Page 59 of Hotshot
And as I’d eased my thick cock inside his tight channel, a whole new constellation of stars had flooded my vision. It had felt like a religious experience. New and sacred. Every push andpull had sent pleasure coursing through my veins. My hands on his hips, my mouth on his shoulder. I’d fucked my cowboy like a champ, thrusting deeper and deeper, chasing his release and mine. The sweat, cum, and sheer adrenaline was unlike anything I’d ever felt.
I was hooked. I wanted to do this every day, multiple times a day, please.
I fucked him on a kitchen barstool, his ass perched on the edge, knees pulled to his chest while I drilled his hole. I fucked him in the shower and on the rug in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t a matter of taking turns. We just did what felt right. And we talked about it.
Okay, that was me, asking a million questions.
“Do you have a favorite position? Do you like it fast or slow? Do you like dirty talk…if so, how dirty? Do you have fantasies? What about kinks?”
Hank had answered them all in stride. “If I’m in the driver’s seat, I like missionary. If I’m on the receiving end, I prefer being on my knees. Fast or slow…yes to both. Talk dirty to me, baby, and yes, I have lots of fantasies. Especially about hockey players.”
“And kinks?” I’d pressed.
“Well…”
“Don’t be shy, now.”
He’d hesitated a beat and shrugged. “Being blindfolded can be a turn-on.”
“Ooh. Okay, we’ll do that next time.”
“What about you?”
“Everything you do turns me on,” I’d gushed. “Every position, everything you say. You’re my cowboy fantasy. And I don’t know if this is a kink or not, but…I love the feel of your cum dripping from my hole, and I love seeing mine drip from yours and?—”
He’d shut me up with a passionate kiss, pushing my boxer briefs off and licking his way down my body. I surrendered control, utterly and completely. It probably should have freaked me out, but there was no way to lose here.
12
HANK
Isat on the chaise next to Denny’s, staring out at the expanse of lawn and the field of wildflowers abutting the forest and the rambling creek nearby. Puffy clouds dotted the blue sky and other than the warble of a sparrow, it was peaceful and quiet.
Melting into the cushions, I drank in the view, which was almost as compelling as the guy stretched out nearby in holey jeans, a snug white tee, and my cowboy hat pushed low over his eyes to block the sun.
“You look good in that hat, sweetheart.”
Denny laughed, a sweet, unfettered sound that had me grinning like a loon. “I’m gonna get one of these…sweetheart. That’s such a goofy thing to say. Sweetheart. Why do you call me that?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. You’re sweet…ish. Should I call you something else?”
He smiled. “You do you. It’s better than Hotshot.”
“Why do you hate that so much?”
“It’s a pressure nickname. Too much to live up to on days you don’t kick ass the way the fans and media expect you to.” Dennytipped the brim of the hat. “I love hockey, and I can handle the pressure on the ice. Bring it, I’m ready. But the media stuff is a whole other ball game. They were all over me when our season ended, asking what happened. What could I say?”
“The truth,” I suggested. “You played hard. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Maybe not, but the real truth is, we were too beat up to compete. It felt like we’d given up by that last game, and I fucking hate giving up. It’s easy to say next season will be different, but you never know what’s coming. Denver has at least three players retiring, a couple who’ll probably be traded. That means new teammates and new chemistry, and…it’s tough starting from scratch.”
“You sound like an old fart,” I chided.
He laughed. “Fuck off.”
“Seriously. You’re twenty-two. You’re supposed to have at least five more years of unabashed enthusiasm before cynicism sets in.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m realistic, and I want to win. Failure isn’t an option. I’ll do whatever it takes to improve my game, minimize mistakes, skate faster, be better. And if I have to switch teams, hire a new agent…I’ll do that too.”