Page 104 of Forbidden Hockey

“Can you just … trust me? I’ll tell you if I think there’s anything to worry about.”

I bite back the thought in my head—am I gonna trust the judgment of a twenty-five-year-old?Of course, I think because I’m older that I know better, even though that’s not always true.

And, yeah, he’s my only little lion cub, who I guess isn’t so little anymore. But I’m fucking terrible at the “let your kids go” bullshit. Dash had to make me.

Maybe, on this one, Dirk has more insight than I do. If anyone knows Dash, it’s Dirk. “I trust you, baby.”

Dirk beams, and the tightening in my chest relaxes. “Good. I have no problems ratting his ass out if I think he needs it.”

Chapter

Eighteen

Late April

Off-Season, Baby!

Dirk

Did I just fucking arrive in Vancouver? Yes. Is it real fucking suspicious that I had to go to the restaurant now? Yes. But I don’t give a fuck. It’s playoff season for everyone else. We’re done, but our friends are still battling it out in the NHL. It’s always a bummer to be knocked out, but not as much of one this year. I’m aching to be with Trav, and Dash is aching to be with Stacey—even if he won’t admit it. I have no doubt that’ll sort itself out now that we’re home. We get a little time to breathe after another dramatic season before the rest of the guys get home, and new off-season drama begins.

Fuck, if I ever wrote a “tell-all” book about hockey players and how dramatic we are, no one would believe me.

I lied—just a small one—and told Trav I wouldn’t be home until tonight. I convinced Dash to leave with me at around one am, just after the wind-up party. I didn’t drink, so I could drive,but he did. I was able to put his drunk-ass to bed when we got home and slip out undetected.

Using my key, I creep into the restaurant. It’s hard to sneak up on a guard dog like Trav, but I know to skip the creaky third step up to his apartment, and to go slow with the door, because no matter how many things he gets to fixing, this door isn’t one of them.

Which leads me to believe that’s on purpose.

I open it enough not to activate the squeak in the hinge, and squeeze my big ass through the small crack, holding my breath until I’m inside. A light dusting of rain whispers against the window, all the world feeling hushed, wrapped in gentle silence. Even the birds seem to be sleeping in this morning.

His wide chest rises and falls, heavy with sleep, a large foot attached to an even larger calf poking out from tangled blankets. He could take up the whole bed; at his size, he should, but there’s a wide space left beside him.

Has he been sleeping like that the whole time? Leaving my side of the bed free?

I watch him for a few heartbeats, taking in his stubble-roughened jaw and the flame of dark hair jetting over his scalp—a scalp I can see because he has a fucking undercut. He’s on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, bicep thick but at rest. Even asleep, he’s formidable, a body built for war, still giving untamed beast despite how docile he is right now.

Which reminds me, I didn’t think this next part through. My life is at genuine risk. I got this far, but as soon as I set any piece of me on that bed, Trav’s gonna wake up. Between fight, flight, or freeze, Trav’s fight. There’s a very real chance he’ll pull that knife he sleeps with from under his mattress.

Getting stabbed would suck.

Carefully, I shed my clothes, and then okay, I’m going in, starting from the end of that bed, right from that calf. My kneesinks into the bed, and my hand has just enough time to skate across the coarse hair of his legs …

His body snaps, a huffed growl leaving his rumbly chest. He moves so fast, I don’t know how I end up plastered against his body, but I am, and his arms have locked into a stranglehold around my waist, trapping me. It’s a trap I don’t want to break free from, so I don’t even try.

“That was fucking suicidal, pretty boy,” his voice, rough with sleep, murmurs, but he’s quick to find the heartbeat under my skin, brushing his lips over it.

Maybe I should feel scared, or warned, or relieved I’ve survived, but I don’t. Instead, my throbbing cock’s the loudest sensation, screaming at Trav to fucking touch it. I whimper.

His body moves behind me, still tense with barely leashed rage, and a looming darkness that engulfs my senses.

“If you’re gonna wake me up like that, you’d better be prepared to have your throat fucked,” he breathes.

“Uh-huh. Please.”

He spins me, so I’m facing him, detangling his limbs from the mess of sheets. He spreads his legs, eyes still droopy with sleep. Does he know I’m here? Or does he think this is a dream? Let’s make it one to remember.

I deep-throat him, taking him all the way in. Man, I missed this so much. Video sex is better than nothing, but it’s not the same. A thick hand threads into my hair, holding it in place as his hips thrust in quick, jerky movements. There’s some grunting, some aaahhhs, and some “holy fuck yeahs” before hot cum paints the back of my throat.