Iced Out (Leighton U Book 1)

Tonight’s game against Cornwall ends in another win, and at this rate, I know whatever is happening between myself and a certain teammate has to be part of the equation. We’ve been playing like stars on the rink these past few weeks, working together seamlessly like never before. Which is fantastic for team morale, on the one hand.

And it also means the sex keeps happening.

The hot, dirty, and downright addictive sex that often leaves us panting harder than any run out on the ice does. But if hopping into bed together is the thing keeping us on this winning streak we’re riding, I’m all for it.

We’ve got another game against Cornwall tomorrow, and if we can take this win back to Leighton, we’re on track to get a solid seeding for tournament play. Something we both desperately want if we’re planning to get to the Frozen Four in Indianapolis this year.

The door to our hotel room barely has time to swing shut before Quinton’s dropping his duffle to the ground and is on me like white on fucking rice.

“You fucking killed it tonight,” he says, grabbing the arm of my suit jacket and hauling me to him until we’re chest to chest. “I think we’re gonna be celebrating more than anything tonight.”

“Oh, really?” I counter, setting my duffle on the desk.

He gives me a you’re kidding me look, brows arched so high, they might as well be in his hairline. “You don’t think your third hat trick of the season is something to celebrate?”

“It definitely is.” My blood heats as he helps me out of my jacket and tosses it to the bed. “But it’s awfully forward to think I’d want to celebrate with you.”

A smirk sits on his lips as he works to open my shirt buttons. “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t a little too sure of myself, right, Reed?”

He’s got me there.

Hell, he’s been unruffled by this entire thing between us, which is more than I can say for most baby bi’s I’ve known through the years. The couple I’ve been with in the past—and the reason I made it a rule not to get with them anymore—were always hesitant in making moves or acting on instinct, the whole “is this too gay for me” thought usually causing them to falter. And not that I can blame them, but it usually takes away from the whole hook-up.

It’s never happened with Quinton. Not once.

He’s taken everything I’ve thrown at him in stride, unfazed at each turn, and usually ends up asking for more when it’s all over. Which only adds to his ridiculous amount of sex appeal.

“You might have a point.”

He tosses my shirt to the bed with my jacket before starting on his own clothes. “I know I do. Just like it’s something you like about me.”

Nail on the head.

“I wouldn’t go that far with it,” I say, trying to play off his comment.

Disbelief crosses his features. “The tent pitched in your pants begs to differ.”

And would you look at that, he’s right. The traitorous appendage between my legs made me a liar.

“I’m gay and you’re an attractive man currently stripping in front of me. Of course I’m going to get hard.”

“The only reason?” he counters, now shirtless and working the belt free from the loops. “Pure, carnal instinct? Nothing else?”

My cock throbs behind the zipper of my slacks, and not just because Quinton is now down to only his underwear. Apparently, his taunting is yet another thing capable of turning me on.

“Nope. Nothing el—”

“Just shut up, Oakley.”

Without any preamble, he hauls me in from the back of my neck until our lips collide. His tongue teases along the seam, coaxing me to open. The second I do, it’s an all-out war.

He fucks his talented tongue against mine, and my dick grows impossibly harder in my pants. Aching to be released from its confines and have its own turn with Quinton’s mouth.

“Fuck,” I mutter, anchoring my fist in his hair as I explore his throat. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know, but believe me, the feeling’s mutual.” His hands coast down my back, and he arches his neck into where my lips are brushing against his skin. “Is it weird to say I’ve missed you?”

I grin before moving to capture his bottom lip between my teeth. “You’ve been with me almost all day.”

Though I have to admit, I understand completely. The time we’ve been spending together has become this weird security blanket, and it’s becoming a bit of a problem.

I guess it’s more than just the sex that’s addictive. He is too.

“I’ve missed you.” His arm snakes between us, palming my cock through my pants. With a naughty smirk resting on his lips, he lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I’m planning to fucking worship this tonight.”

I hum, my hips seeking more friction from his hand. “Using me for sex, de Haas?”

He chuckles, a dimple popping in his cheek, and I nip at it. “Could be using you for a lot worse things.”

Another scorching kiss is pressed on my lips, tongue once again diving in for more, kneading and twisting with mine while he works to open my pants.

I break away to catch my breath, helping him shove the fabric and my underwear to my feet. “You’re in quite the rush.”

“Mmm,” he hums, wrapping his hand around my shaft. “Worshiping properly takes time. I’m not looking to waste any.”

I almost drag him to one of the beds with that comment, ready to get this little celebration kicked off in the best way. His mouth wrapped around my dick.

But a new side of Quinton came out to play tonight, becoming more apparent when he shoves me back onto the mattress, strips out of his briefs, and climbs up to straddle my waist. His ass bumps and grinds down on my aching length as he dives in for another kiss and pillages my mouth some more, the combination of sensations driving me crazy.

God, I wasn’t wrong when I said his mouth would be my undoing. But I didn’t consider the way the rest of him does too. His taste and scent, the sinful dimples I just can’t get enough of. The way his fingers coast over my skin, light as a feather, before gripping on to me for dear life.

Everything he does unravels me a little more.

He reaches beneath him, wrapping his palm around me and gives an expert stroke. My eyes roll back in my head, lost in the blissful nirvana of his touch. It’s not long before I begin rocking up into his hand—seeking more friction as my desire builds—and the movement causes his cock to bob in front of him. Hard, glistening with precum, and ready to get in on the action.

It’s then I realize, as much as I want to feel his exceptionally enthusiastic mouth wrapped around my dick, I want my turn at his too. After all, going down on him seems to be a common thing with scoring hat tricks, and I’m looking to test this theory again for tomorrow’s game.

“Lemme taste you.”

He laughs. “And what if I wanted to go first?”

I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but… “Then turn around.”

His brows furrow, hand faltering on my cock. “What?”

“Just do it, or I’ll make you,” I tell him, already grabbing at his hips to do it myself. Thankfully, he helps me out, flipping us into the perfect—

“Sixty-nine?” Quinton says, eyeing me from over his shoulder. “Now who’s in a rush?”

I hike a brow up. “It’s better than arguing about who has to wait their turn sucking dick.”

A disgruntled expression crosses his face, his nose wrinkling up a little when he figures I’m right. Or he just doesn’t want to argue with me.

Either way, it’s a win-win for me.

“Good. Now give me my reward.”

“Your reward?” he asks with a laugh.

I flick the tip of my tongue over his crown. “I said what I said.”

A low rumble comes from deep within his chest, and it might be the sexiest sound I’ve heard from him yet.

“Keep licking it like that and your turn is gonna be over way before you want it to be.”

I smirk before I take a long, languid suck on his dick and give a measured thrust up so my cock brushes his lips. “Less talking, de Haas. More sucking.”

Despite my demand, Quinton takes a slower approach than I do, licking and teasing along my shaft until I’m practically panting for more around him. I even attempt to thrust up into his mouth when he starts sucking on the head, forcing him to take more, but his hand quickly holds my hip in place.

It’s pure, agonizing torture, but he keeps at it, refusing me the one thing I’m desperate for.

And then it happens. He hollows out his cheeks and takes me into the back of his throat on the first go.

I moan around his length and take him deeper too, my hands grasping either side of his ass and pulling him down toward me. When the tip of his dick inches its way down my throat, I swallow, giving him the same care and attention he’s showing me—gagging around his shaft until I can’t fucking breathe.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, licking up and down the length of my shaft more. “I love the sound of you choking on my cock.”

My eyes roll to the back of my head, his words going straight to my dick that twitches against his lips. He wraps them around my length again, plunging deep until I hit the back of his throat. The soft, smooth flesh constricts around my crown, and stars form behind my eyelids.

We keep going at each other, licking and sucking like our fucking lives depend on it. And they very well might, at this point. If I don’t come soon, I might actually end up six feet under.

I adjust my grip on his ass, trying to coax him into a steady thrusting rhythm when my middle finger accidentally gets closer to his crease than I intended. The touch causes him to moan, loud and needy, like a fucking porn star, and the vibrations around my cock go straight to my balls.

Releasing him, I pop a finger into my mouth to wet it before bringing it back to his crease. Another moan comes from him as I tease the digit over the tight little bud.

“Have you ever been introduced to your prostate?” I ask, swirling the pad of my finger against his hole. I’ve played with his ass a couple times prior to this, but never broached the topic of penetration before now.

He nods, popping off my dick and taking over with his hand. “A few times.”

My brows arch in surprise. “Really?”

“I mean, it wasn’t something I was seeking out. But this one girl would get really into giving head, and her fingers started straying, and—”

“Okay, yeah. I got it,” I mutter, cutting it off before he spills details I don’t need to hear while we’re naked and going at each other’s dicks like they’re popsicles.

Or ever, really.

He bites his lip, and the sight does something to me. Something wicked and animalistic. Until he opens his mouth and words come out.

“Are you jealous right now?”

“Just shut up and go grab the lube.”

Quinton listens, making quick work of grabbing the bottle from where I keep it in my bag, and tossing it at me. Then he’s climbing back over me in the same position like he’d never even left.

“It’s okay if you’re jealous, you know,” he continues, and if he wasn’t already leaning down and licking at my cock again, I would push him off me for the hell of it.

I roll my eyes in response as I apply a generous amount of lube to my first two fingers. Mostly because, yes, I’m a little jealous of some random girl he probably doesn’t even remember the name of. Which is the last thing he needs to know, considering this is no-strings and only to benefit the team.

My fingers are at his crease again, swiping the cool liquid up and down over his ass. And just like before, he’s already rocking up into my touch, seeking more pressure against his hole.

“Just tell me to stop if it gets to be too much,” I say in warning before pushing into the tight heat of his body.

I take my time working him open, giving shallow pumps of my hand while swirling my tongue around the head of his cock. Lavishing it with attention while priming him for the orgasm of his life.

“Fuck,” he bites out, his teeth sinking into the fleshy part of my thigh the moment my finger swipes against his prostate the first time. “Oh, my fucking Jesus God.”

The sharp pain from his bite makes my cock twitch in response, and he’s quick to dive back in, taking my entire length in a single pull.

Fuck, he’s good at that. To the point where his ass clenching around my finger and the heat of his mouth might send me over the edge far sooner than I’d like.

My hips take on a life of their own, pumping up into his mouth as I pay extra attention to the tip of his dick, lapping at the precum continuing to leak from it. More and more of it escapes with every brush my finger makes against the little pleasure button inside him, and I’m greedy for it. Desperate, even.

Another moan comes from him, and I can tell he’s close. I am too, my balls drawing up from the way his throat contracts around my length, pulling me impossibly deeper.

He’s getting sloppy now, the excess spit dripping down from my shaft onto my balls adding another layer of torture to this heavenly experience. Priming me to be launched into another dimension.

Soon enough, Quinton’s thrusting down my throat and then back up into my hand at a rapid pace. Taking me from both sides as I inch him closer and closer to ecstasy. Using me the way I’m using him without a care in the world.

His cock pulses against my tongue, the telltale sign of release, and I fuck him harder. Faster. Until I’ve got nothing left to give.

I’m the first to go at the gentle scrape of his teeth along the bottom edge of my cock. Cum spurts free, and he swallows it like a champ, all the while rocking between my mouth and hand. Taking what he needs to find his own climax.

Another groan—this one from deep within my chest—breaks free, and it’s enough to send him into his own downward spiral. His ass clamps down on my finger, squeezing it tighter than a vise as he fucks my face like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Going deeper and deeper until my chin brushes along his pelvis.

He’s shoved off the cliff into freefall the moment I peg his prostate, the salty tang of his cum hitting my tongue until it fills my mouth.

“OhfuckingChrist,” he utters, all breathless and airy, as I swallow down his release. I keep rubbing against that button inside him, coaxing him through the orgasm until he’s milked completely dry.

After he’s finished, I lick him clean, my tongue swirling around his softening cock before popping off. But I’m not done with him yet.

When he goes to lift off me, I grab his wrist and drag him until he’s facing the same direction I am. His body now layered to my side, I spear my tongue between his lips, tasting my own cum along with his.

The mixture of our essence is intoxicating. Fucking euphoric.

“Holy fucking shit,” he mutters into my mouth. “That was…”

He doesn’t even have to finish the thought for me to know what he’s trying to say.

“I know,” I whisper back, doing my best to catch my breath as we break the kiss.

Shifting, he curls into my side, his forehead pressing against the side of my throat as we take our time coming down from the orgasm high that launched us straight into the stratosphere.

“I think I’m addicted to the taste of your cum,” he says on a heavy exhale.

I laugh. “Not something I’ve ever been told before.”

“Hmm. Well, all those other guys are either stupid or tasteless. Literally.”

Another chuckle leaves me, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder, holding him against me. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

He yawns then, nestling his entire body against mine as our heart rates return to normal.

My arm slides beneath his pillow, and I’m surprised to find nothing beneath it. No lucky puck, and I realize it’s because we went at each other the second we entered the room. He never had a chance to put it there.

I try to slip out from under him, but the arm he draped over my stomach tightens in protest.

“Where are you going?”

“Your puck,” is all I say.

Bleary eyes meet mine, a softness around the edges, almost childlike, and he releases his hold on me. “My duffle. Inside pocket, on the right.”

I shift out from under him and find his duffle, redressing in my underwear along the way. The puck’s exactly where he said it’d be, and I grab it before bringing it back to where he’s sprawled across the mattress.

Doing my best not to startle him, I shift the pillow until I’m able to slide the puck into place, exactly where it belongs.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice all cracked and graveled from exhaustion, and I must admit, even that’s sexy.

“No problem,” I murmur back, the little knot in my throat keeping me from speaking much louder.

“Are you coming back?”

I know I shouldn’t. Just like I’m positive he knows I shouldn’t either. Post-sex cuddling isn’t something we’ve ever done before. Basking in the glow beside each other, sure. But this is uncharted territory we’re about to cross into.

Yet with every inch of my brain telling me this is a bad idea, I still crawl back into the space beside him.

He nuzzles back into the crook of my shoulder, our bodies plastered to each other from shoulder to our knees. The heat from his forehead radiates against my throat, causing my pulse to race beneath the surface.

Not to mention what this little encounter does to the slab of muscle struggling to beat evenly within my chest cavity.

He falls asleep like that, naked as the day he was born, with an arm draped over my chest. I let him stay there for a while, allowing him to fall into a deeper slumber while I study the patterns in his breathing.

It’s my every intention to move to my own bed once I know he won’t wake again.

But my intentions are damned to hell when the warmth of his body pressed to mine sends me off to sleep too.