Page 22 of Puck Shots (Love The Game #6)

“Don’t tease me like that again,” he groans, but that makes me only want to do it more.

My wet dream of us together doesn’t compare to actually having him, and I will do everything I can to make this last as long as possible. I come off again, and he whines.

“Please, with a cherry on top—ohhh that’s good, too,” he says, eyes fluttering closed as I suck and draw one of his balls down a little. He brings a hand down to grip himself, and I reach over and swat him away.

“No touching,” I say, and he bites his lower lip, pleading gaze boring down on me.

“I promise, I won’t tease you anymore,” I say, and to prove I’m telling the truth, I take his leaking hard cock deep into my throat again, swallowing his cock head the way he likes and making his fingers white-knuckle the bedhead as a rolling growl escapes his lips.

I love that I’m making those sounds come from him, that I’m making him so hard that his cock is practically throbbing in my mouth as his balls get tighter and tighter.

“Fuuuuck, Eli, oh god. Oh yeah. Fucking mother of a fucking, oh holy hell.” He cries out as I repeat the move over and over. “Oh god, I’m going to come.”

I make a noise that I hope he takes as approval and dig my fingers deep into the cheeks of his ass, so there’s no confusion about how much I want to taste him.

The first hot, salty bursts hit the back of my throat, and I swallow them along with his cockhead, and when he coats my tongue on the way back, it’s perfect. Salivating, I swirl his come around his shaft as he explodes more with each thrust until he’s completely spent.

He slips free and swings his leg over to move to lie beside me.

“You are going to have to teach me how to do that,” he says through heavy breaths, one hand resting against my chest. “I’ve never come so hard. I should kiss you more often.”

“You totally should,” I reply with a grin, and he leans forward and kisses me again, his tongue forcing its way past my lips, mixing the taste of us together and holy fucking hell it’s better than anything I’ve ever had in my mouth.

I grip the back of his head, deepening the kiss as he pulls me to him, repositioning himself to lie under me as he shoves my jeans further down.

The heat of his naked body pressed fully against me like a wall of fire, sending electrical pulses through every cell.

He breaks our kiss for a moment, gaze moving from my eyes to my glasses that have slipped halfway down my nose.

“Here,” he says, reaching up and taking them off, gently placing them on the bedside.

“Now, where were we?” he asks, and I lean in close, rolling my hips a little as I do, his cock shifting to wedge right beside mine.

“I think here is pretty good,” I reply, and then I move in and kiss him again.

***

The rest of this week flies by in a blur of perfect moments in public mixed with the most mind-blowing hookups in the world in private.

Things like meals together, or with the guys in the house, playing chess, and Cosmo helping quiz me on the biomechanical principals for class, become the things we basically used to fill the time needed to catch our breaths.

He still has training most days and his own classes, too, but when he’s not there, he’s with me and it feels amazing.

“That was great,” I call out to him as he perfectly lobs the puck over the head of Chang, landing it right on the ice in front of Luka, who sends it into the net.

It’s a risky play. There is no official rule against doing it, but the player has to be careful not to use their hand or high stick it illegally.

I was actually able to mirror a lot of the calculations between this play and the lacrosse overhead pass Sam has me working on. But I won’t tell Cosmo that.

“Still feels a little stilted,” he replies, and I shake my head.

“You’ve got the moves down now. When you’re in the game, they’ll come like second nature to you, just wait and see,” I try to reassure him, but he tightens up a little and shrugs.

He’s been doing that more and more lately.

Mostly whenever anyone mentions the scouts or his chances of getting drafted.

It’s like his body wants to curl in on itself and just disappear.

I should know. It’s the same way I used to be wherever I was forced into social settings.

I found my way of coping; the little label origami I use to keep my focus and my fingers distracted.

Maybe Cosmo needs something like that to help him through.

I catch him rubbing the spot on his wrist where he draws the lightning bolt. Maybe that is his way of coping. If it is, it’s not working so great anymore.

“Luka, lets run it again. It has to be perfect,” he yells, and they both return to starting positions.

They both look exhausted, but since the list of players to watch came out with their names on it, it ignited an even greater intensity to their sessions.

The coach doesn’t really like them doing extra training on top of his planned sessions, but he gets why they’re doing them and so resigned himself to sending a trainer in after an hour or two to force them to call it quits.

They run it three more times together, only landing it once when Luka calls it a night and heads for the showers.

Cosmo isn’t done yet, and as I watch him push himself harder and harder, the gap between the guy on the ice and the one who laughs at my terrible jokes grows wider, but I can’t fix him.

He isn’t a problem I need to solve. So I don’t try.

I just sit there, cheering when he gets it and trying not to mirror his disappointment when he doesn’t.