Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey 5)

West waves a hand. “It’s not that. Sort of. I mean, yeah, we were together, and our relationship was open, but I didn’t care who he slept with until …”

“Until?”

“Him and Asher.”

I almost fall off the couch. “Your brother slept with your boyfriend?” I can’t wrap my head around that. An open relationship is one thing, even if I don’t understand it, but siblings should be off-limits, right? Right? Fuck, I think I’m showing my age.

“Asher didn’t know.”

And just like that, I warm to West even more at the defensiveness in his tone. Even after that, he’s still quick to protect his brother.

“Ezra and I were never officially together—like I said, it’s complicated—but I ended it when I left the NHL. No one knew we were together.”

“But Ezra crossed that line.”

West rubs at his chest, and I track the movement, a sinking feeling hitting my gut. “Yeah.”

“You had feelings for him.”

“Yes? No?” He shakes his head. “I guess I always pictured we’d be more, but Ez is … he’s still figuring himself out. He’s an out and proud gay man, but it’s like he doesn’t know how to be that without showboating to prove a point.”

“What point is that?”

“That you can be a gay pro hockey player, and it won’t slow you down or hold you back.”

“You don’t hate him?”

“No way. We were always there for each other, and even though I’m annoyed at him now, I know we’ll get over it. One mistake doesn’t ruin a friendship like ours.”

My next question is one I want to bury and never think of again, but I need to know. “If he wanted you back, would you go there again?”

“No.” West meets my eyes suddenly, and his answer is so definite I believe him. A weighted moment passes between us.

His phone sounds from inside his pocket, and West groans before pulling it out. “It’s Zoe. Asher’s home.”

“Take as much time as you need to, then.”

“Thanks. It’s nice having a friend.” He looks at me, and nope, we’re not playing that game.

“West?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come here tonight?”

He averts his gaze. “Like I said, I had nowhere else to go, and … if I’m honest, I can’t get our night out of my head. It took me away from everything for a little while, and it was the break I didn’t realize I desperately needed.”

I move toward him, giving him a quick second to stop me, but his hands find my hair, and he closes the distance. Our mouths clash together, teeth clinking against teeth as his lips part, and my tongue finds his. My kiss is all desperate desire, driven by how much I want to touch him, how much I want to make him feel.

I reluctantly pull away. “I’m going to grab something, and I want you naked by the time I get back.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Trust me. I know exactly what you need.”

“Get me out of my head,” he begs.

It makes a low growl build in my chest. “Gladly.”

West’s eyes darken, and he’s tugging off his hoodie before I’ve even left the room. I grab some massage oil, and when I get back …

Fuuuuck.

He’s lying across my couch, completely naked, lazily stroking his hard cock.

I lucked out. Damn did I luck out.

“On your front.”

He immediately rolls over, and my stare drops to his ass. It’s fucking perfect. The way his back dips right before the swell of those two perfect cheeks. Completely smooth and unblemished.

I press down on my dick as I approach him and straddle his thighs. “This might be cold.”

“What are you—”

The massage oil hits his back, causing his muscles to flinch. I press my lips together at the hiss that leaves him as I recap the bottle and set it aside.

I have no clue what to do when giving a massage, so I stick to following the muscles in his back. My hands glide over his skin, rubbing and kneading, and whenever West lets out a small moan, I go over that spot again and again. He’s so responsive, even as he relaxes under my touch, and I take my time, working from his neck, to his shoulders, along his spine until I have his lower back in my hands.

Then I move to his ankles, slowly making my way back up both calves, past his knees, and my dick throbs when I get to his thighs. I use long, smooth strokes, up higher and higher. My fingers run along the crease of his ass, dip between his legs, brush his balls, and graze his taint.

“Shit, Jas …”

I’m putty at the sound of my nickname, sliding my hands down to his knees and back up again, higher this time, until they close over his ass.

West thrusts forward into my couch, seeking friction, but I’m not going to give it to him. Not yet.