Page 95 of Goalie Interference

“Fuck…” I moan, the word stretched.

“Is this what you came here for?” he asks, quickening the speed of his thrusts.

“One of the things,” I say.

“What else did you come here for?” His eyes are hooded and his lips are apart.

“I came here looking to get fucked,” I say. “But that can wait until tonight. A celebratory treat after you win your game.”

“And what if we lose?” He reaches between us and wraps his fingers loosely around our erections. With his thumb he collects the precum from both of us to give us more slip in his fist.

“Same thing.” I laugh breathily. Nothing is going to stop us from fucking tonight. Not even a blowout loss. “But more angry.”

“I do not want to be angry around you.”

“Then I guess you better win.”

“I guess I better.” He grins. He leans down and kisses me again, sliding our tongues together as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. They are becoming erratic, his release building in him.

The thought of him coming is enough to bring me close to my own edge. Not that this was going to take long anyway. It’s been far too long since we’ve been able to touch each other. Kiss each other. Jerk each other off.

My balls draw tight and my hips thrust up to meet his. I break our kiss, stuttering around his lips. “Fuck… I’m… I’m gonna come.”

And I do, shooting my come thick and warm between us. He comes shortly after. His release joins mine, mixing together in the ridges of my abs.

“Stay right here,” he says. His skin is flushed red and his breaths are short as he lifts off me and heads back to the bathroom. I hear the sink run and then after a few minutes he returns with a warm wet rag that he uses to wipe me clean.

I take it from him and toss it into the bathroom. I hear it land with a thud onto the tiled floor.

“Come here,” he says as he pulls the covers open on one side of the bed and gets in.

I move so we can slide under them together. He looks as sleepy as I feel. There’s nothing like a good orgasm to bring on an excellent pregame nap.

“You’re staying?” I ask.

“What was your first clue?”

“The fact you’re still here.” I laugh. “But also, I get it if you don’t want to stay. I don’t want to mess up your pregame routine.”

He slips an arm around me and holds me close to him. “Is okay for me to try something different,” he says, then kisses the back of my neck. “Just this once.”

Nikolai

Ander being a part of my pregame routine today has worked out quite well. I’m rested. Sated. Alert. And my chest has a swell of excitement and joy in it because I know Ander is back at the hotel waiting for me to return.

It’s perfect.

Imagining him watching me play just as I left him, wearing only his briefs, lounging in the bed with his dog is all the motivation I need. Whenever one of Toronto’s players takes a shot, I’m ready to block it. None of their pucks are getting into the net tonight. This game is ending after sixty minutes. I don’t have time to waste going into extra periods, or worse, a fucking shoot-out.

Nope. This game is going to come to a close quickly so I can get back to my man waiting for me in bed.

Ronson, one of Toronto’s forwards, is barreling towards me on a breakaway. He shoots.

Thwack!

The sound of a puck hitting my glove as I catch it is the only sound I like more than the moans Ander makes when he’s about to come.

Calmly, I hand the puck back to the ref.