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Every muscle goes limp, my head falling against his shoulder as I ride out my orgasm.
He kisses me as I shudder from the remaining shocks of pleasure that tingle against my skin, then, without hesitation, he flips me onto my back. His lips trail down my neck as he hovers above me. His teeth occasionally grazing my skin as he alternates small bits of pain with pleasure.
My fingernails dig into his back as I wiggle beneath him, ready again.
He chuckles at my excitement, and he lines the tip of his dick against my entrance, sinking inside me to the hilt.
“Sean,” I moan. It feels so good. I feel full and stretched in all the best ways, with his big, strong body encasing me from above.
He pumps harder. His hands find mine and he laces our fingers together. It’s amazing and toe curling, and as he brushes his lips against my neck, incredibly intimate.
My heart aches with an overwhelming realization, my feelings for Sean are growing and growing fast. The thought that I could fall in love with Sean is the thought that tips me over the edge, My second orgasm bursting through my body as his follows after.
We stay like that, clinging to one another, while the aftershocks of the orgasms fade. He kisses my nose and then lets his forehead rest against mine. Our breathing syncs.
CHAPTER 25
SEAN
Despite how well things have gone since I came home, I can’t escape the brutal truth that Coach Tommy is out to get me. And as a major game approaches, I find myself starting to focus more on hockey than my family in hopes that I preemptively avoid his criticism. Unfortunately, that means that I’ve missed the last few runs with Astrid. And I feel guilty every time I look at her, and I look at her a lot.
It’s always been hard to balance life with my profession. But it seems harder than usual.
But hockey has become all-encompassing, and no matter how much I promise my actions and thoughts will show otherwise, the dominating force of the sport claims my focus, eroding the time I was previously able to devote to my family.
And I hate it.
Hockey used to be my escape. A passion that seemed intertwined with who I was as a person. Now it has morphed into something entirely different, devouring my time, energy, and attention.
Every time I look at Astrid, I can sense the growing void between us. Her runs become a daily gesture, proving that I have failed her with every passing morning. My absence claws at her as much as it does me. It is a relentless reminder that my dedication to the game is more than my dedication to anything else.
I don’t like this part of myself the way I once did. Before, my ability to singularly focus was an asset. Now it feels like a punishment.
I slap my stick on the ice, hating myself more with every missed goal. I skate around the net, pushing myself faster and faster. Cory shakes his head as we line back up and run the play again. Everything feels wrong, from the way my gloves sit against my skin to the way my stick feels in my hands.
A nagging doubt creeps into every area of confidence I once held with certainty. The weight of everyone’s expectations bears down on me and I, more often than not, find myself questioning my own abilities and reasoning.
Coach blows the whistle, and we take a break. I take off my helmet and grab my water bottle, squirting the water into my mouth and wiping my forehead of sweat.
“Two minutes. And then take your scrimmage positions.”
Cory skates over to me, pushing out his left blade to come to a stop next to me. “You alright, man?” he asks, taking off his helmet.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
He squeezes his water bottle in his open mouth and then tosses it back to the equipment manager.
I put my helmet back on, not wanting to continue this conversation.
He must get it because he nods his head and pats my helmet before skating off.
Coach blows his whistle again, signaling for us to take our positions. I usually like scrimmages against the guys. I yawn, skating to center ice. I’m just tired today. It’s one of those practices that I count down the minutes until I get to go home.
Cory wins the face-off and barrels towards Mike, but Ryan is there and steals the puck, passing it to me. I take off down the right, maneuvering past Sam, faking left, and then taking it right. He slams into the boards behind me, barely missing checking me. I take it around the net and pass it back to Mike.
The defense attacks and Mike clears the puck to Tony. Tony passes it to me. The puck hits the sweet spot of my stick. I feel good. I have a clear shot. I take it. High right. The goalie deflects it over the net.
“Fuck,” I say, slamming my stick against the ice, hustling to get back and take a defensive position.
