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Grandma Tazinski – who was quite the hellion – once told me that a smart pig never shits where he sleeps. Grandma Taz was full of quaint old farm sayings like that. The gist of what she meant was that you shouldn’t engage in dubious behavior where you work because it could have undesired consequences, like you end up covered in excrement.
As Mike and I fell back into his bed that chilly morning, I knew in the back of my mind that if anyone found out about us, we’d both be neck deep in slurry. He’d be fired for some sort of ethical breach and I’d be riding the pine for several games since Coach had already warned me about Mike and how he wasn’t here for my personal use. Yet, here I was, about to use the hell out of him for the second time in less than twelve hours.
No, using wasn’t the right term. That sounded tawdry and cheap. Making love to him, that was the proper phrasing. He was soft and malleable this morning, the fire leaping to life between us hot and bright white, but not as manic as our coupling last night. We took our time. We touched and tasted, teased and tongued, exploring each other thoroughly, tenderly, passionately, lovingly.
I kissed the laugh lines by his beautiful eyes. He tasted the back of my knees. There was no hurry. We had time. Morning skate would wait. Numbers would wait. The world would wait. Right now, I had this man under me, guiding me into him, arching up for more depth, cooing like a dove when I was seated fully inside him, and nothing was more important. God he was perfection, and, for this brief moment in time, he was all mine. We moved in unison, his body rising up to meet my thrusts. As the passion climbed, I gathered him up off his back, urging him to tumble backward with me, so that he was now on top. Mike liked that, oh yes, he did.
“Oh fuck, Nick,” he panted, gyrating his hips in a wicked circle that had me gasping for breath.
“Love when you…call me Nick,” I grunted, reaching up to cup the back of his head and pull him down for a kiss. His tongue swept over mine as his body tensed and spasmed around me. Slick, hot cum coated my belly. I held him firmly but gently in place, tongues tangling, as I joined him, rising up into him for that final, deep, mind-bending come stroke.
His lips slipped from mine, sliding over my cheek to my throat as I held him to me to ride out the tremors of release. He lay on top of me for a long time, his bones probably as rubbery as mine. My fingers moved slowly up and down his spine. I turned my head to find his kiss-swollen lips because I needed more of his taste. Mike moaned softly into the languid kiss, a sated soft sound, then lifted himself up a bit, locking his elbows as his hands rested on either side of my head.
“You liked that, eh?” I teased and was rewarded with a coy little smile that I’d carry around with me, deep in my heart, all day.
“It was okay.”
I cuffed his ass playfully and got another low, sultry moan. Oh, so that was interesting. I’d lock that little nugget of information away for next time. My numbers man wasn’t as uptight as he presented it seemed.
“Hey, you want to maybe do this again?”
Mike stared at me. “Yeah, maybe.”
Grinning like a damn fool, I wrestled him to his back, kissed him breathless, and then, sadly, had to leave the bed to take care of the condom. When I came back, warm wet washcloth in hand, he was sitting among the rumpled bedding, his hair at crazy angles, his glasses on his nose, and his luscious body still glowing and pink from sex.
“I was trying to run the numbers in my head,” he confessed after I sat down beside him and began wiping cooling semen from his skin.
“Numbers for what?” I glanced up from his stomach, which I had just noticed had several small love marks on it. Fuck that was sexy as hell seeing my mark on his skin.
“This has an enormously large chance of blowing up in our faces.”
I tossed the rag to the nightstand and cradled his face, the rasp of his whiskers sinful sweet on my palm.
“I’d take some shrapnel for you, Mikey.”
He sighed as if resigning himself to the eventual loss of a limb. “Same.”
I kissed him back into the sheets, and we would have probably gotten into things again, had my phone not chose that moment to start ringing.
“Probably for the best,” Mike murmured when I peeled myself off him and went off to find my pants lying in the living room. Knowing Goog’s ringtone, I muttered at my best friend as I dug into my pants, Beyoncé reminding me that girls did, in fact, rule the world. Goog worshipped Beyoncé.
“Goog, this better be important.” I was not feeling the love for my bestie right now.
“Hey, Taz, we still meeting at Eenie Beanie for coffee?” I stood in Mike’s living room, naked, staring at the sun breaking over Carlisle, cursing Goog’s need to eat his damn blueberry muffin with me every game day.
“Sure,” I sighed, knowing that Mike had been right about the phone call interrupting us. Real life beckoned.
“Awesome! See you in an hour.”
Mike padded out in a pair of those sexy jersey briefs, his hair still a mess. Seeing him in the morning light made my stomach feel warm like I’d just knocked back a shot of top shelf cognac.
“Yeah, in an hour.” I hung up. Mike was still staring at me. “Goog feels his play will tank if we don’t do a muffin together on game day. Hockey players. What can you do?” I walked over to him and took his hand in mine. “Let me know when you want to do this again. I’m not going to push you, but I will say that if you’re willing, I’d be all kinds of happy to grab a pizza after the game tonight and come here to eat it.”
“No pushing, huh?” His lips pulled up into a soft, warm smile.
“This is about as tame a mating dance as a Taz can handle.”
I lifted his hand to my lips, kissed his knuckles, and then left him to mull over things while I used his shower and prayed he’d say yes to pizza.
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