Page 72 of Forbidden Hockey

“I want forever with you, too, pretty boy,” I admit. Because even if something ends us romantically, I’d never let him go. He’d have to put up with me as a shadowy presence, always there to give him protection he doesn’t really need, but that he’s getting from me anyway. “I definitely felt whatever the fuck that was, too.”

We know what “whatever the fuck” was, but I’m not ready to say it and, clearly, neither is he. If he’s gonna let us get away with that for now, I am too. I’m already terrified to death about everything to do with us.

So I turn my mind to other, safer things, like how fucking smart he is, which leads me to remember how well he did in school.

“What are you thinking about?”

“When you told me about making the honor roll your grad year.”

He blushes harder than when I was about to eat his ass earlier. He gets shy about that stuff, but I’m proud of him for it. Hunter made sure he did well. Dirk missed out on a lot of social time because of how hard Hunter was on him—maybe too hard sometimes in my opinion—but it paid off. Dirk doesn’t talk about it much, but he could have gotten into any school he wanted to with grades like his.

As I continue talking about regular shit, I press my fingers inside his hole, the one still dripping with my cum. Yep, he’s still nice and open. I slide my cock inside, and Dirk exhales with relief as if he was missing it there. I don’t move, I just want to be in him, connected with him in the deepest way possible.

“Trav?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Is there a bite mark on my shoulder?”

“Yep,” I say without apology. “And before the night is over, there’ll be one on your ass, too.” Maybe I’ll tattoo it there myself one day. That’s the only way it’s gonna happen since I’m not okay with someone touching his ass to do it. For now, I’ll have to bite it over and over until I leave a scar.

“I love what a fucking beast you are. Don’t change.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to. If anything, you pull the animal out of me. Just wait until we’re free to express ourselves in public. Then you’ll really see what a beast I am.”

I think we’re beyond hope now. A lot of people aren’t going to accept us, but dammit, we’re falling hard and there’s just no stopping it.

Chapter

Eleven

Hockey Season, Baby!

Dirk

Coach Meyer is on our fucking asses. Someone should remind him that we won a damn Calder Cup last season. Um, it won’t be me. I’m more likely to stay quiet and make the odd sarcastic quip under my breath when annoyance bubbles over. Only Jack or Casey would be so brazen, but they’re not here.

Fuck, I miss them more than I thought I would. Even Stacey. Speaking of missing Stacey, Dash is a wreck. Almost inconsolable. Jack lent us his truck for the season since he’ll be in New York and on the road most of the time, so we drove to Kelowna together in the old pickup. The whole time, he was either quiet or crying.

I was missing Trav like a fucking limb, so Dash’s silence worked for me, allowing my focus to remain solely on the road as we drove along the Coquihalla highway. The deep bite marks Trav embossed into my flesh ached right along with my achefor him, and I was glad for them. I couldn’t even text him. We agreed I would text him when I was alone. It’s not exactly unusual for us to text each other, but our conversations have gotten spicy as fuck since our last night together.

Dash and I have zero phone boundaries; all I need is for my phone to light up with a message from his dad while I drive, and Dash to pick it up. I’ll admit, the thought was entertaining. In his last message, the one before he had to stop texting me, he’d said:

Trav

My dick’s cold without you here to sit on it.

Yeah. Dash seeing that’s not fucking on. Even when we finally tell him, I never want him to see that shit. I’m a private guy anyway, not one to kiss and tell, but him knowing his dad gives it to me and seeing evidence of it are two different things.

Fuck, but then I was thinking about the way Trav gives it to me. My cock was instantly hard, and I had to deal with that boner from Vancouver to Hope.

Now I’m on a sheet of frozen water, trying to sling hard rubber past a goalie who clearly did more off-season training than I did.

“Skate, skate, feet, feet! Boulder, are your feet full of lead?” Mercy shouts.

Maybe, but it’s not just me. Besides our goalie, the team’s a bit slow—we had an indulgent off-season by the sound of things at the quiet get-together we had last night—but I think his mood has more to do with missing Jack.

He’s a great coach, and I can relate to the pain of being away from one’s man, so I let it go and focus on the ice, now my secondfavorite place to be. The ice was demoted the instant Trav kissed me for the first time.