Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

By S. Legend

Prologue

Game 6 in Boston – AHL Calder Cup Final

On the Ice

Casey

I ’m gonna break his nose. Again. How many times will that be now? How many times can a nose break before you can’t call it a nose anymore?

My bestie, Jack Leslie, was right. It doesn’t matter how many times I break Sutter’s fucking nose, he doesn’t get less hot. It pisses me off. What pisses me off more is that I never used to think about Sutter as hot, until Coach suggested that we release our tension by fucking, and Jack seconded that motion.

Okay, so that’s not entirely true. Know what? Let’s not split hairs here. Mitch Sutter is a helluva beefcake, but he should be skewered, roasted, and eaten like any other slab of meat, never to be seen again.

We’ve been beating the shit out of each other since he showed his smoldering mug on the ice way back when we were in the minor midget hockey division. Okay, well, that’s not quite accurate, but I don’t like to admit to the truth. Believe it or not, we were friends for about five minutes, until I learned he was a dirty player. We didn’t hang out, but he was on my team, and we played well together. We could say hello like two civilized human beings.

Until he moved to a rival team. Then I saw who he really was.

I didn’t expect his cheap shots, or the penalties I got because he’s a rat bastard who antagonized me into them just in time for the ref to catch me retaliating. All I wanted after that was revenge. Simple, testosterone-fueled revenge. As we got older, we upped the ante. Sinking my fist into someone’s face never felt so good.

Bent over center line, Sutter rests his stick against his thickly padded thighs. His dark hockey coif curls out the bottom of his helmet.

“Ready to get creamed, Alderchuck?”

Goddammit. Thanks to Coach and his “you and Sutter should fuck out your unresolved sexual tension conspiracy theory”, everything Sutter says is dirty now. “I’m gonna make sure you spend the game where you belong—locked up behind the glass.”

He’s so fucking cocky, smirking, thinking he’s the best thing to grace the ice. I won’t let him get in my head. The puck drops, it hits my cradle before Sutter has his stick down, and I’m quick to pass it back to my brother, who I know will be there.

I always know where Stacey is. Our special twin spidey-sense. He takes off with the puck before Sutter knows what’s happening, and I push Sutter back. That’s all it was supposed to be, but Sutter grips my jersey, and my blades trip over themselves. I just recover my balance in time to catch his smug-ass face, laughing at me.

Could I let it go here and play the game? I could, but no universe exists in which I will.

One move, that’s all it takes to shed my gloves and drop my stick. Sutter does the same. We’re in a new face-off, circling counterclockwise, fists up.

“You’re a fucking joke, Sutter. C’mon then.” I egg him on, trying to get him to throw the first punch.

He swings, his fist cracks my face, and I answer back with some hits of my own. Sutter’s a southpaw, so my right side gets it. I brutalize his left for as long as I can until I lose my footing. Crack-wham! My back meets the ice. But do I stop trying to pummel Sutter? No. I reach for him with as much rage as if I’m trying to avenge my family, and he answers in kind. It takes two refs and a linesman, two refs to pull him off me, and a linesman to steer me toward the penalty box like I’m an errant preschooler.

“Eat my ass, Sutter!” Fuck. That sounds extra dirty, but I don’t mean it like that. I mean … I don’t know. I just want to see the pure murder on his face. The reaction. I want to know that I’m under his skin.

Two minutes later, I’m back on the ice. I vow to keep my eyes on the puck this time. Jack barrels through center with that little black hunk of vulcanized rubber. One, two. One, two, three … pass, Thuck! Right to my stick with perfect timing so that I’m not offside. I drop it back for Stacey. Wham! Sutter checks me into the fucking boards. I push him, and let the record state that I try to skate away. Sutter’s stick doesn’t let me, taking my feet out from under me.

In case the refs were wondering, that’s a tripping penalty, but do they see it? Nope. There’s no whistle and Sutter gets away with cheap-ass hockey murder. I’m not known for keeping a lid on my temper. Using my stick, I turn and slam it across his cement-walled chest. It bends my stick. This close, the damage I did to his face earlier is more than apparent.

“Watch where you’re goin’, Alderchuck. You’re fucking embarrassing, fallin’ down easy.” He pokes me with his stick.

That’s it. That’s fucking it. “Sutter, you goddamn clown!”

“C’mon then, tough guy. Drop your gloves.”

They’re dropped alright. I slam Sutter against the boards and send him sailing over the Boston bench. He scrambles to get up, his bench does what they can to pull back a feral Sutter who’s raring to pulverize me. I spread my arms as I’m carted off to the box again. Worth it, but also, it figures. Sutter starts shit and I’m the one doing the time.

We’re not the only ones. Tensions are high this game. Meaningless fights break out all over the ice.

It’s not a hockey game, it’s a blood sport.

I shouldn’t go for a beer, especially after a game six, but I’m hurting. Every bone, every tendon, every damn muscle. The nailbeds of my fingers hurt. I didn’t know that was a thing until today. We battle for Coach on that ice, he can overlook one beer.

If he finds out.

“C’mon, Leslie,” I say, stealing his hat and putting it on my head. “Come drink with me.”

Coach and Jack are having some kinda disagreement. Or did they break up? No one really knows. What’s clear is that it’s bad for business. Coach is a lot more critical and a lot less tactful than usual. Leslie won’t suck his dick no matter how much I beg him to, which I think would go a long way.

What do I know, I guess?

Jack laughs. “No fucking way, dude. You must be high.” He takes his hat back and reaches for another on the counter, which by the look of the tattered rim is Dash’s. Right. Coach gets jealous when we steal Jack’s hat. He’d also be ultra pissed at Jack, more than he already is, if he went clubbing with me. Guess that one was a long shot.

“Dash?” I raise a brow.

“I’m having Facetime sex with Syd,” Dash says. “Do not leave here in my hat, Alderchuck.”

Stacey takes it from my head and switches it with the one he’s wearing. Oh, this one’s actually mine. Well, fuck. Haven’t seen you in a while, dearest. My hat is torn in two places on the left side. Stacey’s is torn in the same two places on the right side. Weird shit like that happens to us all the time. I don’t know how it happens.

My bro does a good job of not letting on that his heart breaks every time Dash mentions Syd. Dash and Syd aren’t exclusive. They’re not boyfriends by far. They have been seeing each other enough that Stacey’s worried. Dash really likes this guy. Once he’s back in Vancouver, they could see each other more.

“Fine, think with your dick. You, bro?”

“What do you think?” Stacey says.

Yeah, that was a long shot, too. He’s not breaking the rules. “Dirk?” I call across the condo.

“Dirk’s taking a hot shower,” Jack says. “Then he said something about dying in bed. You’re the only one with the energy to do anythin’ more than that.”

I do tend to carry the torch of energy within the group, but usually, someone’s got enough to cause shit with me. “Whatever. I’m still going out.”

“Your funeral if Coach catches you,” Stacey says.

Hell, even some of the guys might rat me out tonight if they catch me. We’ve got one game left and they’re all superstitious and shit. I’m not worried. We’ve got this game in the bag. Not to mention, we fly back to Kelowna tomorrow morning. Plenty of time to catch up on sleep while on the team’s private jet.

Even though we’re in a city in Boston where I’m unlikely to be known, I wear a zip-up hoodie to hide my identity. Not to toot my own horn, but I look hot in this dark blue Lululemon zip-up and stone-washed jeans get-up. I let my dark curls tumble free for once, rather than locking them in a hat. I don’t like wearing my own hat. I like wearing someone else’s. I like to belong somewhere, and the hat thing does it for me.

While I’m in my Uber toward the nightlife, I open Benduovr to see how far away the dick that might want to fuck me is.

Bingo. Already a request in the box. I don’t show my face on my profile. Just my chiseled hockey body. My name is Brat Cat. I prefer to attract the Tops, but I don’t mind playing with twinky cats now and then.

Top Dog.

Shit. This guy had to have been the first one on the app to get a name like that. He can’t be good news, but for one night of fucking? Let’s see his pictures.

Scrolling through makes me salivate. He’s chosen to keep his identity a secret too, but he’s been generous in all other ways, showing off some very exposing photos. His dick is monstrous and angry. It’s a rabid dog that needs to fuck something. Wildly. I’m pretty sure he took this picture while jerking it. It’s leaking, for fucksake.

Great. Now I am, too. I bet sex with him would be so dirty. Yep, I’m sliding into this guy’s DMs.

You sure cats and dogs should play together?

Top Dog

Bet I get you to purr like a kitten, brat.

W ow, immediate response and my favorite kind of banter. I may have hit the jackpot. Even though it’s in my name, only certain kinds of men use it alone like that.

If you pound me with that ogre-sized dick, I’d roll over for you and purr. Might leave claw marks, though.

Top Dog

I saw you and had to have you. Where you at?

I can be at the Wild Rover in twenty. Buy you a drink?

Top Dog

Not drinking tonight, kitten. But I’ll buy you a drink.

We don’t leave it there. The banter continues for the entire car ride. Excitement pools in my belly. It’s hard to hit it off with anyone, especially on this app. Not that I log into an app like Benduovr expecting true love, but it’s a pleasant surprise when it’s like, well, like this and not just, “Hey, let’s fuck in this place at this time.”

Not that I don’t appreciate a simple fuck, too. Just sayin’. Sometimes witty banter is refreshing.

I’m fucking giddy at the prospect of this lay by the time my Uber’s pulling up to the Wild Rover. I’m glad the guys were too busted to come out. Maybe this guy and I will fuck into the night. Could be fun.

Exiting the car, I pull my hood over my rad hockey lettuce and enter the club with a smile on my face.

Top Dog

I’m a tad recognizable, so I’m at the back. Ball cap, hoodie, sunglasses.

Dayum. If I weren’t sort of doing the same thing, I’d be judging him. I’m not as worried now that I’m in this part of town, but sometimes fans keep track of the hotels we stay at. Don’t ask me how they know because I don’t fucking know, but I could tell stories.

I’m not as paranoid in Boston as I would be in Kelowna. He must be a local celebrity.

Or a serial killer, I guess.

The place is dark as sin. Rainbow lights flash, but there’s no useful lighting to speak of. Just a loud beat pumping and lots of sweaty bodies grinding against each other. It all serves to heighten my horniness. My heart beats in my dick to the rhythm of pounding bass.

With the way Top Dog has been talking, I’m expecting him to shove me against a wall and take me right there. Yeah, we can’t really do that in public, but I did bring packets of lube and a few condoms. We could go someplace and then he could do that. Or hell, the back alley outside this club is fine by me.

I don’t really care. I just wanna feel that Superman dick inside me. I want to feel it tomorrow too. I’m already drunk with lust, and I haven’t even seen the guy’s face. Know what? I don’t care if he looks like The Hound from Game of Thrones. If he can use his hips like a battering ram and keep talking like the filthy beast he claims to be, then I’m down.

He’s at the back like he said, sitting at a high-top table. He’s huge, holy fuck. Broad shoulders, a wide back. I can just make out the shape of his thighs under the table—they’re goddamn lobster crackers. Heart racing, I skip his way with jubilance in my step. I’m not a small guy. It’s hard to find men who can throw me around.

He can and he will.

It’s crowded. I’m forced to approach him from behind. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s him. Those are good odds. I take the chance and lean to speak into his ear so that he can hear me over the bedlam.

“Hey, Top Dog, ready to make me purr?” I wouldn’t say that to just anyone. Not that he’s someone, per se, but he’s intoxicated me enough with his banter that I’m willing to let go enough to be his kitten for a night.

Fast as lightning, his hand whips out and grips my wrist. Whoa. My tummy swoops, like, roller coaster level swooping and, suddenly, I’m molded against his back.

“That was dangerous, brat. What if I’d pulled my knife on you?”

Does that kill the vibe? Or take it up a notch? Answer: takes it up a notch. “I was searched on my way into the place. You don’t have a knife on you.”

I’m a living, breathing wire of adrenaline right now. If I die tonight doing something stupid, I’m going down in a blaze of glory.

“I have a knife on me,” he says. “Just in case you turned out to be a serial killer. Sit.”

Wow. Bossy fucker. I like it.

Squeezing my way in, I move to the other side of the table. It’s safe to say I can remove my hood in here. As I do, my luscious curls fall out.

The man freezes. “No. No, no, fucking hell no.” He’s shouting loud enough that I can hear what he’s saying.

“Did I do somethin?—”

He pulls his sunglasses off. I’d recognize that nose in the dark. I’m the one who’s broken it at least four times. Can’t wait to break it again.

“Sutter.”

“Alderchuck.”

I think he’s more stunned than I am, and I’m pretty fucking stunned. We’re talking plot twist of The Sixth Sense level stunned. If you know you know.

Where do I begin with this one? I’m going to need therapy just to get over the twenty minutes of filthy text sex I had with Sutter. I grabbed my dick in the back of an Uber for him. I begged him to rail me with his monster dick.

Oh, God. I know what Sutter’s dick looks like and he knows mine.

This is the real reason you don’t post dick pics. It’s all fun and games when you think it’s just going to be some stranger viewing your penis. I hope to fuck he hasn’t taken a screenshot. I have visions of it being on the jumbotron at our next game.

At least a bunch of shit is going through his mind too. I don’t know what but, hey, maybe he’s thinking the same.

“Tell anyone about this, Sutter, and your dick’s going on the jumbotron.”

“You sick fuck. You have a screenshot of my dick already?”

Yeah, that sounds bad. “As if you don’t have a hundred of mine.”

“Why would I want a picture of that pencil dick? It’s not hard for me to get real dick, and if it were, I’d keep something far more remarkable on my phone.”

Now it looks like I can’t get dick and love his so much I memorialized it. Fine. But at least now I know that he probably didn’t screenshot my dick. Unless it’s all an elaborate ruse. Could be. Fuck. I’m fucked.

“Me telling you to go fuck yourself has never been truer than it will be tonight. Go fuck yourself, Sutter.”

Pushing out from the table. I storm off. What a wasted night. Guess I should have listened to the guys.

As I’m exiting, deciding between trying for another hookup or going back to the hotel, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Top Dog

Where the fuck are you going, brat? Did I say you could leave?

Oh, hell no. We’re not doing that anymore.

Cut the shit, Sutter. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last fuck on Earth.

No, wait. I got something better.

If it were between being fucked with a tube covered in hot sauce or your unnaturally large dick, I’d choose hot sauce tube.

Top Dog

So, you think I have a huge dick, eh? And you have a picture of it.

I don’t have a picture of it, but maybe I should get one, you know, for insurance purposes. I quickly go into the app and snap a shot to send to him and “prove” I have it. His warning not to try anything funny.

Aaaaaaand, send , motherfucker.

Yep. Tell a soul about this and it’s getting uploaded straight to the jumbotron.

Top Dog

My dick would look good on a jumbotron, brat. Would yours?

My own dick comes through to my screen. It is not a pencil dick. Sure, it doesn’t look like it was injected with radioactive steroids like his does, but it’s respectable.

You lying sack of shit. You did have a picture.

Top Dog

Relax. I took it because you have mine. Now, get your ass back here so I can fuck it, Alderchuck.

Holy hockey fucking shivers, batman. No. No! That can’t turn me on. Or well, turn me on more than I already am.

I should block this arrogant asshole. Why haven’t I already? I’m wasting time with him when I could be finding something better.

Arrrrrgh. I know I’m not going to find better than what I saw, and it’s not just his dick either. He’s good at the banter I like, and he’s got a filthier mouth than I do. Also okay, I’ll admit this to no one, but I’m more than a little curious to see what Sutter’s like in bed and if hate sex is all it’s cracked up to be. It’s probably my one opportunity to have hate sex, because I’ve never hated anyone as much I as hate Sutter. A shudder runs through me at the very thought. I know that Sutter always has a five o’clock shadow. I want to sand my babyface against it.

The hate sex between you two would be epic. Jack said that.

Either work your shit out or fuck him. Coach said something like that.

If I am crazy enough to let this happen, I can blame them.

No, I should block him.

Or.

Maybe this would be good for the team. If we’re fighting less, that means fewer penalty minutes and a better game overall. Not that I think we need any more help to win, but couldn’t hurt, right?

Fine, coming back. We can negotiate, but that’s all I’m promising.

I don’t get the chance to turn around. I find myself trapped in tight muscular arms. The cold blade of a knife presses against my throat. Coarse fingers grip my jaw.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Sutter?” Because it’s Sutter, right? Please say it’s fucking Sutter.

He releases me and closes the collapsible blade. “Teaching you a lesson. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“Yeah, okay, Dorothy. All I’m learning is not to hang out with psychopaths like you. Where are we going to do this?”

The “ this ” is sex, which seems like a worse idea all the time.

“We’ll go to my place, Alderchuck. Follow me.”

He stalks away, expecting me to follow. His place? That’s just wrong, but with his paranoid attitude, it makes some sense. Probably doesn’t want to get shanked while he rails me in an alleyway.

The blue car beeps and unlocks when he points his fob at it. “Get in.”

“Stop telling me what to do, Sutter.” I pull the car door open.

“Get used to it, bitch,” he says, letting a giant smirk take over his face. “I’m gonna tell you what to do a lot when I have you in my bed.”

Grinding my teeth, I can’t tell you why I get into his car. It’s even worse when I’m inside and being accosted with the choking scent of his cologne. “Phew, Sutter. That cologne has got to go. Even my high school boyfriend knew how to choose a scent that didn’t have formaldehyde as its base.”

“Yes, honey, gonna get right on that, dear . And I’ll thank you to shut the fuck up about your exes when I’m gearing up to fuck yah.” He hasn’t lost his Canadian accent.

He puts an arm around my seat, which scares the fuck out of me until I realize it’s just so he can back out of the stall.

“I’ll say it again and hope for an answer this time. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A lot.” Then he drives.

“Comforting.”

“Is that what you need before we cross swords? A little tenderness?”

“God, no. Especially not from you.”

I drown in his terrible-smelling cologne all the way to a condo building. Figures he lives somewhere nice and on his own—no roommate required. That’s what happens when you have rich parents. He pulls me inside the door, yanking my arm hard enough to pull it out of the socket, and then he shuts the door tightly. There are seventy-leven inside locks. Okay, well, only actually six, but that’s way overkill. This neighborhood is definitely on the uppity side, and, even if it weren’t, the building’s got a doorman, fob system, high security. Is it necessary to have six fucking inside locks?

He locks them in quick succession, in practiced motions. Obviously, habit by now. He’s had those on there a long time and he uses them.

“You wanted by the FBI, Sutter?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He kicks his shoes off, and I have a quick look around.

This place is nice, like, “I have fucking money and I know how to spend it” nice. The entryway opens to a fancy-ass kitchen. In an attempt not to marvel at his polished granite countertops, I pull a Leslie and take a seat on one.

“Off,” he says.

“Afraid of my ass germs?”

“Off,” he repeats without answering.

I slide off the counter. “So far, worst lay of my life. I should have known, Sutt?—”

Without warning, his lips are on mine. I can’t breathe. My body lights up with everything that was racing around in it before and something new, the lure of forbidden fruit. We’re mortal enemies, and that makes this off-limits in a big way. He might be playing some kind of game by being mildly nice, but that doesn’t erase our years of battle.

He lets up only long enough for me to suck in desperate lungfuls of air, and then he’s on me again, his rough face brushing against my smooth one.

“This how I need to shut you up? Is it?”

“You fucking ass?—”

We’re sucking face again, and I need to gnaw at his lips more than I need to tell him off for being such a fucking dick. In fact, the more of a dick he is, the more I want to rut against his leg. Remembering how much I wanted to experience his size when I first set eyes on him, I let my hands roam over his shoulders.

They’re round and bulky. Hard. I could really hold onto him. I am holding onto him. Oh, Jesus. I’m holding onto Mitch Sutter for dear life.

Then he lifts me like I’m air, setting me on the counter. Yeah, the same counter he told me to get off of. I push at his beefy shoulder. “What the fuck, Sutter?”

His mouth hitches into a half smile. Oh, fuck. My heart just skipped a beat. “I wanted to be the one to put you there.”

My heart fucking races. He needs to stop. I don’t want him to be a charming asshole. I want him to be a mean asshole. “Okay, okay. Let’s get to the fucking sex part. I haven’t got all night.”

“I know exactly how much time you have, kitten,” he says, tugging at my belt. “Don’t rush me.”

“Oh, c’mon. This is bullshit, Sutter. You would be a domineering prick in the sack, too.” But I’m watching him remove my belt as if I’m not the person he’s taking it off, fascinated beyond belief by his hands. Those hands have pounded into my face.

My fists have pounded into his.

This is weird and it’s a train wreck—I can’t stop looking. Or being here. Or my dick from pressing against the fabric of my jeans in a desperate attempt to get free.

He tosses my belt off to the side and attacks my mouth, shoving his tongue inside like he owns the place. Collecting my hands, he pins the wrists together and breaks from kissing me long enough to slam them against the cupboards behind my head.

That’s when I moan, unbidden. I’m trying to hold that shit back. I don’t want him to know how much I’m enjoying this. Maybe I should bite him for good measure?

“Ow! What the fuck, Alderchuck?” He’s still holding my wrists against the wooden cupboard doors.

“I bite.”

“I’m the one who’s going to make you come or not tonight, kitten. I’d behave myself if I were you.”

“If you think for one second that I’m gonna—mmpph. Mmmmhm .” Yeah. Yep. I’m back to moaning straight into his mouth.

“You were saying?” he says.

Sutter ruins everything by opening his stupid mouth. I lean forward, inching my way to the edge of the counter to kiss him. We should make a no-talking rule. He’s better like this, bruising my lips with his kisses. I don’t need to hear him speak, ever, if possible.

I attempt to move my hands from under his grip. He slams them hard, pressing them into the wood. “Hold still, Alderchuck.”

A bolt of lightning goes through me. “Make me.”

“I intend to.”

His hand ghosts over my crotch, and I hump into it like the animal he’s proving that I am. Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Drunk on lust, unable to resist him for anything? I’d sell my soul to have him fill me right now.

As soon as he lets my wrists go, I jump forward and knock his hat off so that I can dig my fingers deep into his hair.

“Look how bad you need my dick, kitten.” He pops the button on my jeans. Yeeesssss. Finally. “Say you want me.”

“Fuck you, Sutter.” But I push my aching dick into his chest and squeeze him with my thighs. I also yank his hair for good measure.

“I’m gonna murder you,” he says.

“You need to,” kiss , “take your tongue,” kiss , “out of my mouth first.”

He’s not willing to do that and it eggs me on. I tug harder until he’s cursing me, testing the limits. Being hockey players, we’re used to brutality. However, I’m a little more beat up than usual and since he was the one I was beating on, I assume the same for him.

Huh. I wonder if…?

Letting my hand trail down his torso, I press into his side. “Ow! What is it with you? First, you bite me, then you tug the shit outta my hair, now you’re poking at places you know are fucking tender?”

I smile. “I made that tender.” My stick to be exact. I like to whack him with it when I think the refs aren’t looking. We do a lot of shit to each other when the refs aren’t looking.

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna to make you tender.”

With a yank, he pulls me toward him. Is he gonna try to…? Yep. He’s going to try to carry me. He holds under my ass and spins. I do my best to help, but he stumbles and then we’re on a one-way journey to the ground.

Like the gentleman he isn’t, I land on my back, and he lets me. His wolf paw of a hand catches my head though. “What was that, Sutter? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m close to two hundred pounds.”

He’s taller and bigger, but not by enough to do that.

“I could have if you’d helped me better, instead of acting like dead weight.”

“It’s my fault you dropped me on my back?”

“One hundred percent your fault.” He’s kneeling and has one of my ankles in his hand, removing my shoe.

Once again, I’m too transfixed to do anything but watch him. Mitch Sutter’s taking my shoes off. He doesn’t stop there, taking my socks off too. Then he plants himself over top of me, kissing me some more.

If you’d have asked me if I thought a fuck fest with Sutter would involve so much kissing, it would have been a hands-down no for me.

I don’t want to be on top. I’m right where I want to be, in fact, but I do want to live up to my Benduovr username. Specifically, the brat part. Hooking a leg around his ass, I flip us so that I’m on top of him. “If you don’t stop kissing and get to the fucking part, I’m gonna think you like me, Sutter.”

He growls, turning feral. “You fucking brat.”

I should count how many times I can get him to use that phrase tonight. Laughing, I kneel up and shed my hoodie jacket. Maybe my muscles will entice him. It’s his turn to watch me with careful eyes. They’re blue with a purple hue overlaying them. I didn’t know eyes like that existed.

“Up,” he says as if he’s some sort of caveman, incapable of using more than one-word sentences.

That deserves the eye roll I give it, but I get up and am crazy enough to extend a hand for him. He ignores it. Fine. His gaze never leaves me, and it definitely says he wants to eat me.

Spinning me around, he smacks my ass. “That way.” He points and I rub my ass. “Before you complain, you shouldn’t have bit me.”

He can’t see my gleeful smirk, which is a good thing. I’m gonna bite him a lot more before this night is through.

We enter his large master bedroom. It’s wall-to-wall glass, with what I’m guessing is a wicked view of the city in the daytime. There are white marble steps leading to his bed, and oh my god his bed. The headboard is built into the wall. It’s low to the ground, or I guess the plateau it sits atop. I know the league’s not paying him enough to afford this. “Must be nice to have rich parents,” I say.

“It really fucking is.” He removes the hoodie he used to conceal his identity—which I say was overkill now that I know who it is—and reveals the crisp white t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. It’s V-neck. It accentuates his fake tan. I spy a snake tattoo, winding up his right arm, disappearing under the cap of his t-shirt sleeve. There’s another tattoo on his left forearm. He’s moving too much for me to make it out properly, but I think it’s Roman numerals. Must be an important date.

I’ve got tattoos, too. They all mean something to me.

It dawns on me that we’re about to get naked. Being in locker rooms most of my life, I get naked in front of other men, sometimes many times a day. It never fazes me. But this? It’s giving me a thrill. Since the button of my jeans has already been opened—by him—I move to push them off my ass.

He bats my hands away. “No. I want to do it. Put your hands on my shoulders.”

“Are you always this bossy with your bedmates?” I ask, but I do what he says.

“Not all of them. I’m basking in the glory of finally getting to tell you what to do, Alderchuck.” The smile I get is unnerving because it’s absent of the usual rage I’ve come to expect.

I want to kiss him again. What does that mean?

He only yanks my jeans and boxers down at the back, leaving my cock trapped inside. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to make you pay.”

“There’s a long list of stuff you could make me pay for. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“For all of it. Everything.”

Oh, God, fuck.

The heat turns up another notch when he removes his shirt, unveiling the thickest abs I’ve ever seen, and the rest of his tattoos. He’s got a few of them. The mean viper coils up his arm, its teeth poised over Sutter’s collarbone. There’s a skull over his left shoulder with some kinda flowers behind it.

I try to take off my shirt, but apparently I’m not allowed to undress myself. This time all it takes is a look for me to drop my hands.

“That’s getting annoying.” I’m being generous with the word “getting”.

“What’s annoying is your disobedient mouth. I’m about to shove a sock in it.”

“No way. Artichoke, or whatever kinky bastards use. You’re not sticking your smelly socks in my mouth.”

“Alright. Then I’ll make you choke on my, what did you call it? Oh right, my monster dick.”

Better, but I don’t tell him.

He doesn’t use his dick, though. It’s his tongue again. I’d complain if he wasn’t so damn good at kissing. They’re full of needy hunger like he can’t get enough of me. His fingers find the crease of my hairy ass and toy between the mounds.

I whine, wanting to be skin-to-skin, and contemplate saying fuck you to his “let me be the one to undress you” rules.

Yeah. Fuck him. Why am I letting Sutter have all the say? Is it something I like? Yeah, but he’s clearly toying with me just to be a fucking prick. This isn’t real. I’m making too much out of his mild gentleness.

I push against his chest; he recoils, not expecting it. I take the opportunity to rip my shirt off. He pushes me back. “What are you doing? I said wait for that.”

“That’s nice, but the hair on my nuts is turning gray. We have planes to be on in the morning.” I feign a yawn like I’m bored, even though I’m the furthest thing from it.

“No fucking patience. If you were mine, I’d make you have patience, Alderchuck.” He says all this while ripping his clothes off, full of the rage I’m used to seeing. “Take your clothes off and get on the fucking bed. Face down.”

I take my clothes off, but I’m not getting on the fucking bed like a dog no matter how hot that sounds. I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Not rolling over for you, dickweed.”

“God damn it, you’re the most impossible brat.”

He said brat. I’m counting it.

Without warning, he heaves his naked body at mine, tackling me to his fancy-ass bed.

And then we maul each other. Years of real, honest-to-God frustration come out as a savage act of desire. There’s biting, lots of scratching, and manhandling as we take turns tumbling over the other and trying to position the other how we want.

He wins, latching his mouth onto my dick, and swallowing it whole. I can’t breathe for five whole seconds, arching my back and finally surrendering. I don’t run away from him anymore, letting him suck and corkscrew two burly fingers inside me.

I wanna come so bad, but he keeps his promise of not allowing it, backing off just in time to deny me as he expertly takes me apart. “Beg me for my dick, Alderchuck, or I leave you hanging.”

If he does that—he fucking would—I might die. My swollen dick begs me to beg him. Fuck your pride, Alderchuck. You need to take one for the team here.

Yeah, I might.

“Okay, fine. Fuck me, Sutter.”

“No. You can do better. Beg Top Dog to stick his monster dick inside you.”

“What a psychopath—I’m not calling you that.” His mouth pops off my dick. “Wait! Fine. Stick your monster dick inside me, Top Dog,” I say with little to no enthusiasm, but maybe just a hair of desperation.

“C’mon. Make me believe you.” He climbs over me so that his lips are next to my ear. “You won’t regret it,” he whispers.

There’s no reason for me to believe him. There’s more reason for me to believe this is all some elaborate ruse to get me to admit how badly I want his cock, only to kick me out.

What if…?

Aw, fuck. It’s a helluva time for Coach Meyer’s stupid “what if” speech to pop into my head. Even if I’m about to make the biggest fool of myself ever, what if it’s worth it?

I take a shaky breath and make my voice sultry. “Please, Top Dog? I need you to fuck me with your monster cock so badly, I’ll feel you all next game. I wanna feel your dick while I’m speeding down the ice.”

That sets him off. He slides his dick, wet with precum, along mine. He sucks a hickey at the base of my neck while he humps me, and then he reaches into one of the two bedside drawers for a condom and lube.

He makes a “turn over” gesture with his finger.

“C’mon. What’s your deal with that? Don’t wanna see my face?” I know what this is we’re doing—just a fuck—but I don’t know why I care if he pretends that I’m someone else while he fucks me.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

I don’t know what “it” is, but damn right he’s saying it. I wait.

“I have an ass fetish. Your ass is second nicest in the league, and I’m going to watch my dick go in and out of it.”

Well fuck. I raise a brow. “Second nicest?”

“Only second to mine,” he says.

“Naturally.” His reason’s hot enough to convince me, though. Even if he’s lying, I’m willing to pretend it’s true. “So long as you know it’s my ass.”

“I’ll know it’s yours, kitten.” He smacks the right cheek. Sting in the shape of a handprint blooms there. “Turn over.”

This time I do, with all kinds of vulnerability I’m not used to gripping to my insides. What the fuck, man? I’m a showoff. Everyone knows this. I especially like to show off when I’m in these kinds of positions because I do have a nice ass and I love being on display. Guys like Top Dog—I refuse to acknowledge him as Sutter for this statement—are who I dig for. The lone needle in the haystack.

To hide my shivering, I claw the sheets. I want this. My cock pulsates with need. If he doesn’t stick it in soon, I’m going to rut into the sheets.

He whacks my crease with his lube-greasy dick. Such a Sutter thing to do. I only get a moment to be irked about his antics, in the next, I get the full treatment of his tree-trunk dick. Even with all the work he did to open me up while he sucked me off, it’s still a slow glide on that first pass through.

“Oh, my fuck,” he says. “You’re tight. Gorgeously fucking tight.”

My insides smile. Kegels, man. Who knew you could do ass Kegels? Not me. My trainer taught me about them. Trainers are always talking about all kinds of weird shit and somehow that came up. I was interested.

He doesn’t go all the way in, pulling out only to coax his way in again. It’s much easier the second time through. “That’s it, kitten. Relax for me.”

I’m lost. Gone. Caught up in the burn and the fullness. He’s the biggest I’ve ever had. Easily. The guys are never gonna believe when I tell them ….

Oh. Oh, yeah, no. I will not be telling them about Sutter. This is the literal definition of sleeping with the enemy.

I can tell them I slept with a mystery man with an elephant-trunk cock.

“Move, Sutter. For the love of?—”

He moves. And spanks my ass.

Every nerve ending in my body ignites, and I’m pure arousal. He grips my hips and it’s nothing short of a pounding. Skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls of this tomb he calls a bedroom.

“That’s it. This what you needed, brat? A good fucking?”

My answer is a whine. I’m desperate to cum. He’s not done with me, though, and it’s his turn to dig fingers in my hair, pulling painful cries as I arch my back, wanting more of him. More, more, more.

“Harder. Harder, please .”

Now, my body’s sucking him in, swallowing his wet dick as he tries to keep the pace I’m demanding. The nerves and vulnerability? Gone. Washed away by a tidal wave of seedy lust.

“C’mon, Top Dog. Gimme your dick. Own me. Fucking take me.”

That does something. He snaps and pulls out, flipping me over. I don’t get the chance to miss his dick. He bends me in half and shoves himself inside, plowing me to death.

“Awww, didja hafta look at my face, Sutter?” I sound drunk, even though I haven’t had a drop to drink.

“Shut up, Alderchuck.” His eyes are soft for a brief moment and then they glow with rage again. “Grab your dick. Stroke yourself.”

I grip my dick in my long-fingered fist, but I don’t think he sees me anymore. He’s consumed and I’m burning up right along with him. His groans are long, his moans are short. There’s a lot of cursing.

There’s also, “Fuck, so fucking tight. That’s it, take it all, kitten. You look good on my dick.”

He’s uncontrolled and wild. He’s rough. With the position I’m in, all I can do is take it.

I can let go.

Dammit. He just had to be good at sex, didn’t he? This is my exact cup of tea.

I want to put my mark on him, so I rake my nails down the only place I can grab—the wrist holding him up over top of me. It’s a long hiss-moan as he absorbs the pain. I admire the other marks I left on his body during the game and then I lean forward, demanding a kiss.

That’s when he loses it. His eyes roll back. He freezes and then his dick pulses with cum. I speed up my stroking. I’ve been on edge for a while, all I have to do is let go of the restraint I’ve been choking my dick with, and my balls draw up just before steady spurts of cum shoot out of me.

He gets to cum into the condom. I cum on myself, painting my abs and chest. Running a finger through my chest paint, he sucks my cum off his finger.

“Did you just taste my cum, dude?”

“Yes.” He’s unapologetic.

The high of sex leaves quickly and bonelessness sets in. I should get the fuck out of here before I melt into this mattress. It’s a lot more comfortable than it looks. Sutter rolls to one side of me, watching, maybe waiting for me to explode.

I should. I just had sex with my arch-nemesis. It was just so good. It’s hard to regret mind-blowing sex.

Now’s the time I notice things like his crooked nose. I run my finger along it. “Why don’t you get this fixed?” Not like he can’t afford it.

“Because you’ll just break it again, Alderchuck, and the recovery’s a bitch to have done a few times a season.” I do not break his nose that often. “I’ll get it fixed once I’m done playing. If I still care. It hasn’t hindered me with the men.”

“If I’m not allowed to talk about my conquests then neither are you. Unless that rule has ended now that we’ve fucked?”

He scowls. “That rule never ends, especially now that we’ve fucked.”

“God, you’re weird. Fine.” I roll over, intent on getting up. All that tiredness finally sets in.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to the hotel. Hockey, remember?” His circuits must be fried. “Aww, did you want a widdle cuddle, baby?”

He glares. “No. I’m not done with you yet. Get the fuck back here.” He doesn’t wait for me to comply and pulls me snug to him. “Gonna fuck you so hard later, you’ll feel me every time you move on the ice.”

For more sex like that, I’m willing to lie here until we can both get it up again. Problem is I’m already drifting off …

S omething is trying to fry my eyelids from my face. What the fuck is that? Oh, it’s the sun. Bright, just coming over the horizon sun, bleaching my damn eyes. Holy shit. Who left the curtain open? We have blackout curtains in our condo for a reason. But I’m not at home in our condo. I’m not anywhere near home.

I’m still at Sutter’s. Jesus Christ. I check my phone, it’s five am and there’s a lovely message from Coach, telling us to get our asses to the rink for a “practice”. I say “practice” because it’s really probably just him wanting to yell at us for what we did on the ice against Boston. That was overboard even for us. If I fucking run, I can make it back in time for Coach’s six am meeting. Then I’m sleeping for the rest of the morning.

A whole bunch of evil theories run through my head. At the top of that list is Sutter luring me in here, locking me in his condo, and making me miss the game. I check the time. Okay, it’s still early. I have time, but I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

Sitting up, my bruised ass twinges. Shit. Flashes of the night return to me like I’m experiencing a bad hangover. I’m all chewed up from where fucking Sutter bit me. I have more bruises than I had when I got here, that’s for damn sure. He sucked places I didn’t know you could suck, leaving trails of deep dark hickeys. Fuck, I’ll be in a hoodie for a while.

I rub a hand over my face. Oh, God. Something comes back to me.

Me tracing my fingers over the bruise on his torso. Smiling about it. Murmuring things like, I did that.

Him nibbling down my wrist, under my armpit, and me squealing—yeah squealing—with laughter, before he kissed the place where he’d banged me up during a game. I did that, he said, echoing me.

Cute. That’s the only way to describe that sort of behavior. I don’t want to be cute with Sutter. It messes with my head. Sutter is nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he’s in the shower, drowning in it, or something. I scramble to find my clothes all the while flashes of the crude positions Sutter put me in so he could rail me until I forgot my name—which I did at one point—inspire me to move faster.

Normally, I’d be stoked about a round of morning sex after a night like that, sore ass or not, but all I can think about now is fleeing the scene of the crime.

I’m just sliding into my hoodie when Sutter strolls in, wearing nothing but a gray robe, and from the tenting in the front, he’s expecting a goodbye round. In his hand is a cup of coffee. When his gaze lands on me, he frowns.

“What happened, kitten?”

“You need to stop calling me that.”

“Not a morning person? Here, I brought you coffee.” He extends the mug; I hold up my hand.

“No thanks. I’ve got to get going.”

“I know when you have to leave, Casey. You have time for coffee.”

Casey? This has gone too far. I stand abruptly, he moves too quickly, and coffee sloshes onto his expensive bedsheets. I stride out of the room, leaving him frozen in place. The sweet scent of bacon hits my nostrils. He made breakfast. There are two plates of food on the small kitchen table near the window—there are too many damn windows in this place, exposing me—he was gearing up to have a normal meal with me.

My gut squeezes. I think I’m gonna be sick. It’s Sutter. My fucking rival, Sutter. I can’t do this with him.

Frantically, I look for wherever my socks and shoes got to when he took them off in here last night. I don’t see them, but there is a loud crash from the bedroom. Ceramic smashing against painted drywall. I cringe. Fuck my socks. My shoes are near the door. “Someone” arranged them neatly. Stuffing my bare feet inside, I run out the door.

S o. Sutter might want to kill me. Sure, we are usually trying to kill each other, but we don’t mean it. I think. Tonight, Sutter is out for blood, and he gets it. At some points, I’m not sure he remembers he’s playing hockey. His kill switch is on and he’s intent on crushing me into the ice.

I didn’t tell the guys who I was with all night. I made it out like it was a random Benduovr hookup. Something that used to be more common before Jack began shacking up with Coach.

Man, this game is seriously fucked. Not that I’m giving up, oh no, no. I’m just losing the will not to break his nose again.

“What’s the matter, Alderchuck? Sore ass?” Sutter smirks.

“I’m not the only one who’s butt hurt. Still mad you had to eat alone?”

“That’s it.” He lunges at me.

Our sticks are on the ice. I’ve got his jersey clenched in my fist. Mine’s tight in his hand. I’m hit with a wave of his scent and fuck, it means something to me now. We sweat on each other as our naked bodies slipped and slid that night. I couldn’t get enough of him.

He couldn’t get enough of me.

Jack saves the fucking day with his half-broken body, and we pull off a win. I’m not even worried about him and Mercy. They’ll get back together, that is, if they are even broken up—jury’s still out on that one—and he can stop being so sad. I’m gonna make it my personal mission to get him wasted tonight.

I wait around a bit for him, but when it’s clear he’s gonna be busy for a while yet, I take my stuff out to the van. My phone buzzes. It’s a notification from the Benduovr app. I know who it is before I open the app, which means I shouldn’t open the app.

Know what? I’m gonna listen to Gramma Droniak’s advice and block his ass. Slay, bitches. I open the app just so I can do that, but while I’m here, I might as well read it.

Top Dog

I brought your socks.

Shove them up your dick, Sutter.

Oops, I responded.

Top Dog

Get your ass to the damn dressing room, Alderchuck. Our side of the rink.

What an asshole. I’m not going. There’s no fucking way I’m going.

“Um, hey guys. I’ll be right back,” I tell them without explanation. Okay, fine. I’m going to him, but I don’t know why I’m going to him. Walking straight into enemy territory at that. The dressing room on the other side of the rink is nearly empty, just one or two guys I don’t recognize. Sutter is nowhere to be found. Bastard. He probably did this just to fuck with me.

“Alderchuck,” a voice calls from the beyond. The two guys glare at me for interrupting their peace even though Sutter’s the one who did.

I walk through the door to the men’s washroom area. “You’re really trying my patience, Sutter. Gimme my socks so I can go and never see your ugly face again.”

That’s not true. I’m sure we’ll play against each other next season. Unless I get pulled up—finally. Or he does, I guess. I won’t look directly at him ever again. Only long enough to zone in on a target.

Also, Sutter’s not ugly. Even with a crooked nose. I wanna rub my face against his mouthwatering stubble.

The door shuts and a lock clicks. When I turn around, Sutter is there, his strange eyes filled with the usual savageness, breath heaving. He’s downright sinful in his black t-shirt and dark-wash jeans. They accentuate the curve of his peach-shaped ass.

“Congratulations,” he says.

I step closer so that we’re toe to toe, my heart pounds in my chest. Why does being near him make my heart race now? “Oh, fuck off, Sutter. You can’t tell me you came here just to?—”

His hungry mouth is on mine, his firm hand snug into the roots of my freshly washed hair. He’s against me, I’m against him and whoa, the way he fucking kisses me. Like he’s craved nothing but me for a lifetime.

“You belong on my dick, Alderchuck.”

“Like hell I d?—”

He kisses me again, hot, savage, unrelenting. I should pull away. Push him away. Instead, I grip onto him for dear life, deepening the kiss by shoving my tongue down his throat.

“There you are, kitten,” he says.

“Don’t call me kit?—”

Warm lips catch mine and stubble scrapes my jaw. Sutter traps me against the counter, forcing me to grip the laminate edge, while he pops the button of my jeans. I tear at the hem of his shirt, ripping it off him like I’ve been starved for him. There’s no finesse to our movements. We’re uncivilized creatures. I need to be filled and he needs to fill me.

Like he did at his condo, he lifts me onto the counter, but instead of taking the time to kiss me, he bends me so that he can rip my jeans off. He preps me enough with his fingers that he can actually get inside of me with that hose he calls a penis, but other than that, it’s just raw fucking with his condom-covered cock.

“Did you come prepared, Sutter? Pretty bold of you to assume—oh god, oh fuck.”

He’s got me open and exposed for him as he thrusts in the most brutish of ways, while I moan shamelessly.

“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. C’mon, harder, Sutter.”

“Told you I’d make you purr for me. Now the whole arena can hear what a whore you are for me.”

The whole arena is a stretch. Maybe the two dudes on the other side of the door if they’re still there. But I approve of the dirty talk.

He thrusts with force, jolting my body all over the place. My left foot bobs up and down over his shoulder. All of his dick is in me and it’s not enough. I want more. How do I get more?

“Did you feel me, Alderchuck? Was your ass telling you who fucked you all game?”

“Ye-Yeah. God, yeah, fuck.”

“That’s it, kitten. This is what you need. A nice hard fucking on my dick.”

Our orgasms are as explosive as they were the other night, maybe more so. He removes the condom and chucks it in the trash as I wipe cum off my t-shirt.

“Here,” he says, reaching for his t-shirt, the one I tossed onto the counter in my haste to get on his dick. Is he giving me his shirt? I think he is.

“Nah, I’m good, Sutter. I’ve got an extra in my bag in the van.”

“Right.”

Now that the hot sex is over, awkwardness settles around us. All we have in common is sex. There’s nothing else. That breakfast would have been a disaster. We would have had to talk, which would have devolved as it always does with us into bickering and arguing.

“Um, guess I’ll see you next season,” I say, despite my vow to pretend he doesn’t even exist.

He shakes his head. “No. I’m moving up to the NHL. Boston. That was our last game together, kitten.”

The way he’s staring at me, like he’s trying to figure me out and what he should say next at the same time.

“Was this a goodbye fuck or something?”

“Or something,” he says.

“I bet you don’t even have my socks.”

“I have them, but not with me. I’m keeping them.”

“Ew. Weird, Sutter. Please tell me you don’t have a shrine of all your conquests.” I knew a guy who did that once. He collected the underwear of all the men and women he’d slept with.

I’m dressed now, leaning against the long counter with my arms crossed. He’s put his t-shirt back on, covering most of his tattoos. I’m making jokes, but I’m kinda gutted that I won’t see him again. The fucking has to stop, but I woulda liked to keep mopping the ice with his face.

“I’ll be in Vancouver, visiting my parents for a week this summer,” he hedges.

“So?”

His brows squeeze together. “Sooooo, we should fuck again.”

“Absolutely not, Top Dog.” I infuse as much sarcasm as I can into “Top Dog”.

“Why not? We’re good at this.”

“Because. This’ll be a fucking disaster and you know it.”

He steps forward and I cave a little, letting my hands drop to my sides to allow him into my sphere. His wide hand presses against my face, and he leans down to nibble at the spot on my neck he knows I like. I swear he thinks I’m food or something. The sensuous inhale is instinctive, filling my lungs with contentment while my dick tries to come to life again.

“C’mon, Brat Cat. Are you going to make me beg?”

“Begging isn’t a good look for you, Sutter.” It really isn’t. It’s just strange. But it’s working and I melt into him a little. He buries his face into my hair, and I know he’s sniffing me. “You’re making it weird again, Sutter.”

“You’ve become a damn craving, Alderchuck. If it’s weird for anyone, it’s me. Clearly, you’re fine. Completely unaffected.”

Not completely, but I have about a hundred reservations. Namely, Sutter’s a dick, like, an actual one. It’s why I began hating him in the first place. One night—okay, one night and a post Calder Cup win fuck—was fun, but I can think of a thousand ways that this could end badly and not a single scenario where this turns out well. I think we should get out while the getting is good. Leave on a high. That’s how Gretzky ended his career—on a high—and if there’s anyone to take notes from, it’s him.

My phone buzzes. It might be the guys telling me to get my ass out there, so I check it. It’s not them. It’s my agent.

Agent

Vancouver’s pulling you up. They want to sign a contract.

What about Stacey?

Agent

You’re a package deal.

Why didn’t you lead with that?

Jesus. I almost had a heart attack. Not sure if I would have gone without my brother though he probably would have convinced me to.

“Looks like I’m going to Vancouver, Sutter. We remain mortal rivals.” An odd pang of relief strikes me. Don’t know why. Our rivalry’s only bound to be ten times worse in the NHL.

“We should celebrate with my dick in your ass. Come back to my hotel.”

“I’m celebrating with my hockey brethren,” are the words I say, but my dick is crying that it might like just one more round. I mean, we already did it tonight anyway, this could be a continuation of that and then we stop forever. “Buuuut, I could be convinced to text you at the end of the night, Top Dog.”

Tog Dog is said with peak sarcasm.

He pulls me in by the lapels of my jacket. Sutter is ruggedly handsome—there’s no denying that—but from this angle, he’s something else. He’s pretty. Just his eyes, but it’s enough to shine through the rest of his face. “You’re mine tonight, Alderchuck.”

“You wish, Sutter.” I lightly slap his cheek. “Go drink with your fellow losers, but not too much, wouldn’t want you to have trouble getting it up later.”

“You little shit.” He cages me against the counter and presses a kiss to my lips. “You’re going to pay for that later.”

God, I sure fucking hope so.

VOTE1

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