Page 48 of Next Season
“Come in my ass,” I moaned. And he did. I could feel him pulse and explode deep inside me, and it triggered an avalanche-sized orgasm. “Oh, fuck. I’m—ungh!”
Jean-Claude held me tightly as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me, leaving me limp and breathless, and so perfectly…sated.
We cleaned up as best we could with the napkins he’d found in his console, grinning like pirates as we buttoned up, rezipped, and headed to Elmwood. We sang along to a classic rock station in between random conversations about topics like: What’s your favorite number? Did you grow up with pets? If you could have any wild animal as a pet, what would it be? Weird answers only.
We’d each grown up with dogs and wanted to own one in the future.
“A trip to the local shelter will be the first thing on my list when I retire,” I announced. “And for my-wild-animal-it’ll-never-happen pet, I choose a hippo.”
“A hippopotamus? Why? They’re not cute or fierce. Do they do anything special?”
“Ithink they’re kinda cute. And I have no idea what the fuck they do. It was just the first outlandish animal that popped into my mind. They’re huge and they like to chill out in water. That’s all I know. What’s yours?” I asked as the steeple for St. Finbarr’s came into view.
“A baboon. They’re aggressive for no particular reason and their asses are always out, ready to moon my foes at my command. I’ll name him Bartholomew and call him Bart.”
“You win. That’s ridiculous.” I snorted. “Favorite number. No, wait. Let me guess…”
“Sixty-nine,” we said in unison, bursting into laughter.
Nope. It wasn’t particularly funny, but it was fun.
Hewas fun…and silly and sexy. And he fucking rocked my world. I felt lighthearted and centered in a way I never did off the ice.
It was almost cruel that this—whatever we were doing…would end soon. I’d be gone in less than a month, and he might not even be in Elmwood when I returned next summer for the youth hockey camp—assuming Vin wanted my help.
I didn’t want to future-trip, though. I simply wanted to revel in the moment—the deep rumble of his voice, his smiling eyes, his casual grip on the steering wheel, the faint melody playing in the background, and streetlights lining Main Street as we drove into town.
I ran my fingers along the seam of my jeans, wiggling to relieve my aching ass. I was sore all over from being stretched and filled. I could feel his cum inside me and something told me that should have grossed me out, but it didn’t. Not even a little bit. I wanted to do it all over again, stat, so I could feel him all day tomorrow and the next day…and the next.
Was I greedy? Yes, definitely. I couldn’t help it.
I hated knowing that none of this was meant to last.
* * *
“How are you feeling?”
I leaned against my kitchen counter and gulped my orange juice in a hurry before answering my sister. “Great. I haven’t had a headache in three days, and my last one went away with basic ibuprofen. My eyes aren’t as sensitive to light as they were either. I haven’t tested my vision in a fully illuminated rink yet, but I’m getting there.”
“That’s great news. I’m glad to hear it,” Tara gushed. “But I hate that you missed Thanksgiving. Mom and Dad were heartsick they didn’t see you.”
I winced. “I know. I talked to them yesterday. Sounds like Dad busted up his elbow good.”
“Oh, my God. It was a scene.”
Tara rehashed our dad’s fall from a stepladder at her house over the weekend, where my parents had gone to visit my sister and her family for the holiday. Dad’s idea to help Martin with the outdoor holiday lights had backfired big time. He’d slipped, fractured his arm, and spent an afternoon at the ER. They’d canceled their plan to rent a car and drive to Elmwood to surprise me in favor of getting home for him to see his own doctor.
Wow. I had a feeling I’d narrowly escaped outing myself. Jean-Claude and I had spent all weekend together. If my parents had shown up on my doorstep early in the morning, he would have been here…probably in his boxer briefs. Or I would have been at his house, and how the fuck would I explain to my family what I was beginning to think everyone knew about us anyway?
No one asked outright, but I caught a few curious glances at Thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Moore’s house. It was our fault. We’d been inseparable all damn day.
When Vinnie and Nolan were called on to do heavy lifting, Jean-Claude introduced me to Nolan’s assorted cousins, aunts, and uncles, whose names I’d never remember. When he’d helped Nolan’s mom in the kitchen, I’d tagged along for sous chef duties. I should have made a better effort to mingle, but I was more aware of time than ever. We had maybe two weeks left till I was back in Seattle, and I wasn’t going to waste a single second.
Like I told my sister, I was on the mend. I had a doctor’s appointment in Burlington later that afternoon, and based on my recent progress, I assumed I was nearing the all-clear sign. In fact, I’d been tempted to postpone the trip today to delay the inevitable, but I didn’t want to let my team down.
The Slammers were in an ugly slump. We’d lost every game on the recent away schedule, eked out one win against the struggling Blackhawks, and got our asses handed to us for the rest of that series. Their mistakes were sophomoric examples of poor passing and slow skating. It was borderline embarrassing.
And the fact that the press had basically written me off as a side note whose only contribution to future news was my impending retirement announcement chafed. I wanted to prove the bastards wrong.