Page 144 of Heartbreak Hockey

“Fair. I’ll see you … yeah, I’ll see you.”

I regret telling him to leave before I’ve showered. As the high of the game wears off, my pain gets worse. Any and all movement has me cursing and moving stiffly. Plastering a hand to the wet-slicked wall to help me maneuver myself was a bad idea. It slips and my foot flies out from under me. I brace myself for the inevitable fall onto the tiles.

I’m gonna be found naked, aren’t I? I’ll make front page news in the Kelowna Times. Foolish Man Found with his Dick Out Sobbing on Locker Room Floor.

I never hit the ground.

Two strong arms wrap around me, bracing me, saving me from pain, and becoming a spectacle in the local newspaper. I mean, there’s still pain, but I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s much less than if my six-foot-ass would have fallen on the ceramic-covered ground.

“Hey, Merc.”

The shower’s pouring onto his fancy coat, soaking it through. At least it’s not his leather one. “I hate that look,” he says.

“Which one?”

“The one that makes golden retriever puppies look like assholes.”

I smile and he steps away from me—once I’m on steady legs—to remove his jacket. I don’t know if we’re us, but we’re also notnotus. I don’t think “not us” is a thing anymore. He might be stuck with me even if he’s being stubborn.

“Whatcha doin’, Merc?”

“I’m helping you before you kill your damn self.”

He doesn’t take his shirt off or his shoes and pants. Just the jacket and blazer. The water immediately soaks through the thin cotton material. Oh, and it’s white too. Merc’s in a wet white t-shirt. He’s also pissed right off. I don’t know if it’s at me for being a fool and trying to shower myself when I’m this busted up, or at our situation, or something else—maybe all of it—but I do know that he’s hot as fuck with all that rage coursing through him and his drenched clothes clinging to him like that.

My dick finally comes to, like, it’s been given CPR and chubs up fast. I pant just a little when his hand touches my skin.

“We’re not doing it in this shower,” he says.

“Oh, c’mon.”

“You can barely breathe right.”

Okay, point him. My breathing is a little weird right now, but I’m a young and virile twenty-four-year-old male. We can have sex when we’re half-dead.

Merc reaches behind me to pump some soap into his hand and rubs his palms all over to scrub me clean. Yeah,allover me. Right over my junk and between the crease of my ass. I whine into his ear. “Meeeeerc. This is cruel. I’m a hockey hero tonight. At least jack me off.”

I can’t see him with my head resting in the crook of his neck, but I know that sadistic smile of his is plastered on his face. He tortures me slowly under the pretense of cleaning me, but I’m not dirty enough even after four periods of play to require this much soap. One of his arms holds me up unnecessarily, while his free hand passes over my sensitive skin, up and down the creases of my crotch, pausing occasionally to stroke my dick a few times.

“Mmm, feels fucking good, Merc. Yeah, love that.”

His hand is soft when it runs over my body, taking extra care where I’m fucked up, but then hard and unforgiving when he gets to my cock—just the way I like it. I love being pounded into, used rough and raw, and then cuddled afterward.

No way Merc’s gonna stick his cock into me like I want him to now—fucking Boston fuckface who slammed into me—but thinking about how he would like to, gets me going all the same.

He toys with my ass, sliding between my cheeks, circling my hole with the tip of his finger, and then pushing it in to the hilt. On instinct, I move my feet to spread wide for him, but that’s a bunch of jostling that my ribs hate.

“Hold fucking still, Jack.”

My impatience works in my favor though because his hand is focused on my dick now. Water sluices over us as I climb closer and closer to orgasm. My balls tighten and then hot cum shoots out of my dick, and over Merc’s hand. It wracks through me, shaking my damaged ribcage, mixing pain with pleasure. The resulting moan is an obvious combination of both and earns me a post-coital lecture as Merc lets the shower spray wash my creamy cum from his hand so that it can swirl down the drain.

“I told you so. You’re not invincible, Leslie.”

“Worth it,” I say with a content smile floating onto my lips. I’m on air. That was perfect.

“God damn hockey players.” He positions me against the wall so that he can wash my hair and I’m on cloud ninety-seven—that one’s way higher than nine.

He’s still mad, but his anger ebbs away bit by bit. The way he licks his lips and keeps looking at mine. He wants to kiss me. Merc doesn’t, pouring his focus into massaging the vanilla-scented locker room shampoo into my hair, which is a helluva lot longer when it’s wet. Man. Maybe I need it cut some. It reaches my neck. Always does this late in the season.