Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(65)

I need release.

I need to come.

But just as I go to reach for it, Dex anticipates me, and his hand is there first. I whine as his fist wraps around my shaft and jerks me in time with his thrusts. I’m so hard, so sensitive. Dex knows exactly how to work me over, and when he says, “Come for me,” all I can do is obey.

My balls tighten right before my cock pulses with the first spurt of cum.

Dex groans, then slams back inside me once, twice, before he stills, hips pressed flush against my ass, as his release fills me. Neither of us talks while we catch our breaths.

Dex pulls out of me and collapses on his back by my side with a dopey grin filling his face. “At least we’ll be nice and loose for practice.”

I bolt upright. “Fuck, practice.”





Twenty-Seven





DEX





Yesterday went too fast for me to stop and think, let alone look into this sexuality stuff. After practice, we came home, ate dinner, and crashed from nearly a full day on the ice.

This morning, we flew into Denver early, dropped our things at the hotel, and then headed straight to Ball Arena for a practice skate.

Since yesterday, my mind has been on a roller coaster of ups and downs, and Tripp is right—the only thing that is going to help me is to get out of my head.

So after we’re released from practice, we go back to the hotel, and I hold Tripp to me as I fuck him face-to-face. It’s slow, and so sexy, plus being able to watch every expression cross his face adds a layer of intimacy I’ve never had before.

Not to mention the no-condom thing—thank you, preseason medical.

Sex has never been so good.

And after seeing Tripp naked, I’m then treated to the sight of him in a tailored suit. Black pants and blue jacket, he looks incredible. So incredible that when we arrive back at Ball Arena, I can’t stop myself from taking his hand on the way through the parking lot.

I know there are people out there who would prefer we didn’t “rub” our relationship in their faces, who would be more comfortable pretending we’re still only friends, or who are okay with us as long as we let them forget we like dick, but I’m not going to play by their rules.

Maybe that means I attract more heat.

Maybe that means I put more of a target on my head than I already have.

But with Tripp’s warm, large hand in mine, those people can all go and fuck themselves. Although, seeing the way Tripp took that dildo, I’m beginning to think that isn’t the insult people think it is.

Next time someone tells me to go and fuck myself, I think I’ll give it a try.

I send a grin Tripp’s way, and he smiles back.

I’m not feeling confident, but I’m trying to squash the negativity down.

When we get to the locker room, I look around at the team, and it’s clear I’m not the only one feeling the heaviness of all our losses. We strip out of our suits into our base layers, and a few guys head through to the weight room.

All I know is that if we go out there like this, we’re going to lose. Guaranteed. And I know Tripp’s been saying all along that we’re not the problem, but we’re literally the only change here. And if we’re messing with team dynamics, I sure as hell want to fix it.

I pull a soccer ball out of the game-day bag Coach has, and Tripp jumps up to kick it around with me. Adler joins us, along with Keisky and McGillan, and the longer we’re at it, the more people add to our circle.

For a short while, it takes me out of my head.

“Hey, Tripp, you going to keep them out of our goal tonight?” Keisky asks.

“Depends. Are you assholes going to actually defend our zone, or have you forgotten how that works?”

McGillan flips him off. “Maybe if our forwards could keep possession …” His gaze flicks to mine, but instead of encouraging the smack talk, I aim to shut it down.

“You’re right. But I’m feeling good tonight, so let’s all play our positions and show Colorado why we made it to the Stanley Cup final last season.”

“We could really use some of that Mitchell Brothers magic, I’m not gonna lie,” Adler says.

“Why are we the ones with the magic?” Tripp asks.

I wink at him. “It’s all the gayness. Don’t you know queer guys ride in on unicorns, shooting sparkles out of our asses?”

“That’s not—” Adler shakes his head. “Come on, Dex, that’s not what I meant.”

“We know what you meant,” Tripp says. “You thought we rode rainbows.”

Adler laughs. “Fuck you guys.”

I snigger and tap the ball to Keisky, who passes to McGillan.

In only a few minutes, it almost feels like the old team again.

Then Fensby walks into the room.

I’m not sure if I’m projecting, but that tension immediately snaps back around us, and our soccer game wraps up a few minutes later.

When we hit the ice for a warm-up skate, I do my best not to look out at the growing crowd.

With my fragile mindset, all it would take is the wrong sign to get me down, and I’m trying my hardest to get back to playing like the old Dex. I’ve taken a hit, but I’m still that same player. And at this point, the best thing I can do to shut up the speculation and people who are trying to push the idea that Tripp and I shouldn’t be together is to prove them all wrong.