Page 30 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

Q uinn and I have enjoyed enough ass play for her to confidently prep me blindfolded, and that’s exactly what she’ll be doing the second she comes all over my cock. Sans blindfold … ooh, that’s an idea for next time.

The thought of Brady filling my ass with his giant dick urges me forward. The sight of Quinn writhing beneath me, her fucking insane tits bouncing as she arches her back taking every inch of me, takes me to a level of euphoria I thought impossible.

She’s incredible. So adventurous and brave. So confident in her sexuality. There’s never been a hint of judgment over my bisexuality. In fact, she’s fed and taken on the fantasies as though they were her own, giving me the freedom to incorporate them into our fucking every chance.

A woman like her is one in a million. I am a dime a dozen.

That’s why letting her go will be near impossible, why I have to make this time count.

Beside me, Skippy, my disheveled, debauched, delicious team mate tracks my every move, his face a study of concentration.

“Take it all in, Skip,” I encourage. “Watch how I please her.” I drop my hand to Quinn’s soaked pussy and begin to tease.

“She loves it when I play with her clit.” On cue, Kitty purrs, the vibration a direct shot to my balls. “Do you want to try?”

Eyes almost bulging from his bead, he nods and tentatively scoots closer, two fingers already mimicking the position of mine, poised.

“That’s it, now touch her right here. She’s so fucking wet you don’t need anything else, but sometimes, it’s still fun to do this.

” Just as Brady’s trembling fingers graze Quinn’s flesh, I lean and spit and smile as it drips and slides over our fingers.

She bucks, her pussy clenching so hard with an orgasm she almost pushes me out.

“Jesus Christ.” Disbelief colors Brady’s cheeks, his neck and his chest, that golden hair decorating his pecs, glistening.

Like the true champ she is, Quinn soaks up the rush for a beat or two before throwing her forearm over her eyes. “I think … I think I just died a little bit.” Another few huffed breaths follow. “Ready to join me, Troye?”

Am I ready for Brady to push into me, stretch me, fill me? Fuck yeah I’m ready.

Keen as mustard, my ass clenching, I slide my eyes to Skip, hoping to find him as eager as me, but the blush he wore seconds ago has been replaced with a hazy-eyed pallor. Looks like a healthy dose of white knuckle fear, pure exhaustion, and that maybe he died a little bit, too.

Maybe both.

Quinn’s gaze follows mine and her wicked smile softens. “I’m exhausted, let’s take a break. Who’s up for pizza?”

Relief washes over Brady, the bulky shoulders hiked around his ears, fall to their natural position. “Pizza sounds good. I’ll go. You guys stay here.”

Appreciating the view, I drop next to Quinn, and together, we watch the man mountain slide backwards off the bed.

Mumbling to himself, he holds one hand over his junk, an act as useful as concealing an eggplant with a mint leaf.

With the other, he fishes something off the floor, then backs out the door.

He’s so freaking cute.

Cute? What the fuck?

I squish whatever the fuck that was down and roll to face Quinn. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Everything and more.” With a deep exhale and smirk, she shimmies closer, and tucks into my side.

She’s so soft and warm. So mischievous. Proving that, she sinks her teeth into my neck, and rolls on top of me.

“Maybe we could start getting you ready for Brady while we wait, ‘cause I know you want him as much as I do.”

Quashing my emotions comes so naturally, the denial slips out without thought. “It’s not him so much as that he’s a hot guy, and I’m into sharing a hot guy with a hot girl.”

Quinn rolls her hand in front of us, in a keep it coming, kind of way. “And?”

“And nothing. He’s hot. That’s it. No more. No less.”

“Well, what if I want more—wait … What was that?” That, if I’m not mistaken, is trouble in the form of an opening and closing door.

“Shit! My parents!” Quinn scrambles to her feet, tossing on the jersey she flicked up with her toes, super hot.

Choking on inappropriate laughter, I choose the safety and convenience of ducking under the quilt.

Nothing happens. No parents enter. No voices join Brady’s. Come to think of it. There’s no noise coming from outside at all. This is either the most sound proof bedding in existence or something is wrong.

“Shit.” I toss back the quilt at the same time as Kitty reenters, rivulets of tears streaming down her face.

“Your dad wants to dual me or some shit, doesn’t he?”

She shakes her head and forces a smile. “As fun as that would be, no. Brady’s gone.”

Three days have passed and I have yet to lay eyes on Basse. How he’s managed to avoid me when we live together, go to the same school and play on the same team is anyone’s guess. But he has. Probably a good thing too, since I’m busting to kick his pretty little ass.

“He’s out with a virus.” Had been the official line from Coach, the team doctor, Cory, Shane, Professor Plum and the Coach White, our physio.

Not that I cared enough to ask around.

Even if I did it was only because of the team. And Quinn. Running off like that before I got the chance—I mean, before Quinn got the chance to be with him the way she wanted, was just rude.

Personally, I’m totally fine with it.

Doesn’t bother me at all.

Like I said, it’s Quinn and the team I’m worried about.

Nothing to do with me.

“If he doesn’t show today, he’ll be a scratch tonight and let the whole team down. I shouldn’t be surprised. He ruined your birthday, may as well ruin our hopes of making the Frozen Four. What a fucking prick.”

“He’s not a prick. Don’t call him that.” Quinn—the great Brady defender—moans.

Along with a swag-load of Bunnies, over-controlling dads and long-suffering mothers, she’s tagged along to watch the last open practice session of the season, claiming my final college hockey days are unmissable.

I’m pretty sure she’s more interested in seeing Skip on the ice than me, but she’s stubborn as fuck.

Me arguing she should stay away would have only made her more determined.

“Maybe he’s just a sweet guy who also happened to be a virgin, that we freaks, freaked the fuck out.

I think you’re just butt hurt ‘cause he left before hurting your butt … with his prick.”

If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d fall out my ears.

“Sweet virgin or not, that theory you keep peddling is fucking ridiculous. The sex was about you. I wouldn’t give it a second thought if it weren’t for you.

I can hardly remember what we did, but I’m sure if I could, you would be all I could remember.

I’m totally fine with it. Doesn’t bother me at all. ”

“Do you think if you say that often enough, and loud enough, you’ll believe it?”

My undoubtedly brilliant comeback dies on my tongue when the man himself rolls into view looking like an Abercrombie & Fitch model, stick over shoulder, skates slung over stick, that anaconda tucked into the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen.

“And people give me heat over my Spider-Man boxers. At least they’re under my pants.” Cory bitches, pointing at said tiny shorts.

Scoffing, Brady gives them a tap just near some kind of logo on the hem. “They’re footy shorts, dick.”

Cory, and the rest of the team that’s dressed out and ready to hit the ice, seem doubtful. “I dunno man, I’ve been watching football all my life and I’ve never seen shorts that small.”

“That’s because you’re watching the wrong kind. You’ve gotta get some AFL into ya.”

They laugh, and Skip does too, but stops the instant his crinkled eyes land on me and Quinn. His head drops and he turns on his heels, hightailing it into the corridor that leads to the locker room.

It takes a beat or two for me to decide what to do. There’s a good chance if I follow him down there I’ll either fight him or fuck him. Neither seems like a good idea but also the best thing I’ve ever thought of.

Maybe it will be safer to take Quinn with me.

“Fuck that. Let’s go, Kitty.” I grab her wrist and drag her along behind me, cutting through the team as though they were opposition on the ice, and down the same hall.

We’re halfway down the hall when she pulls me to a stop. “Troye, what are you doing? You have practice. This can wait.”

“No it can’t. You deserve an apology and I’m making sure you get it.”

An apology may be a stretch, but at least she gets an eyeful of naked Skip when I barge through the doors.

“Bro, what the hell?” He drops his hands to cover his naked junk, then turns to face the inside of his cubby.

“Bit late to be modest, isn’t it?” Since there’s no one else here, not that it would have stopped me, I close in, shoving him in the back till his face slams into the wood paneling, my forearm pressing against his neck.

“What’s your deal, Basse? You walk around pining for my girl, then run like a bitch and ruin her birthday after she blows you. You’re a fucking coward.”

“Maybe I am all those things, but at least I can admit it.”

“What?” What the fuck does that mean?

So livid, I can hardly see, I dig my fingers into Brady’s shoulder, and flip him around till the arm that was between his head and shoulders, is now wedged under his chin.

Kitty slides her hands around my waist and tugs. “Troye, stop. Let him go.”

“Quinn, wait outside.”

“No.”

“I said, wait outside.”

“Yeah? Well I said no. Let. Him. Go.”

Despite my best efforts, her feistiness has my lips curl into a wry smile. She’s so fucking hot when she’s mad. “Fine, but stay out of it, Kitty.”

I don’t let him go but I do ease my hold, when my attention returns to his bare chest. As expedited, he’s practically steaming with rage beneath me, his neck and face searing red. Like Quinn, it’s hot. The heat pooling between us could spontaneously pop a Pop tart.

I like it. Still, I don’t want them to know that. “Okay, Captain Koala, what the fuck does, at least I can admit it , mean?”

“Well, Captain Cockspank. It means, you’re so full of shit with your tough guy—I don’t give a hoot about Quinn—routine.

I saw the way you touched, and looked at her, Troye.

It was like she didn’t just hang your moon, but your stars, and your sun, and your whole fucking universe.

If you didn’t have your head so far up your ass, you would have seen that she looks at you the same way.

It made me so fucking jealous I couldn’t see straight because I want that.

I want her to look, and touch me the way she does you. And then I realized?—”

Violent banging against the door, and Shane’s, “Dudes! Get your asses out here now.” Cuts off Brady’s monologue, just when it was getting interesting.

My head volleys between the exit and Brady, and Quinn.

Slightly off balance, it’s enough for him to make his move.

Knocking my arm away, he fists my shirt in one hand, Quinn’s in the other, and drags us around the dividing wall and into the showers.

My skates clunk against the tile as I’m tossed against the wall, shoulder pads squishing up around my ears.

Quinn’s here too, Skip’s hold on her far gentler.

His sudden burst of confidence fades before my eyes. He hasn’t got a clue what to do with us.

I shove my face in him, my lips curling into a snarl. “What’s the matter, Skip? You too scared to tell us what you realized? Kitty got your tongue?”

I expect rage. Fire. Fight. What I get is a deflated giant, folding forward till his forehead rests on my shoulder.

“I wanted you.” He swallows. “I wanted you to look at me like you did her, and it scared the shit out of me.”

Well fuck me sideways.

There’s a wrong way and a right way to handle this.

I know that. What I don’t know is what either of them are.

This is veering dangerously into the realm of feelings, and I do not do feelings.

I glance at Quinn, ready to handball the touchy-feels over to her, when Brady’s right hand clenches around my throat.

“Fucking look at me, Becker.” His lips slam against mine, fingers squeezing till I can barely breathe, tongue forcing its way between my parted lips.

His thigh does the same between my legs, and I feel him, thick and hard against my hip.

Padded up chest to bare chest, with Quinn at our side, I shamelessly grind against him.

“My boys,” Quinn whispers, fingers carding through my hair.

“My beautiful boys.” Almost like he’d forgotten she was here, Brady gasps, and releases his stranglehold of my throat.

With far greater care than he gave me, he slides his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her onto his lips.

Melting into him she moans, climbing onto her tiptoes, almost climbing him.

“Brady. Troye. Ice. Now.”

“Fucking Shane.”

We break apart, panting, fingers clinging, our chests rising and falling as one. No one making moves to leave.

It’s Brady that breaks the stalemate.

“You’re going to make me regret this. I know you will, but I think I‘d regret not saying it even more. When I got home from the party, I went straight to bed but couldn’t sleep.

I just kept thinking of you, fully dressed watching Quinn and me naked.

I was so fucking freaked out, but so fucking hard.

So I wanked and came … like a lot. And then …

then I couldn’t stop. All I’ve done for three days is think and wank, and think and wank, till my hand felt like a fucking claw.

It actually hurts to grip my fucking stick.

” He pauses, then blushes. “Sorry for swearing so much, Quinny.”

Lord, this guy is too fucking cute, just kill me now.

Once again he closes in and I find myself pressed between his big body and a wall, barely capable of breathing.

“I need to see you naked, Becker. I need to touch you and kiss you, touch some more. And then, if it’s still okay, I want to fuck you.” His gaze slides to Quinn. “Both of you. Come to my room after practice. Both of you come, and you’ll get your apology and then some.”