Page 130 of Full Contact

“Venue,” I reminded him.

I sank down onto his hard cock, slowly stretching myself even more. My thighs shook with the effort of taking it slow. He exhaled in a light hiss through his teeth.

Trier kept his hands on my thighs, but he didn’t push or pull. When I was fully seated with his cock deep inside me, I stayed there, getting used to it. His entire body trembled under me.

I started to ride him in long motions, up and down, finding the angle I wanted. Trier’s mouth fell open. I put my hand flat on his left side for balance, below the ribs, and my thumb landed on the little airplane.

He flinched. Then he jerked under me, an involuntary twitch of his whole torso. The movement drove him up into me at an angle I didn’t expect. Heat flared low in my gut.

“Was that the airplane?” Trier asked.

“Do it again.”

“I can’t do it on purpose. You’ll have to—ah—tickle me.” I watched him brace for it.

I ran my thumb along the dotted flight path, and he bucked up under me laughing and swearing. He clamped onto my hips with his hands. I rode the jolt and found the angle again, then once more. He gasped for breath.

“Mark,” he said. “Let me.”

“Yes.”

He took my cock in one big, rough hand and stroked me while I rode him. I leaned forward over him, both hands on his chest. His other hand slid up my back to the nape of my neck and held on.

I came across his stomach, over the little airplane. He’d been holding back the entire time, and when he finally let go it was in three hard thrusts. Trier’s heels dug into the mattress.

I stayed slumped over him. Under my cheek, his chest rose and fell.

“The venue,” he said eventually, “would like to celebrate the staff. Five stars.”

***

Trier got up early. He wanted to get home before morning skate, give Peaches her gel, and make sure Anna’s night had been quiet.

We drank coffee at the counter while he checked the weather.

“Eighteen degrees,” he said. “Feels like zero.”

“Then wear the scarf.”

“I didn’t bring a scarf.”

I took a charcoal scarf off the back of the chair he’d sat in the night before and held it up.

“I don’t remember taking that off.”

“You took it off while you were telling me about Varga and the boat.”

He wound it around his neck. At the door, he kissed me. “Anything you want me to pick up before Thursday?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He kissed me again and walked down the hall. It was a game day, so we’d both be at work in the evening.

I’d loved the night with Trier, but I still missed the evening I’d planned when leaving work: soup, TV, and no responsibility for keeping up my end of a conversation.

***

We beat Winnipeg that night, three to two. With ninety seconds left, Trier dropped to one knee in front of Pratt and took a slap shot off the shin pad.