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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.”
