Page 263 of Faking the Goal

Thank fucking Christ.

Her lips wrap around the head of my cock, and I swear I see stars. Her tongue swirls around the tip, lapping up the pre-cum like it's fucking ambrosia, and I groan, my fingers fisting in her hair. "Fuck, your mouth's hotter than hell," I growl, my hips jerking forward as she takes me deeper, her throat swallowing me whole.

She pulls back with a wet pop, spit stringing between her lips and my cock, and she smirks up at me like the devil herself. "That's how you shut me up," she purrs before diving right back in, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks me like she's trying to drink my cum straight from the source.

"Yeah, take it," I snarl, holding her hair in a tight ponytail, forcing her head down as I thrust into her mouth. "Take every fucking inch, you greedy little vixen." She gags slightly, her throat tightening around me, and I groan, my balls aching with the need to explode.

Her tongue flicks against the underside of my cock, and I swear I'm going to lose my fucking mind. "Fuck, your mouth's a goddamn paradise," I growl, my hips jerking forward as she sucks me harder, her lips slick and warm wrapped around me. "Jesus Christ, trouble. You're gonna fucking ruin me. Keep looking at me like that while you suck me off. I want to see those pretty eyes when you make me lose my fucking mind."

She moans around my dick, the vibration shooting straight to my balls, and I'm fucking gone. My grip tightens in her hair, holding her still as I thrust into her mouth, fucking her throat raw. "You're gonna take it all, aren't you?" I snarl, my voice ragged with need. "You're gonna swallow my cum like it's your fucking last meal?"

Her eyes meet mine, and she nods, her lips stretched wide around my cock. A wicked glint dances in her eyes, all sinful confidence and smug satisfaction, like she knows exactly how close she has me to losing my fucking mind and is enjoying every second of it. And that's it. I'm fucking coming, my balls tightening as I explode down her throat, spurts of cum flooding her mouth. She swallows every drop, her throat working to take it all in, and I groan, my hips jerking forward as I empty myself into her.

When I finally pull out, she's panting, her lips swollen and slick with spit and cum, and she looks up at me with a smirk. "Feel better now?" she asks, her voice rough, and I laugh, my hands trembling as I pull her up to kiss her.

Fuck, I'm never gonna get enough of her.

The next day, Coach Hopper's whistle cuts across the rink, bringing practice to an end, and the guys immediately start drifting toward the bench and the tunnel, exhausted but still loud enough to fill the arena. Cody is already complaining that Coach clearly has some personal grudge against our legs after the conditioning drills, while the twins argue over who finished the last sprint first. I skate toward the bench with them, tugging off one glove, when Coach Jameson catches my attention from the other end of the ice.

"Azuma, you have another thirty minutes in you?"

I glance toward the cart of pucks he has already pulled beside the crease and nod without hesitation. "Always."

"I want to work on your post integration," he says as I turn back toward him. "You're dropping into your RVH a little too early when the play moves below the goal line. You can get away with it against most shooters, but someone with enough patience will wait you out and find the space over your shoulder."

"I noticed it when we watched the film," I tell him.

"Good. Then we'll clean it up now."

Most of the guys are already disappearing down the tunnel by the time Coach Jameson waves me over to the other end of the ice. Before skating across, I push over to the bench, grab my water bottle for a quick drink, then head straight back to the crease.

"Give me a minute," I tell my coach before skating through the open gate and into the locker room.

My phone is tucked inside my bag where I left it before practice. I pull it out and send Taylor a quick text.

ME

Running extra goalie work with Jameson. Go straight to the Pond after class and text me when you get there. I'll come as soon as we're done.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

TAYLOR

Okay (smiley emoji) Don't let Coach torture you too much.

A smile tugs at my mouth.

ME

No promises.

I slip my phone back into my bag, grab another bottle of water, and jog back onto the ice before Coach Jameson has a chance to think I've changed my mind.

The next forty minutes are nothing but repetition, which is exactly what I expected. He works me from both posts, forcing me to stay patient on my edges and hold my feet longer before dropping into the RVH. He shoots from below the goal line, sends pucks off my pads from sharp angles, and makes me recover to the opposite post before I've fully caught my breath. Every time I move too early, he stops me and makes me reset.

"Don't guess," he calls as I push back into position. "Read the puck. Let the shooter run out of options before you commit."

I nod and settle into my stance again, trying to ignore the burn spreading through my legs. The rink is cold, but sweat still runs down the side of my face beneath my mask as he sends another puck toward the near post. I seal it properly this time, keep my shoulder tall, then drive across the crease when he quickly sends the rebound toward the opposite side.