I try to memorize everything about him in this moment, the little scar above his eyebrow from that fight in sophomore year when someone called him a name I won't repeat, the freckle at the edge of his collarbone that I've kissed a thousand times, how his hazel eyes turn molten gold under the harsh fluorescent lights of this dingy locker room.

"Just soaking it all in, man." I force a grin, tucking the truth away behind my teeth where it burns like acid. "Four goals tonight. That's gotta be worth something." My voice sounds normal somehow, even though everything inside me is screaming.

"I can think of a few rewards." His voice drops so only I can hear. The corner of his mouth curls up in that way that makes my stomach flip and my blood run hot. "When you're done with all this." He gestures to our teammates, the beer, the noise, this celebration that suddenly feels hollow.

Later, back at the dorm, it's quiet. Moonlight slices across the bed through blinds we never fully close.

Tobias's hands are on me before I can think twice, before I can ruin everything with truth.

My mouth finds his like it's second nature.

He opens willingly for me, allowing me to punish him with lashes of my tongue.

A punishment he doesn't deserve but I need to enact all the same.

The slide of his tongue against mine, the taste of victory beer and mint toothpaste, the little sound he makes when I press him against the wall, it's all familiar territory that somehow still feels brand new every time.

Tobias's hand slips between us, the faint trace of his fingertips against my covered dick rips a groan from my core. The pull of my zipper is a slow, torturous tease that forces me to break our kiss. As much as I crave the feel of his skilled hands wrapped around my length, stroking me until I’m painting his chest with my release, I know that tonight, I need more.

I need to feel every inch of him, to lose myself in the heat of his body, to remind myself of what we could have been.

The air between us is charged, electric with anticipation.

I glance down, watching as he slowly exposes me, the moonlight casting shadows that dance across his skin.

His touch is gentle, yet firm, a promise of what’s to come, and my body responds, aching for more.

His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I see a reflection of my own desire, a hunger that matches my own.

I reach for him, my fingers trace the lines of his chest, the steady beat of his heart pulses beneath my touch.

Tonight, I need to feel him, to know that he’s still mine, even if it’s just for this short time.

"Slow down," I murmur against his neck, even though everything in me wants to rush, to take, to have one last time before it all shatters. "We've got all night."

A lie. A big, beautiful lie.

His fingers tangle in my short locs, pulling me in for a kiss that burns straight through my chest and settles somewhere deep in my soul.

"You were unbelievable tonight. The way you moved.

. ." He traces the line of my jaw, my neck, down to the hollow of my throat where my pulse jumps beneath his touch. "Like you owned the ice."

I did own the ice. For three hours, I was untouchable. I was flying. It was everything I've dreamed of since I was a kid with too-big skates and the hand-me-down stick my cousin outgrew.

Now, with Tobias beneath me, both of us naked, our clothes discarded on our dorm floor, skin against skin, I'm grounded.

Here. Present in a way I never am anywhere else.

Every sensation is amplified. The heat of his body, the catch in his breath when I find that spot behind his ear, the strength in his thighs as they wrap around my waist. His hands explore my back, tracing the ridges of muscle and the scars from old games, each touch a memory, each memory a promise of more.

His lips find mine again, hungry and insistent, the press of his arousal against me hard and urgent.

I let my hands wander, tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the pounding of his heart under my palm.

His skin is smooth and hot, with the dampness of sweat clinging to him.

I leave no room between us. I trail kisses down his neck, the tang of salt sharp on my tongue, his stubble rough against my lips.

"Devan," he whispers, his voice ragged with desire. "I need you."

In this moment, I need him, too. More than anything. More than the contract, more than the league, more than the dreams that have driven me for so long. I need him, and I know that this night, this moment, is all we will have. I will make it count.

I kiss my way down to his waiting dick, precum leaks from the tip, glistens in the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

Tobias is never patient; my greedy Toby is always eager for me to fill him up.

His breath hitches as I trail kisses down the length of his shaft, the scent of him, musky and raw, fills my senses.

"Please, Dev," he begs, his voice breaking as I brush my lips over his slit, tasting the salt of his desire.

"I know, baby," I murmur, the word slipping out so naturally it feels like a betrayal. It's a name I've wanted to call him for months but never had the courage to do so. Now, at the eleventh hour, my brain and heart are finally in agreement. "I'm going to give you what you need."

I part my lips and slide down his length, taking him whole. Tobias's back arches as my throat constricts around him, his hands fist the sheets beneath us. I hum in approval, pressing his hips down on the mattress as I work him over, drawing out loud moans and gasps from deep within him.

"Fuck me, Dev, please fuck me," he pleads desperately. I smile as I lick my way back up his shaft, kissing the tip of his crown for good measure.

"I want you to ride me, Toby," I say, my voice low and husky with desire. "I want to see your face as you fall apart on my dick." I blanket him with my body, kissing him deeply once more before rolling off.

He reaches for the lube on the desk beside his bed, his movements fluid and graceful, a dance of anticipation.

I take in his long legs and mouthwatering ass as he leans over, committing his smooth tawny skin to memory.

I know I'm asking too much of him. Wanting to see him fall apart, facing me, is a request I don't deserve, but I'm going to take it.

Cherish it. I will never get this chance again.

Tobias will likely hate me for this in the long run, but for now, in this moment, he is mine.

He straddles my thighs. I let my hands roam over his muscular chest and defined abs, tracing the lines of a body honed to perfection over the years we've known each other.

Looking up into his hazel eyes, I see only affection shining back at me, a warmth that threatens to undo me as he lubes up his fingers, denying me the pleasure of opening him up myself.

I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with two words.

"Watch me," he says, his voice a husky command that sends a shiver down my spine.

He rises up on his knees and turns around, giving me a view that's breathtaking.

With one arm braced on my leg, his back curves perfectly for my viewing pleasure.

I'm transfixed, unable to look away as his fingers work their magic, stretching and scissoring, preparing himself for me.

I squirm underneath him, my body aching with need, but Tobias holds me still, his puckered hole practically screaming for me to fill it. The sight of him like this, open and vulnerable, is almost too much to bear.

"Ride me, Tobias. Do it now, baby, before I cum from the sight of you alone. Please." The words escape my lips like a long held secret, a desperate plea that I can't hold back any longer.

Turning, Tobias faces me once more, his kiss-swollen lips parted in ecstasy. He reaches behind him, guides my waiting dick into position and slides down, taking every inch of me until his ass meets my hips. The sensation is overwhelming—pleasure and pain have me teetering on the edge.

Unable to hold back any longer, I sit up just enough for my lips to meet his.

The kiss is slow and languid, full of unspoken promises—promises I can no longer keep.

Tobias begins to move, rolling his hips, taking me deeper with each thrust. I swallow his moans, stealing every one.

They belong to me. Right now, he belongs to me, and I won't allow a single part of him to escape.

We both pant, our moans and groans mingling as we fuck like we've got an eternity at our beck and call.

We cum together, our bodies trembling with release, reassurances of more on our lips.

Reassurances that have me wanting to tell him everything, but instead I choose to take him once more.

Tobias on his knees, ass in the air, as I rut into him one last time, committing every gasp, every touch, every sensation to memory.

We don't talk. We don't need to. We've never needed to, but I should say something. I should tell him, but I keep my mouth closed. I don’t want to taint this moment.

Not in the space where everything feels soft and spent and safe.

Not with my head on his chest and his fingers tracing lazy patterns in my hair.

Not with his breath slow and even beside mine, his heartbeat a steady drum under my ear.

I could tell him I got the call. I could say, "Dallas signed me. I'm not going to graduate. I leave tomorrow."

Instead, I press my lips to his shoulder, his neck, his mouth. I worship every inch of him with my hands, my tongue, trying to say with my body what I can't with words.

I'm sorry. I want to stay. I never meant for this to be goodbye.

When he falls asleep, legs tangled with mine, arm thrown across my chest like he's afraid I'll disappear (and isn't that irony at its finest?), I stare at the ceiling and count his breaths. One, two, three, four. . . memorizing the rhythm like it's a song I'll need to recall years from now.

I should tell him.

Instead, I get up while he's sleeping, careful not to disturb the mattress too much.

I pack quietly, moving like a ghost in the room we've shared more nights than not.

I don't have as much as I thought. My clothes, a few books, my skates.

My flight's at noon. The contract's already signed, the ink dry before I even stepped onto the ice tonight.

I tell myself this is cleaner. Easier. Kinder, maybe.

It isn't. It's selfish, I know it. Everything I've done tonight screams it. It's cowardice wrapped in excuses and tied with a bow of professional ambition.

The truth is, I'm terrified. Of what this is.

Of what it could be. Of how much I feel when I look at him and how impossible it seems to make room for that alongside everything else I want.

The NHL doesn't have space for this. For us.

At least that's what I've convinced myself in the dark hours when doubt creeps in.

I leave the key on the desk. My phone on the dresser, screen glowing with a message half-typed but never sent.

Me: I'm sorry.

It's not enough, but it's all I've got.

I pause at the door, duffel slung over my shoulder, looking back at him one last time.

Memorizing the curve of his shoulder, the way his face softens in sleep, how his hand reaches for the empty space where I should be.

The moonlight catches on his skin, turning him into something ethereal, something I was never meant to keep.

Grabbing my phone, I let my fingers hover over send, but at the last minute I shove my phone in my back pocket and leave.

By the time the sun even thinks about rising, I'm already gone, carrying the weight of my unheard goodbye like bricks in my pockets.