Page 54 of Goalie Secrets
“Why you?” I ask, grazing my knuckles on the rounded muscles of his pectorals. “I’m sure other people would volunteer to be Santa. You’re a star goalie. The kids and adults would line the block to get your autograph.”
His eyes are hooded when he rasps, “Maybe that’s why.”
“You don’t want them to know you’re here?”
“I’ll show my face at the last twenty minutes. Pose for selfies and sign whatever is in front of me. Just don’t want to hijack the whole event.” He speaks distractedly while staring at my mouth.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” I mumble in awe because it’s true.
In a locker room on Christmas Day, I can’t seem to remember why I shouldn’t admire Jeremy Lopez. More than that. I want to be with him up close. I want to touch his face and kiss him again. Because I’ve never been this tempted by a patient—in fact, I’ve never been this desperately attracted toanyone—I’m at a loss on how to resist a craving that is stronger than ever.
“You are so good to everyone,” I say reverently.
“All the volunteers are contributing as much as I am,” he states casually, like he isn’t a big shot hockey player under a Santa Claus disguise. What celebrated athlete is this humble?
Jeremy is exceptional in so many ways, but this tidbit floods me with affection. He hides under the Santa disguise because it keeps the attention on the community as a whole.
He takes care of other people, but who takes care of him?
Me. Only me.It’s a dangerous, unbidden thought.
His hungry eyes mirror my own desperation. We want the same thing. We want each other.
The realization makes me reckless.
She licks her lips. My final leash of control is in shreds.
I move forward, but my stupid stomach prop is in the way.
Irritated and horny, I step aside, reach to the back of my shirt, and pull the whole thing off: shirt and the foam padding attached to it. The slight sheen of sweat chills me for a second, but my blood turns to fire when she places her hands on my bare chest.
Three things hit me all at once.
One. My cock is so hard, it hurts.
Two. Vanya’s features are relaxed in a way I’ve never seen before. I’ve stared at her at every chance. At the moment, her tranquil face is so unexpectedly vulnerable, it makes me ache. I want to deserve her vulnerability. I want to worship it.
Three. There is no point denying that I am headfirst—Santa costume and all—falling in love with my doctor.
“Can I touch you there?” she asks before lowering her eyes to indicate exactly where she wants to touch me. Vanya bites into her lower lip nervously. As if I am remotely capable of saying no.
By way of answer, I guide one of her hands past the adjustable cinched waist so she can feel how much I want her.
“Here?” I say with a smirk.
Her fingers clench and the sensation wipes that smirk off my face.
She nods and slips inside my boxers, skin to skin. Her grip tightens. She tries to wrap her hand around my dick. It feels so good, I need to lean on the lockers to keep myself up.
We both watch the lewd sight of her arm buried in mySanta trousers, pumping in steady, confident strokes. When she swipes the pre-cum leaking off my thick head, we both moan. The telltale sign of lava down my back warns me that I’m precariously teetering on the edge. I grab her hand to stall the movement.
“Kiss me,” I beg.
She grabs my shoulders and pulls me down. Our kiss is hot and ravenous. A supple breast fills my grip while I pinch the hard nipple. She sighs a muffled “yes.” My other hand kneads her backside.
“Been dreaming of grabbing this ass for a long time,” I mumble while greedily sucking her lower lip, her neck, her earlobe.
My doctor’s cold indifference is replaced by unleashed passion. She’s clinging, meowling, and grinding. I help lift her leg over my hip so she can grind her center against my thigh. She’s lucky we’re both wearing pants. It’s just enough fabric to buffer the intensity. Otherwise, these red Santa trousers would no longer be suitable for the public.