Page 52 of Goalie interference

It wasn’t my fault that his way of helping turned us both on.

Whatever–it felt good.

There was just something so relaxing about this–letting him use me and having my breathing be controlled by him. It was centering me and making my dick weep for him.

And I was nearing my end.

I made some garbled noise that Thayer knew well–it meant I was about to cum. I kind of hated getting myself off these days, but it was better when it was from something like this, so I didn’t mind it today.

Thayer took hold of my head again, sinking in deep and holding there with a deep, rumbly groan…exactly what I needed. My hand turned frantic, jerking me off while my head went light from the lack of air.

When I finally came, the sound vibrated up his cock, my throat closing around him and coaxing his release from him, too.

Thayer slipped out of my mouth slowly, fixing his shorts and kneeling to talk to me. He kissed my worn-out face once, his hand firmly on the side of my neck to keep my head upright.

“Feel better, baby?” he asked, chuckling at my lazy head nod, because speaking was out of the question until I got some water. “Good. I love you, baby.”

“Love..you,” I croaked, my throat scratchy and hoarse.

“Come on, let’s get you some water and clean you up,” he hummed, kissing my jaw and helping me up, slowly.

◆◆◆

Okay, maybe sitting on my knees like that, legs spread and stretching the already aching muscles, wasn’t my smartest plan.

My leg felt fine after Thayer worked it out, but kneeling like that for that long must have done something to irritate the muscle, because it hurt! I made it through the first two periods with only minimal irritation, but by the time I took the ice for the start of the third, it was kind of…burning.

But I'd played with worse, and we needed to win.

It was only game one of the Frozen Four, and we were playing Notre Dame again, so we needed this win. I refused to lose to them again because my leg kind of hurt–it was those fuckers last year who hurt it in the first place.

Like, their only chance at beating us was by taking me out.

“Ash,” Thayer called out, calling me in from the net. I skated over quickly, swallowing down the twinge of pain that came from the weight on my right leg. “Is your leg okay? You’re leaning on your left again.”

“Yeah, it's fine,” I mumbled, nodding at him. “Aches a little, but not bad–we can deal with it after–”

“Ash, if it hurts–”

“I’m fine,” I said slowly, calmly.

Thayer wanted to stop me–I could see that. I could see him fighting his inner self, trying to trust me and not break our deal.

He’d been so good about not pulling me unless I asked for it, so though it went against his better judgment, he nodded his head and sent me back out.

The puck dropped, and Notre Dame was all over it.

Our team was leading them 2-1, but it was a lead that could be lost with one wrong move from me. I had to be a wall in this net all night, playing through exhaustion, pain–all of it.

The play moved down by the net, so I got low and ready, leaning towards the play on my left. My eyes were tracking the puck, blocking it once, twice, but never getting it far enough away for our team to take it.

Notre Dame was fighting hard for it, pushing and shoving even their own teammates to stay in the scuffle.

Someone pushed, and another shoved, forcing a Notre Dame behemoth into me until my leg finally gave out. I bent and slipped on the ice with another one of my guys falling onto me, just as my head smacked into the ice.

It hurt.

Pain radiated through my fucking skull like a gong going off in a silent room. My helmet suddenly felt too tight, and every noise was happening in warped waves in my ears. I couldn't really open my eyes without it feeling like knives…