My other leg was lifted and locked around his waist too. The door rattled behind us with each snap of his hips as we collided deeper. His fingers dug into my thighs, holding me up as he drove forward without mercy. His breath came in sharp grunts against my ear.
I locked both legs around him, pulling him even deeper as every thrust sent sparks through me. That built a tight coil in my gut. My back slid slightly against the door with each movement. His body supported most of my weight now. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Please.”
He kissed me again, messy and desperate, his tongue sliding against mine, before he pulled his head back. “We’re going to get caught.”
“Good.”
Matt could return any second, but neither of us could stop.
“I’m almost there,” Aleksey said hoarsely against my neck. “I’m almost—”
His rhythm started to falter, his hips snapping faster and more erratic as I felt his control slip. His muscles tensed under my hands as he gripped my hips tighter, letting go of any restraint. Every desperate slam into me seemed to match the frantic pounding of my heart, making me buck against him, starving for more.
The intensity ramped up so fast that my vision started to blur. Every punishing thrust pushed me to the absolute limit, building a pressure in my groin that made my breath hitch and my muscles clench tight around him.
A few moments later, Aleksey went completely rigid against me, and a choked groan tore from his throat as he drove into me with one final, bruising thrust, pinning his hips flush against mine.
He held himself there, grinding slow and deep while I felt him throb inside me, his cock pulsing as he finally let go and flooded me with his hot cum.
The feeling of him spilling inside pushed me right over the edge. Untouched, from the sheer intensity alone, my climax hit hard as a choked cry tore out of me. My body stuttered against his, shocks of pleasure ripping through my gut while my dickjumped and spurted hot white ropes between us, soaking wet patches into the front of Aleksey’s shirt.
I bit down hard on his shoulder to muffle the sound, my hips jerking against him until my legs were shaking. When my thigh muscles finally gave out, I unhooked my ankles from his back. Aleksey loosened his grip just enough to slip his cock free before we slid down the door together and hit the floorboards in a heap.
The cold attic floor stung my bare ass, but the only thing I could focus on was the ragged sound of us gasping for breath.
I pressed my forehead to his sweat-dampened skin. “This is probably going to blow up in our faces,” I muttered, my voice still rough from trying to catch my breath. I closed my eyes, tightening my grip on him. “But I just don’t care anymore.”
Aleksey didn’t reply. He just let out a ragged, exhausted breath against my neck and kept his arms locked around me, holding on like I was the only thing keeping him together.
Chapter 20 - Aleksey
Ever since Karter and I crashed on his bedroom floor, I had survived on pure caffeine, worked night shifts at the Food Mart, and worn a path into the floorboards of my room.
The waiting was chewing me up from the inside.
Karter stubbornly refused to let me take the fall alone. He wanted us to face the administration together, and like an idiot, I agreed to stand my ground. But bracing for the school to officially end my career was driving me out of my mind.
Since my suspension banned me from official team practices, I was forced to maintain my fitness alone. But the summons finally came late this afternoon.
I was out on the empty rink, skating suicide sprints until my lungs burned, just to bleed off the restless energy. Coach Corby walked out of the tunnel, banged his hand against the glass, and pointed up toward the administrative suites.
We both knew what that meant.
The sweat had already dried cold against my neck by the time I reached the top floor of the athletic building. I spent the entire walk up the stairs finalizing my strategy. Hastings could not legally railroad a scholarship student without proper representation. So, I needed my academic advisor, Mr. Morris, in that room to act as a shield.
The administrative wing was dead quiet. Thick carpet muffled the sound of my sneakers as I walked straight into the Athletic Director’s office without bothering to knock.
Gerald Hastings sat back in his oversized leather chair. He held a coffee mug with what looked like his grandkids’ facesprinted on the side, trying to look like a friendly neighborhood grandfather and not an administrator paid to make problems disappear. He offered me a polite, sympathetic smile that did not reach his eyes.
“Take a seat, Aleksey,” Hastings said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
“No,” I stopped right in front of the polished mahogany desk and planted my feet wide. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared down at him and let my sheer size dominate the room. I was a hockey enforcer, not a scared kid begging for permission to stay and play. “I want Mr. Morris in here before we start talking.”
Hastings let out a long, disappointed sigh and placed his mug down. The ceramic hit the wooden tabletop with a sharp clink.
“There is no need to be so defensive,” Hastings said, folding his hands together on the desk. “And I have already briefed Mr. Morris. He understands the situation.”
I clenched my teeth so tight that the muscle ticked near my scar. “Then pick up your phone and get him down here. I deny the Title IX complaint entirely, and I am not having an unofficial chat about it.”
