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Christ, I’m a cocky motherfucker. But it’s something that seems to come hand in hand with being a hockey player. And I can’t lie; it certainly helps with hookups. It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman; they all fall for the arrogant charm of a hockey player. Although I must admit, I think the muscles and stamina also help.

HotScore: Pfft, you have no idea who you are dealing with here. I can handle anything you have. Trust me.

Fuck.

I wish I could throw caution to the wind, send him my address, unlock my front door, and wait for him to find me hard and ready for him.

Maybe one day. But it’s going to take more than a pretty dick pic to really earn my trust.

Instead of just opening my camera, I take it a step further and switch it to video. If he’s feeling anywhere near as desperate as I am, then I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.

“Oh fuck,” I groan as I work myself over for the camera. I close my eyes as the thought of him watching has me racing toward my release.

But the closer it gets, the more the image in my head morphs. It’s no longer a faceless man with an athletic body and a more-than-generously-sized dick in his hand.

It’s him.

It’s Garrett.

“Fuck,” I grunt again as my balls begin to tingle with my impending release.

I cut the video and slow my pace, edging myself. Sweat beads my brow, and my chest heaves as if I’ve just completed a set of suicides as I mute the video and send it over.

I keep my movements slow as I wait for him to watch. It’s hard—pun intended—because I know he’s watching me right now. I want to come. No, I need to come. But not yet. I need more from him first.

HotScore: Fuck me, that’s hot. What I would do to you if I were there…

RoughingTheModel: Tell me. Tell me what you would do.

HotScore: I’d slap your hand away for a start. If I were there, no one would be touching that dick but me.

My cock jerks happily in my hand. I spend way too much time jerking off alone. I crave another man’s touch every fucking day.

RoughingTheModel: Then what?

HotScore: I’d lick you like a fucking popsicle before sucking that huge dick into my mouth until I was choking on it.

“Fucking yes. Fuck,” I groan, my movements getting faster and more erratic as the seconds pass.

RoughingTheModel: Can I come in your mouth?

HotScore: I guess that all depends on how long we’ve got. You could blow in my mouth, or you could fuck me and come in my ass.

My breathing falters. Damn, he’s good at this.

RoughingTheModel: We’ve got all night, muse. All fucking night.

HotScore: Then I guess you’re coming in my mouth this time.

HotScore: Then we switch because I’m fucking desperate to feel your lips wrap around my aching cock.

A loud groan echoes off the walls of my bedroom.

When I first got to LA, I had little choice but to live in a hotel for a couple of weeks. It was worth it, though, to find this place. It’s bigger than anything one man could ever need. But I’m not sharing walls with nosey neighbors, and that’s worth every fucking dollar I paid for it.

RoughingTheModel: Fuck yeah. I bet you taste so good.

HotScore: You know it the kind of good you could get seriously addicted to.