Page 22 of Date With Skates

“I want to see your face when I make you come,” he says.

His eyes are wild, full of heat, with sweat dripping down his temples. His body is warm, flushed, and fuck—he’s so fucking hot.

I don’t last. Like, at all.

It takes less than a minute of seeing him like this, fucking me without a care in the world, to come with nothing but his dick inside me. He smiles as he watches me. It’s smug, but well-deserved. I bite my cheek to keep quiet. His large hand comes down my chest, smearing my cum all over my exposed skin and the shirt I’m still wearing as he keeps fucking me. It’s only another moment before he comes. His face twists into tense pleasure, eyes falling closed as he rides out his orgasm.

We stare at each other as we try to regulate our breathing. My heart is pounding so hard, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm that was somehow better than the last one.

Connor leans down, using his clean hand to brush hair away from my forehead.

“You were such a good boy keeping quiet.”

“Careful. Saying things like that will make me putty in your hands.”

His eyes flash with excitement, but he says nothing.

We carefully make our way to the bathroom to clean up. Connor lets me borrow a shirt, and I start to get dressed so I can leave, but he stops me, spinning me around and pushing me against the wall with a low thud.

“I think I’ll have you again before you go,” he growls, leaning down to kiss me and cut off any argument I’d have.

Not that I have one.

This man can have me whenever the hell he wants.

Chapter Eleven

Connor

The team is up and eating breakfast way too early, but we have morning skate first thing. We don’t have a game today, but we need to practice whenever we can. Even though we’re doing well, we can’t get cocky.

We have about thirty minutes before we need to be at the arena. The drive isn’t long, and the bus will be around because they know when we need to head over. So we take our time eating and trying to wake up, which will happen when we’re on the ice, if not before.

I’m finished with my breakfast. I only had a protein bar and a banana—I’ll eat more when we’re done. Some of the guys are still eating, though, so I listen to their conversation as I finish a bottle of water.

“Have you caught any of the women’s games?” Cottrell asks.

“Hell yeah,” Richtor says. “They’re fucking awesome.”

“Those girls are bad ass,” Kearns says with a nod.

The guys keep talking about the women’s hockey team, and normally I’d stay in the conversation too. But Étienne is walking toward our table with purpose, his gaze set on it. There’s no denying he’s coming right here.

I’m not worried about it, exactly, but it is strange. We don’t usually talk to each other in front of others like this. I don’t think I did anything to piss him off, and I don’t think he’d make a scene even if I did. If he does, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with someone acting that way. I may have gained a sort of reputation with the guys for sleeping around… the team slut, if you will.

I have calmed down over the last couple of years, but when I was young and first joined the team? Yeah, it was bad.

When Étienne reaches the table, I open my mouth to say something smart. I don’t know what was going to come out, but something was. I just don’t get the chance to say it because he walks toward Callahan, which confuses the hell out of me.

“Roman Callahan?” he says loud enough that the entire table quiets.

He looks around proudly, standing up a little straighter like he’s loving the attention of all these hockey players’ eyes on him. My stomach twists with jealousy, and I grit my teeth so I don’t say something stupid.

“Yeah?” Roman says cautiously.

He’s probably wondering what Étienne wants with him as much as I am. Actually, I think I want to know a little more. Is he on a quest to see how many hockey players he can sleep with?

“I have something for you,” Étienne says.