Page 52 of Poetry On Ice
Yeah, I’m touching myself. You?
“Mm, yeah, me too,” I say aloud.Fuck, I hate how stupid he makes me.
I manage to type and send a nearly-legible message.
Ye
And then I lose my faculties.
I flick back and forth from the dick pic to the photograph of his face as my fist works in earnest. I use the dick pic to amp myself up and the photo of his face to slow down. Deep, steady pressure finds me and attacks fromall angles. My head tingles, and I swell and grow even thicker in my hand. I try to slow down to make it last longer. I flick to the picture of his dick. It’s too much. Too good. The pressure and promise of pleasure are irresistible, almost overwhelming. I’m already solid steel, hard as I can get, but I somehow get harder. I switch the pictures again, and my mind goes blank. Pleasure erupts and jets out of me in thick, hot waves. I come so hard I feel unsteady.
It’s only after I’ve cleaned up the mess on my chest and pulled up the covers that I realize I didn’t come to the sight of McGuire’s ass or the curve of his dick. I didn’t come to his pecs or even his thick, muscular thighs.
I came to the sight of his face.
21
Robbie McGuire
“Who’s keen for dinnerat my place next weekend?” I ask. “How’s Friday night?” We have the day off and the next game’s a home game, so I think it would work well.
I’m with Luddy and Bodie and a bunch of the other guys. We’ve just finished rewatching last night’s game, breaking down plays that worked and those that didn’t. For once, even Coach Santos had his work cut out, trying to find plays that weren’t shit-hot. Most of the team has already left and the last of us are in the parking garage, about to head home. Like always, Decker is on the periphery, on the outside looking in.
“It’s Louis’s birthday,” says Luddy, “but we could do our next day off for sure. I think it’s the following week, Sunday.”
“I’m in,” says Pejic.
“Is Beth coming?” asks Bodie.
“Nah, doubt it,” I reply.
“Why not? You should ask her to come, Robbie. She’ll have a great time.”
“Doubt it,” I say again.
“How come?”
Hmm, how do you say ’cause she finds hockey and hockey players dull as shit’ in a nice way?
Car doors slam and brake lights paint streaks of red on thick concrete walls as the guys disperse. Everyone is either in for dinner at my place or has promised to check with their partners and get back to me.
When I get to my car, there’s a lone figure leaning against the car parked nearest to mine. A dark, sexy-as-fuck figure. A huge, burly guy with a thick, nearly-black beard and an aura of pure sex around him.
My heart skips a beat and makes up for it by beating three times in rapid succession to recover.
“What d’you say, Ant? You coming over for dinner at my place, week after next, on Sunday?”
“I dunno, you got a sofa or chair for me to sit on?”
As a matter of fact, I don’t. I’ve gone around and around in circles shopping online and haven’t found anything I like enough to pull the trigger on. I think the bottom line is you have to sit on a sofa to decide whether you like it, and I haven’t had the time or inclination to go shopping recently.
“No,” I admit.
“You know you can afford to buy that shit, don’t you?” His voice and words are accusing and judgmental. His eyes are the exact opposite. There’s a low sheen in them. A slight glimmer that makes them look soft. Approachable almost. Not approachable exactly, but approachable adjacent.
“Mm-hmm, I do know that.” I nod sagely and go in for the kill. “And you know you owe me twenty grand, right?”
His nostrils flare and he draws a quick breath. He looks up to the left of me and works his jaw to release the tension he holds there. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “About that, I’ll have my interior designer call and set up a time to meet you. She’ll hook you up, and I’ll pay the bill.”