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CAM

I winced as I rolled over in bed. My hips did not feel like they were properly connected to my body anymore.

Worth it, though, I thought with a grin. Totally worth it.

Beside me, the man whose tongue had made my soul leave my body was still asleep, breathing slowly and softly.

This was a new experience. I’d woken up with guys before, and I’d seen them sleeping before, but never Trev.

I mean, unless you counted those times I’d fallen asleep against him during a movie or when he’d slept through part of a road trip with me and some of our friends.

Waking up to the morning light resting on his face in the bed we’d rumpled… definitely a new experience, and one I was going to savor.

God, he was such a good-looking man. His heavily stubbled jaw and cheekbones were sharply defined, and I could’ve stared at those full lips all day long.

He’d been cute as a teenager, but as a grown man?

Holy shit, he was chiseled and sexy and just…

Honestly, it was a genuine miracle I’d kept my hands off him until last night.

Well, and I also hadn’t realized the attraction was mutual. Now that I did? Game fucking on.

My petty, spiteful side allowed in an intrusive thought about sending Daniel a photo of me and Trev.

Both of us naked in bed, his spectacular physique on full display, very obviously announcing that we’d slept together.

And I’d accompany it with a screencap of one of his parting texts.

The one that said, You’ll never do better than me.

Sure about that, Daniel? Because this ripped hockey player with a magic tongue, a fantastic dick, and stamina for days is one hell of an upgrade.

I wouldn’t actually send it. Of course I wouldn’t.

But it sure was fun to fantasize about Daniel’s ego imploding at the realization that I had, in fact, done better than him.

I chuckled to myself. It was hard to believe I’d ever been worried that man and I would split up. Turned out, losing him was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I turned and gazed at Trev.

Losing Daniel was the second best thing that ever happened to me.

It was still hard to believe we’d landed here again after all these years.

At the same time, it made perfect sense.

Of course we were here. Of course we’d found our way back to each other.

Back to the intimacy that had been so easy even back when we’d been immature and inexperienced.

When we’d still been figuring out who the hell we were.

As inexperienced teenagers, we’d been clumsy and clueless, but we’d just laughed off the awkward moments.

We’d learned what we could (thank you, books and internet), and we’d experimented.

Even as we’d stumbled into my gender dysphoria and his confusion about his sexuality, it had never been bad.

Maybe not great, but always… kind. That was the word. Kind. Giving. Loving.

As experienced adults who knew who we were and what we liked… holy. Fuck .

Right then, his alarm went off. He jumped, then felt around for his phone.

When he found it, he peered at the screen, shut off the alarm, and tossed it back on the nightstand.

I thought he might go back to sleep—did he have multiple alarms set like I did?

—but instead, he rolled toward me. When his sleepy eyes met mine, he smiled, unaware of how criminally adorable he was.

“Hey,” he rasped. “Morning.”

“Morning.” I trailed my hand along his arm. “I’d kiss you, but…” I wrinkled my nose.

He laughed. “Yeah. There’s mouthwash in the bathroom. I’ll take a raincheck.”

I grunted. “Perfect.”

“Perfect?” He grinned, looking tired and even a little drunk. “Last night was perfect.”

“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes. “Could you be any cornier?”

“Probably. But I’ll need coffee first.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Mmhmm.” He groaned softly as he scooted closer and gathered me in his arms. His stubble grazed my forehead just before he kissed the top of my head. As I cuddled against him, he murmured, “I didn’t hear you complaining about me being a dork last night.”

I laughed, closing my eyes and basking in his warmth. “Well, to be fair, your mouth was too busy to make dorky jokes, so…”

Trev chuckled. “True.”

“Are you going to be able to move tonight?”

He scoffed, and as his fingertips drifted along my spine, he said, “We didn’t go that hard.”

I pulled back to peer up at him. “Oh really? So you were half-assing it?”

Trev rolled his eyes and drew me back in. “Shut up.”

I laughed, and from the way his body was shaking, he was laughing too.

“To answer your question,” he murmured, “yes, I’ll be able to skate tonight.” He paused. “Did you still want to come to the game? Even if the boys are with Bryan?”

“Obviously. I love going with them, but I also like to just be able to focus on the game, you know?”

“So you’re not bored of hockey yet?”

I eyed him again. “I’ve been going to your games since we were like eight. If I’m not bored of it yet, it’s not gonna happen.”

That got an adorably sweet but tired smile out of him. “You didn’t get bored back then?”

“Are you kidding? Especially once you guys started checking—I mean, what’s not to love?”

“Ooh, so you just came to watch people knock me around.” He rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“What? No! I came to watch you knock people around. Which… you did. Eventually.”

He just laughed, kissed my forehead, and reeled me back in again.

In his youth hockey days, he’d been a little afraid of hitting, and he’d been slammed into the boards many, many times.

Then two things had happened at once—he’d had a growth spurt, and he’d started hitting back.

By the end of that season, he wasn’t getting knocked around anymore. Not as much, anyway.

And now? Well, now there was nothing timid about him on the ice.

I couldn’t wait to watch him play tonight just like I couldn’t wait to watch him any night.

I trailed a fingertip up his back, making him shiver. “How much energy do you think you’ll have after the game?”

Trev gasped, squirming in my arms, and his thickening hard-on brushed against my hip. “Oh, I think I can find some energy tonight.”

“Yeah?” I pressed against him. “What about this morning?”

He groaned softly. “I have to leave soon for the morning skate.” He loosened his embrace, and I had a second to be mildly disappointed before he added, “Plenty of time for a quickie, though.”

He was not wrong.

I’d always loved watching Trev play hockey. I’d always thought he was sexy on the ice.

When I was watching him from the owners’ box with a head full of dirty thoughts and memories? Ooh, God. Two amazing weeks into this, that novelty hadn’t even begun to wear off.

In the days since we’d started fooling around, we’d been at it every chance we could get.

He’d been gone on a road trip the last few nights, and he’d flown in late last night, so we hadn’t done much for a few days.

Well, aside from this afternoon; he’d almost been late getting out the door because—I mean, what can I say?

He had the audacity to come down the stairs in a bespoke brown suit, and I didn’t think I was out of line thinking he should rail me over the back of the couch before he left.

The fact that he spent almost twenty minutes licking me until I came before he finally manhandled me around and fucked me? Well, that had been his choice.

I smothered a laugh at my own stupid thought. I’d been in this ridiculous, giddy headspace since the first night I’d wound up in his bed, and I loved it. I loved the way just seeing him move made my whole body light up with memories of his hands or his mouth on me, or of his cock moving inside me.

It didn’t help when the guys came out for warmups.

There was a particular stretch hockey players often did that was both obscene and hilarious.

They’d kneel on the ice with their knees as wide as possible, then lean down onto their hands and…

Listen, I wasn’t the only one who thought it looked like they were trying to fuck the ice.

I’d teased Trev about it plenty of times when we were younger.

Tonight, watching those narrow hips move like that while I remembered having my legs wrapped around them before he’d left for the airport a few days ago? Oh, fuck. Was it hot in here?

Squirming in my seat, I fought back a smile just so a stray camera didn’t catch me looking as loopy as I felt.

Did I ever feel this way with Daniel? Because if I did, I don’t remember.

Eh, who the fuck cared? I felt it with Trev, and I couldn’t get enough.

At least I didn’t have the boys with me right now.

It was again Bryan’s custody week, so they were down in the spouses’ box, and that was fine.

I still felt weird as hell whenever I started getting this stupid over their dad while they were sitting right here.

And I did feel a bit guilty about keeping our relationship—whatever it was—out of their sight.

I understood why we were doing it, and I didn’t want to confuse them or upset them or get their hopes up about something, but I did feel guilty.

Did it make sense? Maybe. Maybe not. Or maybe I was just worried about how things would go if and when we finally did tell them.

That was a bridge I’d have to cross eventually, but I was just thankful it wouldn’t be tonight.

The game kicked off, and it was intense right from the get go.

After a hard fight to get out of the defensive zone, Trev and his linemates went to the bench while another line came out.

Now they were headed back out after the fourth line had ground the other players to dust in the offensive zone.

Toronto’s guys had been out for about two and a half minutes apiece according to the reader board, and it showed.

They were slowing down. Their passes were weaker and less precise.

Exactly the right time for Pittsburgh’s well-rested second line to attack.

And attack, they did. Bells stole the puck away from an exhausted defenseman, and he passed it to Trev, who then sent it flying to Houghtaling. Hoes fired it on goal, and?—

Everyone roared to their feet as the goal light came on. Hoes, Trev, and their teammates celebrated as the exhausted Toronto players trudged back to their own bench.

The camera zeroed in on Trev as he and his teammates slapped Hoes on the back and shoulders, and that huge smile did nothing to calm me down. Trev was sexy no matter what. Exuberant, triumphant Trev? Be still, my heart.

Of course, now Toronto had fresh bodies on the ice, and they didn’t waste any time after the faceoff.

One of their centers was a lot smaller than anyone else on the ice, and he whipped in between players like they weren’t even there.

He was fucking fast, protecting the puck all the way.

A defenseman managed to knock him into the boards and off the puck, but he couldn’t get out of the defensive zone.

The next thing I knew, Toronto was doing exactly what Pittsburgh had done: exhausting the opposition in their own end, and once the fatigue started to show, they started peeling off to bring in fresh players.

Pittsburgh couldn’t get off the ice, and Toronto’s upper hand was getting stronger and stronger with every pass and with every rested player who hit the ice.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when they scored. Now the game was tied, 1-1, and Trev’s line headed for their bench.

The camera landed on Trev.

Sweaty, flushed, disheveled, exhausted Trev.

Fucking hell.

I again squirmed in my seat. Would he have anything left after the game? He’d said he would, but after his morning skate, this afternoon’s quickie, and tonight’s intense game, maybe he wouldn’t? Or I could do all the work. Blow him. Get on top and ride him. I just… wanted him. Bad.

When I shifted in my seat for the umpteenth time, my thigh rubbed up against the small plastic bottle in my pocket, and that didn’t help me calm down at all.

Maybe I was being stupidly optimistic, but on the way out to the first game after we’d started sleeping together, I’d slipped the tiny bottle of lube into my pocket, and I’d kept it with me at every game since.

I hadn’t needed it yet—so far, we’d always made it home, and Trev’s mouth had always made the need for lube a moot point—but I was seriously keyed up tonight.

Screwing around this afternoon had only made me hungrier for him, and from the longing look he’d given me on the way out the door, that feeling was mutual.

I hadn’t needed my “just in case” lube yet, but I’d be riding home from the arena with him, and if Trev was as wound up as I was…

Yeah. I might need it.

We’d probably make it home before that became an issue—always did—but hey, no harm in being prepared in case he wanted to spontaneously rail me, right?

I bit my lip and squirmed. Would it be wrong to make a reservation at the hotel across the street from the arena?

Maybe not wrong, but probably not necessary. We had our beds back at the house. Hell, the shower again. The bathroom counter. The living room. The kitchen island. The garage door. Wherever, I was game.

Assuming Trev wasn’t gassed from the game, of course. That happened sometimes.

Eh. I was optimistic, though.

But God help me if this game went into overtime.