Page 8 of The Hockey Stud

My hands, which had been tangled in his hair, slide down to his lower back and then to his firm, muscular ass. I squeeze, pulling him harder against me, grinding my cock down along the length of his. The pressure and heat between us build with every thrust. Levi lets out a deep, guttural groan, his whole body going rigid as he presses into me. I feel his cock twitch and pulse against mine, and I realize he’s coming, his release unmistakable. The sensation of him losing control, the way his body shudders against me, pushes me over the edge. I grunt, my breath coming in harsh pants as I surrender to my own orgasm, feeling the hot, sticky evidence of it soaking into my underwear. The intensity of it leaves me trembling, my mind spinning with pleasure, and for a moment, I wish this feeling could last forever.

The heat between us gradually fades, leaving the air thick with the remnants of our passion. Both of us are breathing heavily, our chests rising and falling as we try to catch our breath, eyes locked on each other in the quiet aftermath. I break the silence, my voice trembling with a mixture of warning and vulnerability. “Do not tell me that shouldn’t have happened, or so help me, Levi, I will punch you in the nuts.” My words hang in the air, half-serious and half-desperate, as I search his face for any sign of regret.

Levi hesitates for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processes what I’ve said. Then, unexpectedly, he bursts out laughing, the sound loud and genuine, cutting through the tension like a knife. After a moment, he sobers, meeting my gaze with a sincerity I hadn’t anticipated. “I’m not going to say that,” he assures me, his tone earnest. “Not after that.” The weight of his words settles between us, a silent agreement that what just happened was real and meaningful.

I clear my throat, feeling a strange mix of relief and awkwardness. “Okay then,” I reply, not quite sure what else to say, but grateful that he’s not pulling away emotionally.

Levi shifts uncomfortably, glancing down at himself and then at me, his face twisting into a grimace. “I need a shower,” he mutters, his voice low and gruff. He takes a step away from me, his movements a little stiff, and his eyes flicker first to my crotch, then to his own, both of us acutely aware of the evidence of what just transpired. He winces, rubbing the back of his neck, and I can’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh as the reality of the situation settles in.

“We could save water,” I say, raising my eyebrows in a suggestive manner, hoping to lighten the mood with a bit of humor.

Levi lets out a short, amused huff of laughter and shakes his head, clearly both entertained and exasperated by my attempt at a joke. “I honestly needed to talk to you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding in understanding. “It’s going to be a shitstorm.” The weight of the situation suddenly sits heavily on my chest.

“It won’t be long until the guys on other teams know,” Levi continues, his voice tinged with apprehension. “Then the fun will start with one or two of them. You know how it goes—rumors spread fast, and it only takes a couple of guys to make things difficult.”

“It already has,” I admit quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “McKenzie said shit to me on the ice earlier. That’s what set me off with him.” I clench my fists at the memory, frustration and anger bubbling up again. “He just threw it in my face like it was nothing.”

“Unfortunately, it’s out there now. We just have to deal with it.” Levi’s voice is steady but heavy with resignation as he reaches out and presses the button for the parking garage once more. The elevator lurches into motion, its mechanical hum filling the silence between us as it begins its slow descent. He glances at me briefly, concern etched in the lines of his face. “Let me know if you get any messages overnight,” he says, his tone gentle but firm, “and we’ll regroup tomorrow morning. We’ll work out a plan to make sure you’re safe on the ice, especially from those few players who, to put it mildly, might cause trouble.”

I tilt my head to the side, feeling a pang of disappointment settle in my chest as it becomes clear that Levi isn’t planning to come back to my place with me tonight. The realization stings, though I remind myself that I haven’t actually invited him. Just as quickly, I acknowledge that he hasn’t asked me either, and the uncertainty lingers between us. Letting out a heavy sigh, I fix my gaze on Levi, silently willing him to look at me. When his eyes finally meet mine, I muster the courage to speak, my voice soft but hopeful. “Come home with me?”

“No!”

I clench my jaw tightly, feeling frustration bubbling up inside me. “No! Seriously? That’s all I get?” I demand, my voice rising with disbelief and irritation.

Levi doesn’t even flinch. He just looks at me with that infuriatingly calm expression and says, “You got a lot more in the elevator.” His words are cool and dismissive, as if everything that just happened meant nothing at all.

At that moment, the elevator doors whoosh open with a mechanical sigh, breaking the tense silence between us. I hesitate for a split second, searching his face for any hint of regret or apology, but find none. With a final glare at Levi, I stride past him, my footsteps echoing in the garage. As I pass, I throw a sharp, “Fuck you!” over my shoulder, unable to contain my anger any longer.

He calls after me, his voice echoing faintly behind me, but I refuse to turn around or acknowledge him. I focus on my destination, determined to put as much distance as possible between myself and the asshole I just left behind. My heart pounds as I make my way to my vehicle, every step fueled by a mix of indignation and hurt.

Thoughts of Dover lingered in my mind and kept me awake for most of the night, making it nearly impossible to get any restful sleep. Despite this, I have managed to get through the morning without feeling too exhausted, thanks in large part to the two large cups of coffee I have already consumed today. The caffeine has helped to clear my head and sharpen my focus, so I actually feel reasonably alert. In fact, I have come up with a plan to address the situation Dover now finds himself in.

The first thing I need to do is check whether Gemma is in her office. If she is, I intend to speak with her and ask her about Fletcher, hoping she might have some insight or information that could help. However, I’m conflicted about bringing up the trouble Dover is currently experiencing. Gemma is such a genuinely kind person, and I know that if I tell her what’s going on she will blame herself.

Meanwhile, Dover has been subjected to harsh criticism and relentless scrutiny on various social media platforms throughout the night. The volume of retweets and reposts related to the situation has increased at an alarming and exponential rate, which is a significant source of concern. The sheer speed and scale of the online response make it difficult to manage or contain the narrative. However, if I am honest with myself, I have noticed that there is actually more support than negativity in the comments and posts, which makes me question whether I should be as worried as I am. Still, my primary responsibility while I am on rotation here from Ellison Security is to ensure the safety and well-being of the team.

But Dover is not just another assignment to me. Over time, it has become clear that he is much more than a job. It’s about time I accept the importance of Dover in my life.

A gentle knock on my already open office door draws my attention, and I look up to see Wyatt Peters, the owner and general manager of the Vikings, casually leaning against the doorjamb. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a hint of purpose in his stance. “Got a minute?” he asks, his tone friendly but carrying the weight of someone who rarely has time to waste. I nod in acknowledgment, setting aside the paperwork I’d been reviewing.

“Always,” I reply, gesturing toward the chair positioned in front of my desk, inviting him to sit and make himself comfortable. “What brings you to my door?” I inquire, curious about the reason for his visit, since it’s not every day that he personally drops by.

He steps inside, his expression thoughtful. “Two things,” he begins, holding up two fingers for emphasis. “First of all, I wanted to check in and see how your first week back is going.”

I offer a small smile, shrugging slightly. “Not much going on, so it was a pretty slow day,” I answer, implying that the transition back into work has been uneventful so far.

Wyatt shakes his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as if amused by my response. “I meant, health-wise,” he clarifies, his gaze steady and concerned. “No issues?” he asks, making it clear that his primary concern is my well-being rather than the workload, which is why I reply honestly.

“A few twinges here and there, but I’m good to go,” I say, trying to sound reassuring even as I feel a faint ache in my side. I offer a wry smile, hoping to lighten the mood and show that I’m not taking my recovery lightly. “Don’t worry,” I add, my tone earnest, “I have no intention of putting myself out of action again, so I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” he replies, his voice clipped and firm, but he doesn’t elaborate further.

The silence stretches between us, growing heavier with each passing second. When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to continue, I gently prompt him, trying to nudge the conversation forward. “You said two things,” I remind him, my curiosity piqued.

“That I did,” he acknowledges, his voice tinged with reluctance. He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers catching briefly in the tangled, disheveled strands as if searching for comfort or clarity. After a moment, he lets out a loud, frustrated sigh that seems to echo off the bare walls around us, filling the room with tension. His eyes flicker restlessly, darting around the room as he searches for the right words to express what’s on his mind. “Rosie is already aware of what I’m about to tell you,” he finally says, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “In fact, she’s the only one who knows besides me.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, signaling that what he’s about to reveal is both important and secretive.