Page 83 of The Goalie in Room 1

The thought made me giddy as fuck. He didn’t want me theoretically. Not maybe. Not because I flirted until he got flustered. He wanted me.

Really wanted me.

Even when I wasn’t there to provoke him. When there was nobody to perform for. Nobody to tease. Nobody to catch the way his eyes sometimes lingered too long.

He wanted me.

Fuck.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and headed toward my room. I made it three steps down the hall before a grin pulled at my mouth. A second later, a laugh escaped before I could stop it.

Oh, Doc. You are so completely fucked. The look on his face. The flush of his skin that the orgasm couldn’t explain because it bloomed once he realized I caught him.

Poor bastard. He was probably in there contemplating changing his name and leaving the country.

I would be. Maybe.

Probably not. I wanted to get him filthy as fuck and clean him up.

I pushed open the door to my room with a crutch, stepping inside. I stopped and glanced around the room.

What the fuck had I been looking for him for?

Another look at the room and its furnishings left me baffled. I had no fucking clue.

Did I know before I went next door to the room he’d been sleeping in since I told him I was a big boy and didn’t need a night nurse?

Had I just not been ready for the night to end?

Rubbing my hand over my face as I racked my brain, I realized that whatever it had been, seeing Dr. Thaddeus Vale jerking off, calling my name, and covered in cum my mouth still watered to lap up like a damn dog had apparently wiped it from existence.

I maneuvered to the bed and sat, dropping my crutches within reach before stretching my right leg out. The brace kept it straight as I leaned back against the headboard.

My brain immediately replayed what I’d seen.

Nope.

I grabbed my phone. Thirty seconds of scrolling, and I hadn’t absorbed a single fucking thing on the screen. Not even paused on any of the curated hockey content on my social feeds.

All I saw was his head tilted back. Buried in the pillow. Neck arched. Eyes closed. Cock glistening. And…my name on his lips. A garbled cross between a moan, a groan, and a shout.

“Fuck.”

I tossed the phone beside me, slid off my pants, and opened the nightstand drawer.

There would be no sleeping until my body stopped reminding me there was an extremely attractive solution sleeping down the hall.

Not happening.

Couldn’t happen. I’d chosen this. More importantly, I still chose it. Every damn day.

But…that didn’t mean I was fucking dead.

Or blind.

Or immune to the fact that the man I’d been trying very hard not to fuck for months had apparently been taking care of the problem himself.

Lube drizzled over my throbbing dick from the upended bottle I held with one hand. The coolness made me shiver. My hand wrapping around my shaft drew my body taut until I arched. My eyes closed so tight a kaleidoscope danced in the darkness.