Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(56)

“So deep. So deep.” I press a hand to my abdomen and squeeze my inner muscles around him.

“I love when you do that. Christ.”

My breasts are in his face and he buries his face between them. His cock slides in and out of me. I move up and down. He kisses and nips at my cleavage, making appreciative noises.

“What do you need, babe?” He tugs a nipple with his lips and my abs tighten.

So considerate. He’s an amazing lover. “I need you to touch me.”

He slips a hand between us and finds my clit with his thumb. “There? Good?”

He hits the exact spot. “You really know how to put it in the slot.”

He chokes on another laugh. “You’re killing me, Sky. Jesus.”

I smile, but I’m getting close. Tension’s twisting inside me, dark and beautiful. “Don’t stop.”

I close my eyes and let sensation take over, his cock tunneling in and out of me, stroking sensitive nerve endings inside me, his thumb working magic on my clit, all of it pulling up tight and high and…“Yeah.” My body tightens and then the tension breaks, pleasure coursing through me in hot, delicious waves. “Oh yeah.”

“There you go, sweetness. So sweet.” He kisses my mouth. “Sweet and sexy.”

I’m pulsing around him and he’s f*cking up into me with fast, hard thrusts and then he goes still and I feel him, a flutter inside me, as he comes too.

Then we collapse together in a sweaty, rumpled pile of sated exhaustion.





Chapter 20


Jacob


I’m sitting in the locker room taping my stick. Daft Punk is blasting around us and the other guys are doing their stuff to get ready. I like hanging out here in the locker room for a while before practices. It’s good to spend time together as a team. I’m getting to know these guys better and better.

I’ve already warmed up on the bike and done some weights and I’m ready to hit the ice. It’s what I wait for every day.

Our next game is against our archrival, the Harvard Crimson, and we talk about what to expect from them.

“They’ve really kicked their offense into high gear the last couple of games,” Coach tells us. “They’ve got their senior star, Paul Black, back in the lineup, and a power-packed top line. Last game they combined for eleven points.”

Fuck.

“We’re going to need tight defense. After practice we’ll look at some plays.”

Then we put on our equipment and practice jerseys and hit the ice. This is it—skating, hitting the puck. I love it.

After we warm up and do a few stretches, our assistant coach, Art Backes, gets us doing some give and go shooting. We line up outside the blue line, Art in the corner. My turn. I pass the puck to Art, skate toward the net for the pass back, and make a quick shot. It has to be fast. I nail it.

“Good, good!” Then, “Eyes up, stick on the ice, ready for the pass!” Art yells at Jimmy.

—

At the end of practice, the coaches get us all in a circle on one knee at center ice, and then team captain Franco yells, “Dance off!”

My mouth drops open. What the f*ck?

“Rookies go first.” Franco points at me.

Is he serious? I stare at him, but everyone’s hollering at me to get up and dance, and the coaches are grinning.

Then the music starts over the sound system, Walk the Moon singing “Shut Up and Dance.” It’s a quick, catchy beat, and what the hell, I like dancing. So I push up onto both blades and glide to the center of the circle. I slide my stick across the ice and drop my helmet and go for it, arms in the air, thrusting my hips, then a spin. It’s a little tough to show off my moves with all my gear on, but I give it my best shot.

The guys cheer and Coach shouts, “Now Churchill!”

I lift my arms as the guys tap their sticks on the ice, gliding over to the circle while a red-faced Danny Churchill takes my place.

It’s f*cking hilarious, and cuts through some of the intensity of the practice and our upcoming game. Because dammit, hockey should be fun.

Even Black Jack dances, but he’s clearly not into it. If he’d just loosen up and have fun, it wouldn’t feel so awkward, but he only does a few perfunctory moves and then skates off. I meet Buck’s eyes and he makes a face.

By the time everyone else has had a turn making a fool of themselves, my abs hurt from laughing so much.

It’s five o’clock when we’re done, but Buck and I stay on the ice a little longer and practice tipping the puck in. We’ve been playing on a line together the last few games and things are really clicking. Franco on the right wing plays the same kind of gritty game I do—we both go in hard on the forecheck and drive the net—and the three of us all seem to read each other and find each other.

After we’re finished, we head back to the locker room. I do more stretches, and my ice bath, which is painful. I’m told it’s good for reducing muscle inflammation, but I’m actually skeptical of it. Then I jump in the hot shower, which feels f*cking fantastic after that. We watch some videos, and Coach points out problems and things we need to work on. He also points out some good things, which makes me respect him as a coach.

As I leave the DeWitt Center, I pull out my cellphone to turn it on and check the time. We have strict rules about no cellphone use from the minute we step into the center until we leave. It’s nearly six-thirty. I debate going for something to eat, but study table is happening at the Herbert J. Kane Academic Center for all college athletes.