“I didn’t even do any–” he protests, but I cut him off mid-sentence, my lips smashing onto his again. There’s little finesse to it, just a raw hunger.
Hart opens his mouth willingly, his tongue pushing against mine in a fight for dominance. Long fingers hold my jaw in a tight grip, tipping my head back while I bury my own into his black hair.
Time completely slips me in this moment where one kiss turns into two, then three, then four. We only break apart to take a gulp of air, like deep sea divers without oxygen, then go back in.
My chest is heaving under the padding, pressing against Hart’s body and effectively trapping him in place. I’m vaguely aware of his hands wandering over my sides, desperately looking for a way under my gear.
“Fuck, I need– take that off!” Hart growls when he finally pushes me off him.
I tilt my head to watch his trembling hands as he pulls on the Velcro of my elbow padding. I allow him to loosen the gear just enough to slide down my arms and drop next to our feet. My patience comes to a sudden end when he goes for my chest protector next.
Grabbing both his wrists, I slam them over his head, pinning them with my left so my right hand can start its own discovery tour. Hart is strong enough to fend off my hold with ease, but for now he lets me take charge, his dark lashes fluttering. It’s not fucking fair that an asshole like him looks so stupidly pretty. People will swoon all over him next year, when that face pops up on national television.
A soft groan escapes him as my hand slips under his athletic shirt. His skin is damp with sweat, abs flexing under my touch. I push the hem up further, my left hand reluctantly letting go of his wrists to help with the task, quickly revealing a broad chest.
The moment the shirt is pulled over his head my lips are on his pecs, greedily licking over the pale skin, the salty taste of his sweat tingling on my tongue.
“Fuck,” Hart moans out. His hands have dropped to my hips, resting there so lightly I barely feel their touch.
“Meant to do this.” The murmured admission slips me by accident as I think back of showering together and talking about life goals. I don’t know if he heard, so I close my teeth around his left nipple and give it a playful tug to gain his attention.
Hart groans, the echo bouncing off the walls as he rises to the tips of his toes. I snort into his skin, my palms sliding over his ribcage. His back opens up like a goddamn fan, which explains why hitting him on the ice feels like driving into a cement wall.
“What do they feed you kids on the West Coast?” I grumble, my fingers diving under the waistband of his jock shorts.
Hart’s eyes snap open again, his gaze darting to my hands, then back to my face. “I...uh. I drink a lot of milk,” he tells me, and I can’t help a rough laugh at that.
“I don’t fucking give a shit; it was a rhetorical question, you moron,” I tell him with a shake of my head. My biggest concern revolves around getting those form-fitting shorts downhis thighs, but Hart’s hands interrupt me the next moment. This time his fingers wrap around my wrists, holding them firmly.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
What kind of stupid question is that?
“Obviously not,” I laugh humorlessly as I try to get out of his grip. “But the alternative to blowing you right now is punching you. And that will definitely cost me a few games.”
Hart stares at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. His swollen lips part on what I assume will be another lecture, but next thing I know he’s grabbing me by my shoulder pads, pushing me onto my knees. Hooking my fingers into the hem of his jock shorts, I pull them downward on my way to the floor.
His cock springs free of the cup, smooth and cut.
“Fuck,” I breathe as I take him in. I already snuck a glance or two in the locker room, but it turns out that asshole is a grower. Of course he couldn’t have the decency of packing a small penis.
I lean forward to bury my nose in his groin, inhaling deeply. The musky scent of sex and sweat floods my nostrils, and my own hard-on twitches. I reach down to adjust myself in my cup just as Hart buries both hands in my hair, pulling my face flush against him.
Without thinking twice, I reach around to smack his ass, which has him jerking away, cursing.
“Careful,” I warn him, tilting my head back so I can accompany my words with a glare. “Keep your hands off. You move once, and I’ll leave you here, hard and with your cock out.”
Raising both hands in a gesture of surrender, he frowns down at me.
“Have you done this before?”
I raise my brows at him. “You know, some of us don’t kiss and then run to tell all about it on Instagram.”
“I don’t–” he protests, but whatever he meant to say gets lost in a moan when I grab the base of his dick, then put my mouth on it.
Opening up slowly, I cover my teeth with my lips as I let him slide into the hot wetness of my throat. Hart moans again but keeps his arms loosely hanging by his sides, adhering to my words like the good boy he is.
It takes me a moment to figure out a good rhythm for both of us, bobbing my head up and down as my tongue laps along the underside of his head. His hips are jerking with enthusiasm, but I catch them with my left hand, pressing his pelvis against the wall.
