Page 31 of Shattered On Ice

“I don't like it,” I say as steadily as I can, holding back my grin. His face falls in the brief moment I leave him hanging. “I love it. This has me so hard I could come before ever getting inside of you, which will be much easier now, thanks to your prep.” I look up at him as I tease, twisting the base of the plug and giving it slow, shallow pulses in and out of his ass, making his breath come in gasps.

“Westin, please,” he whines gently, hands coming to my face, thumbs stroking across my cheeks too tenderly for the primal moment.

I want to give in. Turn my face into his hand and tell him I belong to him. But we’re still maintaining that this is casual, so I don’t. I stand abruptly, abandoning the toy in his ass, once again towering over him until he curls against my chest and begins undressing me. I let him pull the shirt over my head and start on his buttons as I lose my sweats and boxer briefs. Our clothing pools at our feet, and I spend a few precious moments taking him in before gently removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand so they’re out of harm’s way.

He’s a vision when I return to him, lean, lightly muscled only because it’s his natural build and he’s a long-distance runner. He doesn't pack on mass like I do, but his quads and calves are fucking beautiful. The softness of his fingers that brush over my skin and tangle in my hair is an ode to his natural habitat of an office, behind a computer, or lost in the books he loves. I’m a bulky mess of muscle and scars beside him, with hands rough and callused from a lifetime of holding a hockey stick. Still, he looks at me like I’m the prettiest artwork in his favorite gallery, so I’m never self-conscious when we strip down. That hasn't always been the case when I’ve hooked up before.

“Get on the bed. I want you on your knees,” I command, turning for the nightstand without looking to see if he’ll follow my order. I know he will. When I turn back, condom on and lube in hand, he’s presented me with his ass, the round globes in the air as his chest presses into the dark gray of my duvet. The black silicone plug in his ass is on full display now, and I know exactly how desperate he was for this hookup. He wanted this badly enough to plug himself with a large toy beforehand, so I could immediately fuck him when he got here.

“Westin,” he murmurs, turning his head to look for me as I stand at the side of the bed, stroking my cock at the sight of him, dimples on display as he smirks, looking too innocent for the provocative position he’s in. “I need you now. Hurry.”

“I know, baby,” I tell him, allowing myself the small endearment. I pop the cap on the lube and slick it over my cock. “I’ll fill you up better than that toy can.”

He makes a murmur of appreciation and desire, impatient as his graceful hands curl into the duvet. God, I love looking at his hands. I tear my eyes away from the long fingers that drive me to distraction and refocus. I have a perfect man waiting for me to fuck him senseless.

I climb on the bed behind him and gently work the plug out of his ass, marveling at the way he gapes open for me. I like it when I get to prep him, opening up his tight little hole and getting him ready to take my cock, but this satisfies the urgent, less civilized part of us both that wants to fuck like animals immediately.

Lining myself up with his ass, I press forward, his tight heat stretching around me despite his valiant efforts to do all the work for us. He grunts, back arching as his hips surge toward me, taking my length in one quick rush that leaves me breathless and holding onto his waist. I draw back and roll my hips, setting a pace that’s a little too good, and have to think immediately of something other than how his ass grips my cock. I don’t want this to be over quickly. I want as much time with him as possible. It’s always too short as it is, and it’s maddening how good he feels. I wish I didn’t enjoy this so much, because it makes me want him more.

It makes me want more with him.

But I can’t. That’s off the table. Not up for discussion. He wants to be fucked by a big, strong hockey player, and I get to sleep with a beautiful man who looks at me like I’m more than just my profession. Like I’m someone who knows how to separate my feelings from the physical. Secondly, we both know how badly it would fuck up everything if it got out that we’ve been hooking up for months.

Every time I kiss his smirking lips, press my fingers into his dimpled cheeks, bury my cock into his ass, or fit my body against his, I forget every rational thought and reason that should keep us apart. I’m addicted to the thrill and feel of him.

Tonight, as he rolls his hips and cries out my name, our slick bodies slapping together with the force of my thrusts and his ability to take everything I give him, I forget our reasons for needing to stay away from each other. His ass clenches around my cock, and he guides my hand to his rock-hard dick when I fold my body over his, relishing the feel of him growing harder in my palm. I bite into his shoulder as the pleasure of being inside him washes over me, my vision blacking out until all I feel is Knight beneath me. I have a hard time remembering my name, let alone who we’re protecting by hiding our hookups, then he’s chanting yes as he comes in hot pulses. He fits so perfectly in my arms when we fall to our sides, my cock still throbbing inside him as his cum cools on my fingers, our breaths syncing and chests heaving together. We stay like that until our sweat has cooled, and we no longer have an excuse to be joined so intimately.

It always feels like I’m leaving home when I pull out of his ass, but I’ve never said that to him. It’s not the kind of thing you say to a casual fling, especially when you’ve established rules and know this can never go anywhere. I have to remember that whenever the romantic in me, who loves a good rom-com and believes in a happily-ever-after, wants to sink its teeth into the closest thing I’ve had to consistency and never let go.

Instead, I head into my bathroom, wash up, and bring a warm washcloth for Knight. I let him clean up before he hands it back, and I return to the bathroom. When I come back, he’s lounging on the bed, looking like sin with his flushed face and sweat-slicked skin.

“Stay with me tonight,” I urge. I meant it as a question, but it comes out as a command. “You have the weekend off and no one at home to know.”

I crawl onto the bed, covering his body with my own. God, I want to make him a part of me, carry him around wherever I go. I feel so much more centered, and more like myself, when he's with me.

“Indiana Bones is at home, depending on me to let her out and feed her,” he says, always rational. I kiss his nose.

“That dog is the laziest creature. If you fed her and let her out before you came over, you’re good until morning.”

“I also have a local race I signed up for tomorrow. It starts at eight. It would be a very early morning.” He’s so logical and committed to leaving.

I’m not having it.

“I can set an alarm. I’ll go to the race with you. I want to see you in your element.” I reach for my phone, setting the alarm for early as fuck to make sure we can get him back to his house, take care of the dog, and get to the race location in time. I show him the alarm time.

He bites his lip, contemplating, before nodding. “Fine, but I really do have to sleep tonight. I need my rest before the race.”

I roll off him and pull the covers up over us. “We still have a few hours before we actually need to sleep. Let me put a movie on. You owe me for the plug surprise, anyway.” I grab the remote from the nightstand and put on The Proposal. I love a rom-com, and Knight kind of looks like a young Ryan Reynolds.

Knight settles against my chest, his head resting perfectly under my chin. For a while, it’s domestic bliss—something I’ve only fantasized about. We laugh at the movie together and murmur in agreement that Ryan Reynolds is hot when he’s chopping into the canoe like a sweaty lumberjack. His fingers lazily trace patterns on my stomach, lulling me into contentment. But as the movie plays on, my phone buzzes from my nightstand. I glance at it half-heartedly.

“Just Chad,” I mutter, swiping the notification away. “Sending another dirty joke to the team group chat. He’s always trying to get a rise out of Campbell or Rook.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, Knight’s body goes entirely rigid against me. The lazy tracing of his fingertips stops, his hand flattening hard against my chest. It’s a micro-reaction, but with him pressed so closely against me, I feel the sudden icy spike of his panic that leaves his body trembling.

I reach down, trapping his hand against my chest, and trace my thumb over his knuckles. “You just did it again.”

“Did what?” His voice is tight, trying a little too hard to sound casual.