Page 23 of The Hockey Stud

"Levi..." he breathes out.

"I'm serious," I press on, my grip tightening on his hips. "I don't want us to be alone anymore. I don't want to spend another night wondering if you're safe or driving across town like a maniac because someone is targeting you. I want you with me. Every day. I’m finally awake and accepting that we’re meant to be together.”

For a second, the silence in the room is deafening. Then, a sudden, beautiful light breaks across Dover’s exhausted face. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even take a breath to think it over.

"Yes," he says, a fierce, breathless laugh escaping him. "God, yes, Levi."

Before I can even process the rush of relief, Dover lunges forward. He catches me completely off guard, throwing his arms around my neck with so much momentum that we both go flying backward.

My back hits the mattress with a heavy thud, and Dover lands right on top of me. The sudden impact sends us both laughing—a wild, hysterical release of all the terror and adrenaline we’ve been holding onto for the last few hours.

He pins my wrists to the bed, his knees settling on either side of my hips. His damp hair falls into his eyes, a brilliant, beautiful contrast to the nightmare we just escaped.

"You're stuck with me now, big guy," he whispers, his eyes blazing with a heat that has nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with us.

In our frantic scramble, the knots holding our towels together completely give way. With a couple of impatient tugs, the fabric is kicked free, tossed carelessly over the edge of the bed to join the wreckage on the floor.

I reach up, my large hands gripping his hips, pulling him down against my bare skin. The unspoken “I love you” is vibrating in the air between us, thicker and truer than it has ever been, completely erasing the ghost of Steven and the fear of the outside world. Right here, tangled in the sheets, there is only us.

The laughter fades into a heavy, charged silence as Dover looks down at me. The adrenaline that had my heart pulsing in terror just an hour ago twists into something entirely different—something fierce, electric, and desperate.

I reach up, my palms sliding over the warm skin of his lower back, pulling him down until there is no space left between us. Dover lets out a low, shaky breath against my lips, his hands moving from my wrists to bury themselves deep in my damp hair.

When he kisses me this time, the gentleness from before is completely gone. It is bruising, urgent, and hungry. It feels like we are both trying to wash away the memory of the gun, the plaster dust, and the hatred that tried to tear us apart. Every brush of his lips against mine is an assertion that he is alive, that he is whole, and that he belongs right here.

"Levi," he groans against my mouth, his fingers tightening in my hair.

I shift my weight, rolling us over until I am hovering over him, framing his face with my hands. He looks up at me from the pillows, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark with a vulnerability that makes my chest ache. I kiss my way down his jaw, tracing the frantic pulse in his throat with my tongue, making him shiver beneath me.

Every touch feels heightened, fueled by the terrifying realization of how close I came to losing him. I grip his hips, anchoring him to the mattress, reminding myself with every press of his skin against mine that he is safe. He arches into my touch, a breathless sound escaping him that echoes in the quiet bedroom, completely erasing the outside world.

My mouth seeks out Dover's hard and twitching cock, feeling the heat and tension pulsing beneath my lips. As I lower my head, I let my tongue trace a slow, deliberate path from the base of his balls all the way up to the sensitive tip, savoring every inch of his arousal. The salty-sweet taste of his precum lingers on my tongue, a testament to his excitement. Dover shudders beneath me, his body trembling with anticipation and pleasure at each movement of my mouth and tongue. I pause for a moment, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze, wanting him to see the desire and intent in mine, before I slowly take him deeper into my mouth, enveloping him in warmth and wetness.

His eyes roll back in pleasure, and his hips thrust upwards with increasing urgency. I suck on him harder, drawing a sharp curse from his lips as he loses control for a moment. His fingers become tightly tangled in my hair, gripping me with desperation as I continue to take him deeper into my mouth. While I focus on pleasuring him, I realize that I’m grinding my hips against the bed, seeking out much-needed friction for my own aching arousal. Despite the growing need in my body, I refuse to let my mouth leave him, determined to keep him on the edge. I want to feel him climaxing down my throat, to taste every bit of him, and to savor the sensation of his release as it happens.

I feel myself teetering on the edge, about to lose control and erupt against the bed at any moment, completely powerless to hold myself back. The tension in my body is overwhelming, and I realize that resistance is futile. Just as I surrender to the sensation, Dover suddenly begins to release, hot and insistent, down my throat. The unexpected rush makes me grunt involuntarily, my body shuddering with pleasure. In that intense moment, I make a sticky, undeniable mess of the covers beneath me.

And when the final wave of fatigue and relief sweeps over us, we drop into the tangled sheets, utterly spent. I rip the dirty sheet from under us before crawling up the bed and lying down. I draw Dover up against me, his head resting solidly on my chest. I hold him close in my arms, pull the blanket over our bare shoulders, and kiss the top of his head, for good measure.

“Tomorrow’s a new day, and I can’t wait to explore the future with you,” I say, my voice trembling with anticipation and hope for all that is yet to come. The words hang in the air between us, filled with promise and possibility, and I feel my heart swell with emotion. Overcome, I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to steady myself against the overwhelming tide of feeling. I reach out, my hand trembling slightly, and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and reassurance that his presence brings. “Yes,” I whisper softly, my answer carrying all the certainty and commitment I feel in this moment.

As the quiet settles around us, I listen intently to the even, restful beat of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest is a comforting rhythm that soothes my racing thoughts. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us in this peaceful cocoon. Finally, I allow my eyes to close, surrendering to the serenity that envelops me. I know, with a deep and abiding certainty, that he is exactly where he belongs—right here beside me. And I realize that I, too, am exactly where I am meant to be. We are together, and that is all that matters.

The moment I cross the threshold of my apartment after my evening run, a strange sensation washes over me—I immediately sense that I am not alone. The air feels charged, different somehow, and as I pause just inside the doorway, I take a slow, deliberate breath. There’s no mistaking it. A delicate, floral perfume hangs in the air, one that I don’t recognize. It’s unmistakably feminine, and I’m certain I haven’t invited any women over, nor have I had female company in my apartment before. The unfamiliar scent unsettles me, making my heart beat a little faster.

I bend down to untie my running shoes, kicking them off with a little more force than usual, my mind racing with questions. With cautious steps, I move further into the apartment, entering the open-plan living space. I stop at the entryway, scanning the room for any signs of disturbance or intrusion. My gaze lands immediately on a purse, carelessly tossed onto the corner of the sofa as if its owner had been in a hurry. The sight of it makes my eyebrows knit together in confusion and concern. I look around, searching for any other clues, but everything else appears untouched and exactly as I left it before my run. The cushions are in place, the coffee table is tidy, and the kitchen counter is free of clutter.

Just as I begin to wonder if my imagination is getting the better of me, a familiar sound breaks the silence—the bathroom door creaks open. That particular creak is distinctive, a high-pitched groan that has persisted no matter how many times Dover, my former roommate, and I tried to fix it. We had oiled the hinges, tightened the screws, and even tried to wedge a piece of cardboard into the frame, but nothing seemed to work. The noise is unmistakable, and it sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. I freeze, listening intently, knowing that whoever is in my apartment is about to reveal themselves.

I make my way in that direction, and as I walk, I catch the familiar scent of my shower gel, the one labeled ocean blue, drifting through the air. It’s fresh and crisp, instantly reminding me of my morning routine. I glance into my bedroom, taking a moment to survey the space, and see that everything is exactly as I left it—clothes folded neatly on the chair, the bedspread still rumpled from when I got up, and my books stacked on the nightstand.

Feeling reassured, I continue down the hallway toward what used to be Dover’s room. As I approach, I suddenly stop dead in my tracks, my entire body freezing with shock. My mouth falls open in disbelief, and my eyes widen so much they nearly pop out of my head. Standing in the middle of the room is a stunningly beautiful woman—and she is completely naked.

I must make some sort of strangled, startled noise, because the woman whirls around to face me, her eyes wide with surprise. She lets out a sharp scream and grabs for a towel, hastily wrapping it around herself to cover up. Her cheeks flush a deep, embarrassed red, and I can see her swallow nervously before she manages to speak. “You scared me,” she says, her voice shaky.

I blink rapidly, still trying to process what I’m seeing and make sense of the situation. My mind races with confusion as I blurt out, “Who are you? And why are you naked in my apartment?”

She clutches the towel tighter around her and looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “Can I get dressed first and then have this conversation?” she asks, her tone clipped but polite.