“Eyes on me,” he says softly. “I want to see you when I’m inside you.”
I hold his gaze as he pushes in—slow, steady, inch by thick inch until he’s buried to the hilt. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming in the best way. We both moan at the same time.
“Fuck, Gisele.” His voice is straight gravel. “You feel like heaven. So tight and hot and wet around my cock. You’re my girl.”
He starts to move—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot inside me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans my name.
“I love you,” he says, never breaking eye contact. “I love you so much. I love being inside you. I love the way you squeeze me. I love every sound you make.”
His pace builds, steady and powerful, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit while he thrusts deep. The dual sensation is too much and not enough all at once.
“Bennett—please—”
“Come for me, baby.” His voice is rough, urgent. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Let me feel how much you love me inside you.”
I shatter with his name on my lips, clenching around him so hard my vision whites out. He follows right after, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he spills inside me.
We stay locked together afterward, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. He doesn’t pull out. Just lowers himself carefully so his weight presses me into the mattress in the most perfect way, his face buried in my neck.
“I love you,” he whispers against my skin. “I’m never letting you go.”
I thread my fingers through his hair and hold him close.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper back. “I love you too.”
And for the first time in my life, I believe it completely.
We fall asleep that way—tangled together, his cock still half-hard inside me, the weight of years of almosts finally settling into something real and permanent and ours.
So I’m staying.
Feel It To Win It
Bennett
It’s a funny thing, watching someone finally loosen their grip on everything they thought they had to carry alone. The plays get cleaner. The timing gets sharper. And suddenly, the thing they’ve been trying to force into place all season starts moving exactly the way it was meant to—because it was never supposed to belong to justone person in the first place. Trust has a way of looking risky right up until the moment it works. And once it does? Well. That’s when the real momentum starts.
Playlist: “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor
Emotion Night was Slammy’s idea.
Or rather, Emotion Night was whoever is inside Slammy’s idea, which is a distinction that matters philosophically but not practically, because the result is the same either way; our home arena has been decorated with oversized emoji faces, the scoreboard is running a feelings tutorial between warmups, and the promotional flyer that went out to season ticket holders this week reads, in large cheerful letters, COME FEEL YOUR FEELINGS WITH THE SORROWVILLE SLAMMERS.
Franklin looked at that flyer for a very long time when Pru put it on his desk. He did not say anything. He signed the approval form. He has not mentioned it since.
The building is packed. That’s the first thing I notice when we come out for warmups—a full house, which we haven’t had on a Tuesday in two months. Apparently the people of Sorrowville will show up for feelings in a way they haven’t been showing up for hockey, which says something about this town that I’m choosing not to examine too closely right now.
I find her in the stands during warmups, which I always do, a habit I stopped pretending wasn’t a habit approximately six weeks ago. Section 112, six rows up, wearing my jersey—not because I asked her to, she just started doing it somewherearound week three and I have never recovered—talking to Joely beside her with the animated ease of a woman who has been friends with this family for years.
She doesn’t see me looking. I look anyway.
“Cap.” Shep materializes at my elbow, skating in a loose circle around me like a very large, very enthusiastic satellite. “Are you ready for Emotion Night?”
“I’m ready for a hockey game.”
“Same thing tonight.” He grins. “Slammy’s got a whole bit planned for between periods. Crowd participation. Shout your feelings into the void, that kind of thing. Very cathartic.”
“Please skate away from me.”
