“Eh.” He meets my eyes. “They’re different. The girl needs some help getting him to pull his head out of his ass. I’m just the catalyst.”
Coach McKibbon’s whistle cuts through the conversation. “Unless you want to run extra laps, I’d suggest you stop talking and get back to work!”
We scatter, returning to drills, but I can still feel the knowing grins from my teammates. Let them grin. Let them tease. I don't care anymore.
I'm too busy thinking about Laura's laugh. The way she feels in my arms. The little gasps she makes when I kiss her neck. The way she looked this morning, sprawled across my bed wearing nothing but my t-shirt, her hair a mess and her lips swollen from my kisses.
Erik skates by me, tapping the blade of his stick against mine. “Let’s go, Loverboy. Line rushes.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Just saying. You've got that look.”
“What look?”
“The 'I'm remembering something very specific and very X-rated' look.” He grins. “Trust me, I know it well.”
I shove him, but I'm laughing, because he's not wrong.
The past week has been… intense. Laura and I can't seem to keep our hands off each other. My truck. My dorm room. The storage room at the rink after everyone left. We're like teenagers, constantly finding excuses to touch each other, to be alone together.
And the sex. Fuck, the sex.
Turns out Laura has a thing for the possibility of getting caught. And I have a thing for making her loud. The combination is going to get us in trouble one of these days, but neither of us can seem to stop.
Just last night, we were supposed to be practicing her skating routine. Instead, I had her pressed against the boards, my hand down her pants while she tried—and failed—to stay quiet.
“Scotty,” she'd gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders, hard enough I knew there’d be marks. “Someone could—”
“Someone could what?” I'd murmured against her neck, my fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that had her hips bucking forward. “Someone could hear you? Someone could walk in and see how desperate you are for me?”
Her breath hitched, and I felt her clench around my fingers.
“You like that, don't you, Princess?” I pressed my thumb against her clit while curling my fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her legs shake. “The idea that anyone could come looking for equipment and find you like this. Spread open for me. So wet I can hear it.”
“Scotty, please—” Her head fell back against the boards with a soft thud, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Please what?” I kissed along her jaw, down her throat, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips. “Please stop? Please make you come?”
“Don't stop,” she whimpered, rolling her hips against my hand. “God, don't stop.”
“That's my girl.” I increased the pressure, the rhythm, watching her face as she climbed higher. Her lips parted, her breathing came in short gasps, and those little sounds she made—half-moans, half-whimpers—drove me absolutely insane.
“I can't—it's too much—” she panted, but her body told a different story, tightening around my fingers, her wetness coating my palm.
“Yes, you can.” I bit down gently on her neck, right where I knew she was sensitive. “Come for me, Laura. Let mehear you.”
She shattered with a cry that echoed off the empty rink walls, her whole body trembling as she rode out the waves. I held her through it, murmuring praise against her skin, not stopping until she was boneless and gasping.
She hadn't been quiet. Not even close.
“You coming, Hendricks?” Alex asks, already gliding toward the blue line with that annoyingly graceful stride of his, and I fall in beside him, Brooks trailing behind us to anchor the drill. Henry heads to the opposite circle with his line, giving us space.
Coach has set up three cones across the neutral zone with the puck at the center of the ice.
“Standard rush,” he calls. “Clean passes, clean entries. Hendricks, start us off.”
I nod, drop my shoulders, and wait for the whistle.
