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Fuck, it feels so good.
I set a rhythm, a pace that echoes the pounding of my heart. Each thrust sends shivers up my spine, a symphony of pleasure playing along my nerves. My free hand balls into the sheets, clutching at the fabric as if anchoring myself to reality, while the rest of me threatens to drift off into the haze of bliss.
“Goddamnit,” I grunt, the sound guttural, punctuating the air with each dive deeper into the welcoming embrace of the toy. My cock twitches, jerking with a life of its own as it rides the waves of ecstasy, swelling with every stroke. I can feel the pre-cum adding to the slickness, easing the glide, intensifying the friction in all the right ways.
My breathing grows ragged, heavy pants filling the space between gasps and moans. It’s a heady mix of sounds, the slap of skin on silicone, the labored breaths, the almost animalistic noises that spill forth unbidden. My hand moves faster now, spurred on by the crescendo of sensations that threaten to overwhelm.
The pressure builds, coiling tighter like a spring compressed to its limit. I’m close, teetering on the edge, chasing the release I know is just moments away. And then, suddenly, Abby’s moans and cries pop into my head.
Her raspy voice when she begged for my cock, begged for me and Soren to fuck her harder.
And then, with a few more fervent pumps, I cross the threshold. My body tenses, every muscle locking up as I shoot my load into the flesh light, my climax ripping through me with a force that leaves me momentarily breathless.
“Shit… shit…” I pant out the words, my voice a hoarse whisper against the storm of gratification that still quakes within me. The toy feels different now, filled with the evidence of my pleasure, sticky and warm. I slow my movements, milking every last shudder from my trembling body, reluctant to let go of the sensation even as it fades.
I’m left spent, a sheen of sweat coating my skin, the heavy thud of my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. The afterglow is brief, a fleeting respite in a world that doesn’t pause for anyone. I clean up, the ritual complete, the beast within momentarily sated.
Crawling back into bed, I stare at the ceiling, feeling the thrum of anticipation in my veins.
The last thought before I drift off is a silent prayer to the hockey gods, a plea for strength, for victory. It’s a dangerous thing, asking for change. Because when the ice cracks, you never know what might come spilling out.
Gail
The cold bites at my skin as I spot Luce, her silhouette unmistakable even under the harsh glare of the arena lights. She’s a beacon of confidence, and as I rush to her side, her grin is all the armor I need against the winter chill.
“Hey, Gail,” she greets me with her characteristic enthusiasm, linking her arm with mine like we’re about to step onto a runway rather than into a riotous hockey game.
“Ready to dodge the paparazzi?” I tease, but Luce just rolls her eyes, a move that says she’s done this too many times to count.
“Let’s go,” she commands, and suddenly we’re moving, slipping past the throngs of fans who’ve been waiting for hours. They press against barriers, their faces painted in Sabertooths colors, eyes filled with envy as we walk past them—all without the wait.
“Lucia! How’s Sawyer feeling about tonight’s game?” a reporter shouts, the question cutting through the buzzing crowd. Cameras flash, hoping to catch a glimpse of vulnerability, but my friend strides on, unbothered.
“Think they’ll ever get tired of asking the same things?” I whisper-laugh.
“Never,” she replies, her voice a mix of amusement and resignation.
Once inside, the warmth envelops us. We shrug off our coats, and Luce’s signature look comes into view. A form-fitting, custom-sweater that hugs her lithe figure, cropped just enough to show a teasing hint of midriff. The Sabertooths’ emblem blazes across her chest, right above Sawyer’s number.
Since I’m neither a partner with someone special to cheer for, nor a hardcore fan, I haven’t dressed in the Sabertooths colors. Instead, I’m wearing a plain black top that hugs my curves just right, its asymmetrical neckline adding a touch of intrigue. One long sleeve drapes elegantly down my arm, while the other side is left bare, creating a striking contrast.
It’s so short I know that if I raise my arms, it’ll ride up and reveal a glimpse of my underboob. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take tonight, and with my skin-tight black pants and stiletto ankle boots, the outfit makes me feel incredibly sexy. Tonight, that’s just what I need.
Though I contemplated leaving the wig at home, showing off my beautiful hair, I decided against it at the last minute. What can I say, I’m a chicken-shit and not at all built for open rebellion. Besides, knowing I’ll be removing it along with all inhibitions at Cupid’s Court later tonight, makes me feel like… I don’t know… a femme fatale or something.
“Looking good, Gail,” Luce smiles, giving me a once-over that leaves a flush of pride warming my cheeks. “I swear, your boobs look phenomenal. Bigger.”
“Must be all the chocolate I’m eating,” I croak.
Luce isn’t wrong, my boobs have gotten bigger. But it’s definitely not chocolate that’s the reason, even if it is my biggest and main food group these days.
“Whatever you’re doing seems to be working.”
“You’re not looking too bad yourself. I mean, I wouldn’t do you, but you know…” Trailing off, I shoot Luce a wink.
She bursts out laughing. “Shut up.” Taking my arm again, she weaves us through clusters of eager fans. “Best seats in the house are waiting.”
We make our way toward the VIP section, and as soon as we’re there, we slide into our seats. The family section is a buzz of camaraderie and nerves, wives and girlfriends chatting like old friends reunited. Lucia’s presence commands the space like she’s the sun, her smile radiating warmth as she introduces me around.
