Page 54 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers

I think of Rush and his hardness, the size of the slit in his underwear capable of holding him. I imagine his cock, heavy in my hand, warm and solid as I slide myself over top of it, feeling every vein, every ridge.

And because I’m alone, I can let myself think the things I shouldn’t.

I imagine Rush sliding his cock between my thighs, my pussy lips grazing over his shaft.

I imagine Freddie telling me to spread my legs so he can fill me.

I imagine doing as he asks, him praising me with those two sweet words.

Good girl.

And I imagine Tommy—sweet Tommy and his gentleness, his lips whispering soft, adoring things in my ear while I fall into his space with ease, finding his lips with mine to show himmypraise.

My phone chimes, but I can’t focus on it.

My orgasm is in the wings, and I can feel it starting to take shape, and all I can do is focus on that.

I need to come.

I need the relief.

The chimes go off, a flurry of noise amidst my building desire.

Everything hits me at once. My orgasm, my tears, and that little spark that begs me to let go. I can’t fight it.

All those memories of nights spent beneath Brett, waiting for my moment to let go. My release. But it never came. He always came first, and when he finished…

When he finished, it was over, and there was no waking the dragon from its slumber again.

So many nights I lay in bed, like this—with my hand between my legs, chasing my relief—especially after those games that didn’t end so victoriously.

I grab the sheets as I thrust my hips forward and my orgasm hits me. The rush of emotion, the pulsing ache, the heady euphoria hits me like a damn hurricane, and I collapse on the bed, a mewling, tearful mess.

I slide my fingers out of myself and curl up on the comforter, the cool air kissing my skin. My phone chimes again, but I have no energy or motivation to move as my limbs turn to Jell-O and sleep takes me away. In my dreams, all I can see is the ice—bright, shimmering ice and the stark aqua lines left by the skates of players who have come and gone.

All I can see is the shadow, the bright light of the Zamboni and an arena full of empty seats. The quiet peace after a long, hard game.

But I know that beneath the shimmering surface, the cracks are there. Spreading like vines until eventually they will be sealed again.

And as I dream of shattered ice and shadows that chase me, I hope one day I can be healed too.

12

RUSH

My cheeks are equallywarm and dry as I glide over the ice and head for the bench. My brother looks tense. Honestly, he’s looked pretty tense ever since he showed up for practice today, and I know I’m partly to blame. He hasn’t said much to me, but he’s been skating and slapping the puck something fierce today.

Like me, Freddie got his honorary nickname from his quick-hitting tendencies as much as his speed-skating. Together, on the ice, we’re a dynamic duo—Rush and Flash—because we know how to back one another up. We play off one another well, always have.

But not even I can keep up withFlashtoday out on the ice.

Though, to be fair, I know it’s not just the whole finding me with my brother’s ex thing that’s got his jockstrap in a twist. It’s the wholecheatingthing.

Freddie never outright told the family what happened with Vicki—his ex-fiancée—but the signs were all there. You don’t call off an engagement out of the blue unless something major happens. While the rest of the family got some press version of “It was amutual decision,” I heard the chatter among the other players in the neighboring leagues.

Plus, I saw Vicki with that idiot Kreuss atHot Shotswith his hand on her ass and her tongue down his throat barely three days after they broke up. Rebound or not, it was pretty clear she wasn’t all that broken up about my brother calling off their engagement.

Over the years, Freddie has let things slip. Usually when he’s drunk, which isn’t very often. My older brother rarely drinks, but when he does, it’s usually one or two and that’s it.