Cool. Love this for me.
Third door? That one is like a train wreck.
I open it, expecting maybe another empty room or someone passed out. What I get instead is a lot of noise. I’m talking moaning. Like loud as fuck aggressive, porn-level moaning.
And then I see it. Or well…them.
There’s a girl, completely naked, bouncing enthusiastically on top of a guy, who’s leaning back against the headboard like he’s living out a very specific and very intense fantasy. Her blond hair’s flying, her hands are gripping his shoulders, and she’s letting out noises that honestly sound like she’s trying to summon a demon.
And the guy?
It takes me a second to fully process it.
It’s fucking Sam Connelly.
Stone-cold, rule-following, judgy-ass, never-goes-out Sam Connelly.
Getting ridden like a goddamn thoroughbred.
I make some kind of shocked, strangled sound and the girl whips her head around to look at me. Her blue eyes are wide, red painted lips open in horror, hair a mess.
She screams.
I have just enough brain function left to register that she looks vaguely familiar before I slam the door shut and backpedal like I walked in on a live crime scene.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
Absolutely not.
I’m not a voyeur on a normal day. And I definitely don’t want to think about Sam fucking Connelly getting his dick ridden while I’m working on a tweaked muscle.
I don’t know how fast I move, but it’s somewhere between “get me the fuck out of here” and “I just saw a ghost made of tits.”
I practically launch myself down the stairs, skipping every other step like the house is on fire, because I need to tell someone before the image cements itself in my brain forever. And that someone is Hughie. My emotional support goalie and my therapist in a hoodie.
I finally spot him in the corner of the living room, surrounded by a few of the hockey guys and sipping on a water like the responsible, judgmental bastard he is. He clocks my face immediately, probably because I look like I just walked out of a horror movie, and raises an eyebrow as I stalk over to him.
“I just saw Connelly getting railed,” I blurt, way too loud.
He blinks.“What?”
Okay maybe I didn’t word that right because I can see where the confusion is. I definitely made it sound like Sam was on the receiving end of the fucking when he was the one doing the fucking….if that makes sense.
I slow my words down to try and get everything out instead of sounding like a complete fucking idiot. “Okay, technically he was the one getting ridden, but that’s not the point. Sam Connelly was upstairs in one of the bedrooms, laid out like a fucking king while some girl was going full rodeo on him.”
Hughie physically recoils, his whole face twisting like he just smelled something rancid. “What thefuck, dude?”
“I’m serious!” I hiss, grabbing his arm and dragging him a little away from the group. “It was full-on, skin-slapping, ‘call me Daddy’ level action. And the noises, Hugh. Like, I think the girl was speaking in tongues.”
He looks halfway between horrified and intrigued, which honestly is fair.
“Who was the girl?” he asks, still grimacing.
I blink. “Uh… blonde. Very blonde. Like, could-pass-as-a-Disney-princess-if-Disney-made-softcore-porn kind of blonde. Red lips, huge fake lashes, and honestly? A set of tits so big they should come with their own zip code. She was…I don’t know really pretty?”
Hughie’s face does something weird, like recognition hits him all at once, and then he makes a face. Like, an actual full-body wince.
