Page 22

Nicko, December 1st

H art’s tongue licks languidly over the throbbing vein in my neck before he bites down on the pulse point. A yelp leaves my throat as I grab for his arms, my fingers digging into his biceps, probably giving him bruises for days.

I breathe out heavily as the sharp pain echoes through my body, my toes curling inside my socks. I’m not sure if it’s from pleasure or pain. I ache from the intense game, but at the same time, my dick gives a twitch inside its protective cup.

“Fucker,” I curse as he draws back with a smug grin.

“Payback’s a bitch, Van der Second.” It’s a short-lived triumph since I use that moment of distraction to push my leg between his knees, flipping us around. Hart’s back hits the wall with a thud, blue eyes going wide in surprise. His naked thigh brushes my own, the hard shell of his cup pressing against my groin. I swallow thickly while my gaze is stuck on his parted lips, red and swollen from the untamed way we kissed.

I grit my teeth against the feeling of lust that is swirling in my stomach, mixing there with the barely suppressed rage I experience every time we meet.

Of course, that bastard came here to lecture me about tainting his white vest, because Alexander Hart could never do anything to get thrown off the ice.

The sheer nerve of this guy makes me want to punch him in the face, but the way his hot breath caresses my clammy skin short-circuits my brain. My hands lift from his arms, hovering in the air for a split second, caught between wanting to pound his head into the wall and pull him closer.

For a heartbeat we just stare at each other, green colliding with blue.

“Asshole!” I hiss, when I realize my common sense is losing the battle against the temporary insanity that has taken over me.

“I didn’t even do any–” he protests, but I cut him off mid-sentence, my lips smashing onto his again. There’s little finesse to it, just a raw hunger.

Hart opens his mouth willingly, his tongue pushing against mine in a fight for dominance. Long fingers hold my jaw in a tight grip, tipping my head back while I bury my own into his black hair.

Time completely slips me in this moment where one kiss turns into two, then three, then four. We only break apart to take a gulp of air, like deep sea divers without oxygen, then go back in.

My chest is heaving under the padding, pressing against Hart’s body and effectively trapping him in place. I’m vaguely aware of his hands wandering over my sides, desperately looking for a way under my gear.

“Fuck, I need– take that off!” Hart growls when he finally pushes me off him.

I tilt my head to watch his trembling hands as he pulls on the Velcro of my elbow padding. I allow him to loosen the gear just enough to slide down my arms and drop next to our feet. My patience comes to a sudden end when he goes for my chest protector next.

Grabbing both his wrists, I slam them over his head, pinning them with my left so my right hand can start its own discovery tour. Hart is strong enough to fend off my hold with ease, but for now he lets me take charge, his dark lashes fluttering. It’s not fucking fair that an asshole like him looks so stupidly pretty. People will swoon all over him next year, when that face pops up on national television.

A soft groan escapes him as my hand slips under his athletic shirt. His skin is damp with sweat, abs flexing under my touch. I push the hem up further, my left hand reluctantly letting go of his wrists to help with the task, quickly revealing a broad chest.

The moment the shirt is pulled over his head my lips are on his pecs, greedily licking over the pale skin, the salty taste of his sweat tingling on my tongue.

“Fuck,” Hart moans out. His hands have dropped to my hips, resting there so lightly I barely feel their touch.

“Meant to do this.” The murmured admission slips me by accident as I think back of showering together and talking about life goals. I don’t know if he heard, so I close my teeth around his left nipple and give it a playful tug to gain his attention.

Hart groans, the echo bouncing off the walls as he rises to the tips of his toes. I snort into his skin, my palms sliding over his ribcage. His back opens up like a goddamn fan, which explains why hitting him on the ice feels like driving into a cement wall.

“What do they feed you kids on the West Coast?” I grumble, my fingers diving under the waistband of his jock shorts.

Hart’s eyes snap open again, his gaze darting to my hands, then back to my face. “I...uh. I drink a lot of milk,” he tells me, and I can’t help a rough laugh at that.

“I don’t fucking give a shit; it was a rhetorical question, you moron,” I tell him with a shake of my head. My biggest concern revolves around getting those form-fitting shorts down his thighs, but Hart’s hands interrupt me the next moment. This time his fingers wrap around my wrists, holding them firmly.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

What kind of stupid question is that?

“Obviously not,” I laugh humorlessly as I try to get out of his grip. “But the alternative to blowing you right now is punching you. And that will definitely cost me a few games.”

Hart stares at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. His swollen lips part on what I assume will be another lecture, but next thing I know he’s grabbing me by my shoulder pads, pushing me onto my knees. Hooking my fingers into the hem of his jock shorts, I pull them downward on my way to the floor.

His cock springs free of the cup, smooth and cut.

“Fuck,” I breathe as I take him in. I already snuck a glance or two in the locker room, but it turns out that asshole is a grower. Of course he couldn’t have the decency of packing a small penis.

I lean forward to bury my nose in his groin, inhaling deeply. The musky scent of sex and sweat floods my nostrils, and my own hard-on twitches. I reach down to adjust myself in my cup just as Hart buries both hands in my hair, pulling my face flush against him.

Without thinking twice, I reach around to smack his ass, which has him jerking away, cursing.

“Careful,” I warn him, tilting my head back so I can accompany my words with a glare. “Keep your hands off. You move once, and I’ll leave you here, hard and with your cock out.”

Raising both hands in a gesture of surrender, he frowns down at me.

“Have you done this before?”

I raise my brows at him. “You know, some of us don’t kiss and then run to tell all about it on Instagram.”

“I don’t–” he protests, but whatever he meant to say gets lost in a moan when I grab the base of his dick, then put my mouth on it.

Opening up slowly, I cover my teeth with my lips as I let him slide into the hot wetness of my throat. Hart moans again but keeps his arms loosely hanging by his sides, adhering to my words like the good boy he is.

It takes me a moment to figure out a good rhythm for both of us, bobbing my head up and down as my tongue laps along the underside of his head. His hips are jerking with enthusiasm, but I catch them with my left hand, pressing his pelvis against the wall.

When I glance up, Hart has leaned his head back, biting down on the pad of his thumb to prevent any more noises from coming out. Still, there’s a soft sigh slipping from him every time I suck him in on my way down, making sure to flick my tongue over his tip.

It doesn’t take long before I can taste the salty note of his precum. Tentatively letting go of his hip, I trace my fingertips down his groin to his balls, squeezing them lightly as I hum around his erection.

Hart curses, the muscles of his thighs going tense around me. He’s tapping my shoulder, trying to push me away, but I don’t budge as his hot release spurts into my mouth.

“Fuck, did you swallow?” he wheezes, offering me a hand that I ignore. Instead, I get up and grab his face with both hands.

Our lips clash together another time, and the moment he opens his mouth for me I release his cum into it. Hart’s eyes snap open, his head jerking backward, but I keep him firmly in place.

A last drop of cum is dripping down my chin when I finally let go. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, then smear it across his stomach.

“You wish.”

“Fucking asshole,” he huffs, but he’s already pushing the jockstrap halfway down my thighs.

I groan with relief when he finally frees my erection of the protective cup. For a moment he holds my gaze, then, with a small smirk on his lips, he spits into his open palm before he pulls on the elastic of my compression shorts. My forehead drops onto his shoulder as he wraps his hand around my dick. My nails dig into his naked asscheek as I look for support.

“What, I only get a lousy handjob in exchange?” I taunt, but my voice has lost all its bite. His grip is just firm enough, the calluses on his fingers providing the roughness I crave.

Hart growls, his chin dipping down so he can press his lips against the shell of my ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps all over my skin.

“You fucking brat. Be grateful I’m letting you come at all.”

And that’s all I need.

Surprised by my own orgasm, I scream out as my hips snap forward, trapping Hart against the wall as I spurt into his hand.

For a second, I feel like blacking out, my body reaching its capacity after an intense game topped off by an orgasm. I blink rapidly to clear my vision as Hart tightens an arm around my waist.

Reaching out for the nearby locker, I disentangle myself from him and sink onto the bench. My chest is rising and falling rapidly as I pant. I loosen the Velcro of my shoulder pads, but there’s no strength left in me to lift it over my head.

Next to me, Hart is staring down at his cum-smeared palm.

“You’re welcome,” I tell him roughly, which earns me a raised brow.

For a moment, I think he’ll reach out to wipe it on my face, but then he lifts it to his mouth instead, his tongue licking it clean in lazy strokes.

Somewhere above us a buzzer sounds, and a moment later the arena erupts with cheers.