Page 89 of Poetry On Ice

It’s one of those things that happens slowly, then all at once.

“McGuire,” I hiss when I’m gone and he’s finally scraped himself off the ice and has his beautiful ass on the bench next to me. I raise my glove to my mouth. He keeps his head turned away from me, like we agreed, and I talk quietly. So quietly even the guy sitting directly behind me can’t hear me, but I talk all the same. “When we get to the hotel, I want you like that.” I move the pointer finger of the hand in my lap fractionally and point to where he was stretching.

He doesn’t nod or move, but he clears his throat to show he heard me, so I continue, “I want you on your hands and knees. Ass in the air, so when I open the door, it’s the first thing I see.” I shift my leg slightly toward him. I don’t mean to do it, but I can’t help it. “I want you on all fours so I can teach you what happens to little sluts who mock-fuck the ice.”

“Gee, Ant. I’m sorry you think I acted like a slut.” He snorts behind his glove but quickly catches himself.His voice is dripping with mock innocence that borders dangerously on sarcasm, yet it still somehow manages to sound like music to my ears. “I was only trying to let my boyfriend know I was thinking of him.”

My chest inflates involuntarily. I can’t help that either. It does something super embarrassing to me every single time Robbie calls me his boyfriend.

I know I should stop talking, but whatever the thing is that takes over my mind and body when I’m near Robbie McGuire is in command now. “I want you like that, but I want you naked.” Blood is thundering in my ears, roaring as it rushes through my veins. “I want you prepped,” I say, and he hums in agreement.

His reaction time is a little slower than usual, but not by a lot. Still, I can tell I’m affecting him, and I like it. I more than like it. I love it. “Not just cleaned out, okay? I want you open as well. I want you on the floor, legs spread nice and wide. I want your hole stretched out and pre-lubed…like a good girl.”

His face is still turned from me, but there’s a broad, cocky smile in his voice when he speaks. “You’ve got yourself a deal, number eight.”

Then he throws himself over the board and into the thick of the game. As if it’s not enough that he’s already turned me on so much I can barely see thepuck, the little fucker has the nerve to score a blinding goal and make it look easy.

35

Ant Decker

I check the hallwayagain. It’s well-lit but completely deserted so I push the door open just enough that I’m able to slip through it. I close it quickly behind me.

The room is like any of a thousand other hotel rooms I’ve stayed in across the country. Staid, practical décor with a luxurious slant and soft, ambient lighting that makes the space glow.

It’s different, though, because this room comes complete with an almost totally naked Robbie McGuire on his hands and knees with his legs open wide enough to show off the cleft of his ass and a dark, shadowy hint of his hole. There are reams and reams of golden skin on view. So much skin. Skin stretched over tightly corded muscles in his back, arms, and legs. Skin soft to the touch. Smooth. Hot. A perfect, silky vista broken only by a slutty pair of socks that have been pulled up to his calves and a hot-pink lacy jock strap that cuts into the perfect mounds of his cheeks.

I’m not expecting the lace.

I lose my footing and slump back, briefly crumpling against the door as I fight to regain my composure. My hand is on my heart, clutching at my chest, and I gurgle the words, “Hot. So fucking hot.”

Robbie looks over his shoulder and smiles. It’s the sweetest, most sinful smile I’ve ever seen. I’m lost in it. Drowning. Swimming. Living. Only managing to clamber back into a fully upright position when he arches his back hard. A deep line dips in his back, traveling up his spine, and his cheeks part. His hole is slick, glittering with lube, just like I told him.

That jolts me out of my stupor.

I tear my clothes off. Jacket. Shirt. Shoes and socks on the floor. I drop my pants and underwear, pushing them down as I fall to my knees and crawl to Robbie. I’m aching, shaking with need, tangled in my boxers and pants, unable and unwilling to do a thing about it.

I make a low, abhorrent sound when I get to him. A sound born in the type of hunger and lust that drowns out my humanity.

I spit savagely on my cock and stroke it twice. “You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

He sounds far away and close at the same time. Like maybe he stopped existing as something separate from me a while back, and I’m such a dumbass that I’ve only just noticed the change.

I take his cheeks in both hands and pull them apart, keening again when a trickle of lube runs out of him. I coat my dick in it and notch my head into the tight heat of him with the pad of my thumb. His ring is soft and relaxed. Prepped just like I asked him. He swallows me whole, his muscles pulling and pushing on me. Sucking me in and catapulting me straight into heaven. I thrust once. Twice. Long, deep strokes that reach inside me and strangle my cock. My balls. My brain. The pleasure is insane. It’s acute. An avalanche. More concentrated goodness than I’ve ever felt. So much, I can’t contain it.

I can’t.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

I can’t contain it.

My hips buck and my entire body starts spasming. Pleasure pours out of me like a raging inferno. It ravages me, burning me to a crisp, turning me inside out, and leaving me weak and immobile when it’s over.

“Oh fuck,” I rasp. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Robbie.”