He pushed inside me in one long stroke, not stopping until his hips were flush against my ass. The stretch burned, and my body clenched around him, trying to adjust, and he held perfectly still while I remembered how to breathe.
"Say it," he said, and his voice was strained now, the words coming out rough.
"I missed it." The words came out before I could stop them. "I missed you. Now fuck me already."
He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, and the angle hit exactly right, and I stopped thinking about anything except the way he was taking me apart.
He fucked me hard, harder than he had before, his fingers digging into my hips with enough force to bruise. Every thrust pushed me against the back of the bench seat, and I braced myarms and took it, let him use me the way we both needed him to. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the cab, mixing with his harsh breathing and the sounds I couldn't keep from making.
"You came to my rink," he said, and each word was punctuated by a thrust. "Every morning. For weeks. Waiting for me."
"Yes."
"You fought a man twice your size because you were angry at me."
"Yes."
He leaned over me, his chest pressing against my back, his mouth hot against my ear. “All because you couldn’t stop thinking about the way I kiss you. The way I fuck you. Because you’re obsessed with me, Red. And that’s hot as fuck."
I came without him touching my cock, spilling all over the bench seat, my whole body seizing up as he kept fucking me through it. The oversensitivity was almost too much, but I didn't want him to stop, wanted to feel him lose control the way I just had.
"Red." His voice cracked on my name. "Fuck, Red, I'm—"
His rhythm stuttered and then he was coming too, his hips pressed tight against my ass, a groan tearing out of him that he couldn't hold back. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, could feel the way his whole body went rigid and then shook as the orgasm tore through him.
For a long moment neither of us moved. He was still inside me, still draped over my back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of my neck.
Then he pulled out, and the cold rushed back in.
I turned around and slumped against the bench seat while he dealt with the condom. Joel was kneeling on the floorboard of the truck, his hair wrecked, his mouth swollen and still dark with my blood. His cock was softening against his thigh, and he looked more undone than I'd ever seen him.
I pulled him up onto the seat beside me and kissed him, tasting my blood still in his mouth. It was slower this time, less desperate, and when we finally pulled apart, he pressed his forehead against mine.
"Give me your number," I said.
He went still.
"So you can't just disappear again." I hated how raw my voice sounded, how obvious. "So I have some way to reach you that isn't showing up at a rink every morning and hoping." He was quiet long enough that I thought he was going to say no. Then he held out his hand.
I grabbed my phone from where it had fallen on the floor, unlocked it, and passed it to him. He typed in his number and handed it back.
"Don't call me during competition prep," he said. "I won't answer."
He cleaned himself up, tucked himself back into his pants, and climbed out of the truck, his phone in hand. I watched him go, too wrung out to move, my body aching in all the right places.
I sat up eventually and cleaned myself off with the napkins from my center console. My hip ached and my thighs were sore, and there were bruises forming where his fingers had dug in.
I climbed into the front seat and waited for the windows to clear, for the taillights of his Uber to appear on the main road and then disappear over the hill.
Then I started the truck and drove home.
The house was dark when I pulled into the driveway. Derek had left a note on the kitchen counter: Good game tonight. Saw the fight on the stream. You okay?
I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash.
DECEMBER
I put the water glass in the sink and then took it out again.
