Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance by Jami Davenport (shoe dog free ebook txt) 📗

“I hope so.”

Our mouths mated wildly with each other amid groans and whimpers. Panting, she pulled back slightly. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment for too long.”

“Too fucking long,” I agreed. I yanked open her car door, and she got in. As soon as I climbed in on the passenger side, she was all over me again. We steamed up the windows in the car, making out like the insatiable, hormone-driven, twentysomethings we were.

Naomi, in an impressive display of limberness, climbed over the console and straddled me. “I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.” This was insane, but insane, daring sex with a chance of getting caught appeared to be our jam. I unbuttoned the sweet little dress to reveal her lace-clad breasts, currently heaving from sexual arousal. I hooked my thumbs under the straps and pulled until her nipples were bared. I loved her tits. They were large but not too large, just right for my big hands, and those nipples haunted my dreams. Leaning down, I sucked one heavenly tip into my mouth, then the other. She writhed against me.

Naomi’s hands tore at my fly, and within seconds, my cock sprang free.

“Condom,” she hissed.

I managed to fish my wallet from my back pocket after banging my elbow on the door and drawing a giggle from Naomi. She grabbed it out of my hand and unrolled the rubber over my throbbing dick.

“Fuck me now,” she ordered, and that was an order I planned to obey. Yes, ma’am. This boy aims to please.

She lifted her hips and guided herself down onto my cock, inch by excruciating inch. She was killing me, but I let her take her time. I closed my eyes and wallowed in the sensation of my hardness entering her moist, inviting softness.

Powerful emotions rampaged through my body, telegraphing a warning I wouldn’t heed. This overpowering passion wasn’t just lust. We’d progressed way beyond lust into territory I’d never been in before with anyone else. We were in a zone glorious in its wonder, infinitely frightening in its power.

Naomi began to move up and down, and I threw back my head and shut my eyes, allowing my body and mind to just be one with the experience. No more analyzing, just to be.

I was where I needed to be with who I needed to be with.

I was finally whole.

And I needed that as much as I needed her.

25

Sex on a Dryer

Naomi

Since our first official date on Sunday, Pax and I had been insatiable, horny college students. He’d spent every night in my dorm room. The bed might be small, but we weren’t complaining. The size made for great cuddling. Besides, it was cold outside, and cold permeated the drafty windows.

I’d never had a relationship that sexually intense. I was in a constant state of lust, and so was Pax. We got quite good at sexting to the point I had to shut off my phone in class or embarrass myself.

That weekend the team had a home doubleheader with Boston College.

The twins’ infamous chemistry was shot all to hell, but the team was still winning. Patrick and Paxton scored goals in both games. They were both playing well, just not playing well together. On more than one occasion, Coach Garf’s eyebrows drew together in a perplexed expression and Coach Keller’s frown deepened more than usual. Neither coach interfered with the tension between the two brothers, opting for them to work it out in their own time, and I was certain they would. After all, the team was flying high and a sure bet for the Frozen Four.

Mr. Graham didn’t attend the games that weekend, nor did my father. A blessing in disguise, if you asked me. I didn’t have to juggle my many conflicts in an attempt to make everyone happy.

After Saturday’s game, I met Paxton outside the locker room, and we headed with the team to the Biscuit. Pax ordered his fave wings, chicken Parmesan, and I ordered Thai spiced, along with a pair of beers.

“Where’s our captain?” Tate asked Paxton as he paused on his way to an empty seat.

“Don’t know.” Paxton shrugged and dug into one of his wings. Tate hesitated, as if debating on saying more, then continued to an empty seat at the large table.

I ran my hand down Paxton’s back between his shoulder blades, and he leaned forward so I could rub his back, a post-practice/post-game ritual we’d developed in the short time we’d been a couple. No one seemed surprised to see us together, which was a relief.

Patrick strode in a few minutes later with a babe on each arm dressed exactly how I’d once dressed and balanced on ridiculously high heels. He paused when he saw us.

“Good game, tonight, bro,” Paxton said. I was proud of him for making the first move and forcing Patrick to talk to him.

Patrick’s eyes narrowed to accusing slits and simmering anger. “You’d be playing great if you were on a one-man team, but you’re not.” Without another word, Patrick navigated the tight space between tables and sat down at the end with his two picks of the night.

Paxton glared after him. “Selfish bastard,” he muttered. “It’s fine if he’s the one doing the scoring and holding on to the puck. It’s not okay when it’s anyone else.”

“He likes the limelight.”

“And he’s always had it. Never had to share.”

“Give him time. He’ll figure things out,” I told Pax as I continued to rub his tight, bruised muscles. Boston played a very physical game, and Paxton had been slammed against the boards multiple times. Patrick had fared far better, and I wasn’t altogether convinced that he hadn’t set up a few of those rough plays on purpose.

“I’ve been giving him time. If anything, he’s getting worse.”

“Maybe it’s coming to a head then, and you two should bare your souls to each other.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet.” Paxton’s gaze slid down to the end of