Page 33 of Shattered On Ice

“Just a little more.” His voice is strained, the words coming out slow as he chases his pleasure on me.

The moment his face changes to rapture, mouth hanging slack as he cries out, I let go with a deep roar that shakes me to my very soul. The hand I have at his waist locks down, holding him still and thrusting in one last time. Losing myself inside him sends an electric shock up my spine, the jolt shattering me into a million pieces as the pleasure seems to go on forever.

I could live here, inside him. His cum is warm on my chest, and I like that he’s marked me in this way. I’d rub it in and wear him if that were possible, rather than sticky.

The haze slowly clears, my vision returning along with my awareness of just how warm and tight he is. Then, reality sinks in.

“I didn't use a condom,” I mutter. Tabarnak.

I release his waist and slide my hand down his back to where we’re joined, my fingers finding the mess slowly spreading between us as I lift him. My heart transitions from a stroll through molasses into a full gallop in a second. I’ve never taken anyone bare, and I told him we’d use protection every time.

What if he hates this? We were both half asleep when this got heavy. He could have acted on impulse, too, and now regrets it.

“Fuck, Westin. I love feeling your cum in me,” he whimpers, ass squeezing me tightly as he throws his head back. “I don't want to lose it.” The needy whine in his voice unlocks a new desire to give him even more of what he obviously craves.

I roll us until I’m on top, and angle his hips up onto my thighs. “Does mon ti’ démon want to be bred?” I growl. I grip his waist as I slowly pull out of him. He’s clenching around me, not letting go, and I smile. “This greedy ass wants to stay full, doesn't it?”

I can just make out the rosy tint to his cheeks in the amber light filtering through the curtains. He keeps his eyes locked on me as I push the leaking cum back inside him with a finger, and he falls apart on a shudder when I stroke it into him.

His hand comes up to my chest, and he drags a finger through the cum he’s left there. “It’s a new revelation.” He admits on a breathy exhale as I massage his prostate. “I love being full of you.” He whines when I pull my fingers out.

I turn toward the nightstand and find what I’m looking for, coming back with the plug he wore over. I push it into his ass until the flared base is seated snugly, and give his cheek a gentle caress.

“Hold onto it the rest of the night,” I command, fondness softening the crude words.

He chuckles, the red in his cheeks deepening. “This is depraved. You’ve turned me into a monster.”

I press a kiss to his hot cheek with a smile. “Mon monstre. Let me clean up, and we can get a few more hours of sleep.”

Eleven

Westin

It’s extra rough standing outside in a park in the glaring sun at eight a.m. after getting roughly five hours of sleep, but so worth it for the reasons I’m sleep-deprived. Waking up with Knight in my arms, stuffed full of my cum had me possessive as fuck and thrilled by the fact—I felt like a total monster wanting to do it again. I don't know how he’s out there now, stretching at the starting line, ready to run ten kilometers in August for fun in a race he paid for, but I’m fucking stoked to cheer him on anyway.

The announcer begins counting down to the start, and Knight gets serious, bouncing on his toes and adjusting his glasses. When the starting pistol fires, he throws one last smile my way, my adrenaline pumping as hard as his must be, and takes off with the other runners, soon lost in the crowd as I scream from the sidelines. “Let’s go, Knight! You got this!”

The runners turn into the park, and the course won't come back this way until the last straightaway to the finish line. I plan to cut through a field to the halfway point to cheer him on, then come back this way to be there at the end. Once the path is clear, I start the trek. I reach the 5K point fairly quickly, so I’m a little early. Some race volunteers and a few other people are milling around. One man does a double-take when he sees me and starts walking toward me.

Fuck. I wore a baseball hat and sunglasses, hoping to blend in, but there’s always the possibility that a hockey fan will recognize me, which I think is happening now. I’ll just sign whatever he thrusts in my face or take a selfie with him and excuse myself. I would turn and walk in the other direction, but I really want to be here for Knight when he passes, so I’m set on sticking around.

“I know you,” a high, drawling male voice calls.

I sigh deeply, fortifying myself for the inevitable interaction. I turn and eat my planned greeting as confusion overtakes me. This is absolutely not a hockey fan. The man is about the same height as Knight, slim, and flamboyantly dressed in what I’d consider not race-spectator-friendly attire. He’s wearing cream, wide-legged pants in a flowy material, and a pale blue, short-sleeved, cable-knit shirt that hugs his slim biceps. His cream, high-heeled, shiny boots clunk out a steady rhythm as he walks right up to me, gold bracelets tinkling at his wrists, and a thick chain featuring animal charms sparkling at his neck. He holds out a hand with several rings and manicured nails sporting magenta polish to point at me.

“You’re here for Knight,” he pronounces, eyes raking over my baseball hat and sunglasses. “Though it looks like you're in the witness protection program."

My mouth drops a little before I can catch myself. “How do you know that?” I ask quickly, looking around to make sure we’re not being observed. I breathe a relieved sigh. For as outrageous as this man is, no one is giving us a second glance.

“That’s why my hair is so big. I know things,” he says in a whisper with a brazen smile, turning up his—yes, that’s some kind of shimmery makeup on his cheeks—as he gives me spirit fingers. “Now come on. You’re on the wrong side of the course. This is where the volunteers will give out water, see?” He gestures to a group of people filling small paper cups from a giant water cooler a few meters away. “We want to be on the other side and a bit further up from here to actually see him when he emerges from the mess this will be.” He indicates the volunteers with a wave of his fingers and an unimpressed expression.

I’m taken by surprise when he links his arm through mine and starts marching us down the path, but I follow without knowing what else to do. “Who are you?” My voice sounds shocked even to me.

He laughs, the sound full and loud, surprising me again that it came out of him after hearing him speak. “You're silly. I’m Callum, Knight’s fairy godbrother,” he says cheerfully. “I know I’m wearing more clothes, and it’s much brighter here than at Lucious, so it might be a shock.” He hums in consideration. “You were awfully focused on Knight when I was with our boy, so maybe you don’t remember me. We kind of all danced together? Ringing any bells?”

I look down at him as he smiles up at me, a smug look on his angular face. He barely registers as familiar, and only because he jogged my memory. His name, on the other hand, has run on a loop in my head any time I’ve messaged Knight and not heard back from him right away. He mentioned Callum one time, the night we played beer pong, and the mystery man has lived rent-free in my mind ever since. I’ve thought the most terrible things about this man, agonizing through all the hypotheticals, like what if Knight is seeing this Callum guy when he’s not with me, or what if Callum makes him smile more than I ever can, and they have more in common? I’ve cursed Callum’s name every day since, but I’m feeling incredibly foolish now that I’m meeting him.

“You’re Callum?” I can't even control the surprise in my tone. My brain has completely shut down.