Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)

AFTER TAKING the millionth selfie for the day with kids from this LGBTQ youth center I found online, my cheeks hurt. And as annoying and long as today has been, I’m glad I came here after practice.

When Lane forced me to go to that hockey rink with the Rainbow Raiders, I realized that I’m not doing enough. My aversion to teenagers because of how miserable I was when I was one shouldn’t have stopped me from doing all this community crap, but I figured with the way my image was in the media, they wouldn’t have wanted me anyway.

I was wrong.

Kimberly is the director here, and her face lit up when I walked in. Aleks wanted to come too, but I told him Lane would be pissed if he started hinting at his sexuality. Not that volunteering at an LGBTQ charity automatically means he’s queer, but I told him he shouldn’t risk it anyway.

Look at me thinking about Lane’s job and being responsible.

Plus, I sort of wanted to do this for myself.

I was planning to come here with my shadow to show Lane I’m using some initiative, but when he trusted me, I wanted to prove to him that I can take his trust seriously.

Eww, who am I?

Kimberly approaches me as the last kid finally gets his photo. Some of them here don’t have a phone, so Kimberly took them on hers, and that’s just sad. What teenager doesn’t have a phone? Then again, from what Kimberly told me when I came in to volunteer, some of these kids don’t even have homes.

Because of people like Lane’s parents, who promise to love their children no matter what and then abandon them for being something they can’t change. That’s not love.

I wouldn’t be where I am today if my parents hadn’t been supportive. I know for a fact I’d be a statistic. Because when you feel all alone, your parents should be the ones to tell you that you’re not.

Kimberly smiles at me. She’s around fifty and looks like she’s run ragged but in a good way. If there is a good way to look bone-tired. “I’m sorry they’ve been a lot to handle today. If you come back to volunteer, you won’t be so shiny and new.”

“Don’t worry about it. The kids have been really great.”

“I see you ignored my come back to volunteer talk though.”

I did, but maybe not for the reason she thinks. “I’d actually love to come back, but I’d need to set it up with the team’s PR department so they can find something in my schedule. And can I ask, does the center have restrictions on donations? Say, if I wanted to donate new phones with a prepaid amount on them, is that okay?”

“It is. Any and all donations welcome. Though if you want to get them something they really need, clothes, books, and your basic needs is a good idea.”

I make a mental note to get all that stuff too. Maybe some jerseys from the team as well.

“I’ll go home and talk to my PR guy.”

Something that looks like disappointment crosses her face. “No problem.”

“What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“You look like Lane when I make him a promise.”

“Who’s Lane?”

“Oh, my PR manager. He wants me to ‘clean up my image.’” I dramatically roll my eyes. “Please, I’m a saint.”

She doesn’t laugh. “Well, I guess that’s my problem. You seem to only be here for your sake, not the kids. I don’t want them to get their hopes up about you coming back and then have you never show. Or worse, show up a couple of times, get your positive publicity, and then walk out on them. They’re not a gimmick to be used like that.”

Well, shit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that at all. Well, I did. But no. I want to come back. I’m going to come back. And I promise I’m not using them for publicity.”

“Sure.” She nods, and then her smile is back in place, though it doesn’t seem as genuine as before. “We look forward to seeing you again.”

She so thinks I’m never coming back.

Whether it’s reverse psychology or she’s seen so much in her life that she doesn’t have faith in humanity anymore, it works. Because I will be coming back. And I won’t even take credit for it.

Suck on that, charity lady.

I expect to be grilled about where I’ve been all afternoon when I walk through the door, so I have my story all straightened out: male strip club, soliciting hookers, and buying illegal substances.

Only when I pull up out the front of my house and jog up the stairs to the entrance, the door swings open like Lane had been waiting for me that whole time.

It’s just gotten dark out, so I’m a little late, but the porch light is on, so I can see every contour of his face. Where I’m expecting anger or disappointment, I’m met with … something I can’t decipher because I don’t think Lane has ever looked at me like that before. Like he’s genuinely happy to see me.

I don’t like it. It’s weird. So I throw on my cheeky smirk, put up my hands, and say, “Hey. I promise I only did half of the things you didn’t want me to—”

I’m taken off guard by him slamming against me and practically bruising my mouth with his. His tongue forcefully enters my mouth, and my dick is already hard. I have no idea what this is about, where it’s come from, or why he’s doing it when he can’t be sure what I’ve been up to the last couple of hours, but I’m not going to stop it to taunt him.

Sex is definitely more fun than taunting him. I mean, it’s borderline, but shutting up is the smart way to go.

He pulls me inside, and I kick the door closed behind me. We don’t part as we stumble through the house, discarding my shoes somewhere along the way. My T-shirt goes next and then Lane’s.

He tries to break free of me, but I’m not ready for that yet. I tighten my grip on his hips and hold him against my raging hard-on.

“Get naked for me and bend over the back of the couch,” he murmurs against my lips because I refuse to stop kissing him too. Well, until now.

I pull back, and that’s when I notice the lube and condoms on the kitchen counter. “Mm, someone’s desperate for me. Someone had a plan for when I got home.” And fuck, that makes me feel all warm inside, just the thought of Lane waiting for me with anticipation building and the intention of taking me as soon as I walked through the door. Maybe even worried about when I’ll get here.

Why is something so domestic making me feel more cherished than any grand gesture from all those rom-com movies?

Ever since hitting it big in the NHL, my life has been that shiny dream most people could only wish for. Hockey gave me money, the notoriety, and the means to do whatever I wanted whenever, so my everyday life has been anything but … normal. And for the first time ever, I get a glimpse of what actual couples do.

I’ve never understood the appeal of it. Until now.

I do as he says and strip off the rest of my clothes and bend over the couch so my ass is sticking out.

It feels like an eternity for him to get the supplies from the kitchen counter. I look over my shoulder to see him standing a few feet away, condom already rolled down his thick cock, and he’s covering himself in lube while staring at my hole.

“Hurry up,” I whine.

His brown gaze meets mine, his lips quirking at the sides. “And when have you ever been in charge of what we do in the bedroom?”

“We’re not in the bedroom.”

Lane steps forward and smacks my right ass cheek. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

My cock leaks at the sting on my skin and the growl in Lane’s voice. “But when you do that, it only makes me want to talk back more.”

There’s another whack on my other side this time, and precum lands on the back of my couch. Thank fuck I was smart enough to get leather. I can’t wait to paint it with the load already simmering in my balls.

I want release.

Lane presses his cock against my stinging ass while one hand grips my hair tight and pulls my head back while he uses his other hand to dip lubed fingers down my crack to tease my hole.

All the nerve endings around my ass fire, sending sparks of want down my spine and into my feet. My hips move on their own, rubbing my aching cock against the back of my couch.

His hold on my hair tightens as his fingers breach my hole. He doesn’t even start with one but two. I love the pain, crave the sting, and he’s giving it to me everywhere. My ass, my hole, my hair. It’s so hot.

And then he leans in close to my ear and says the one thing that can make this hotter. “Oops. I forgot to close the blinds that cover the front window.”

I look and almost come on the spot at the sight of the bare window and headlights as cars drive by the house.

“If anyone in those cars were to look in here, they’d see you bent over this couch with me behind you.”

I can’t breathe. My heart’s beating too fast, and my whole body buzzes.

There’s a tiny voice of reason in the back of my head asking if this is really worth the risk—something I’ve never had before—but he’s driving me so crazy, it’s easy to block out. I don’t care if I’m caught. That thrill of someone possibly watching gets me harder than any other fantasy I have. But for the first time, I’m thinking of someone other than myself. It doesn’t matter if I’m seen like this—I’m in my own home and with only one guy, which is better than in an alley with two other men—but Lane could lose his job if this is exposed.

I’m about to tell him to close the blinds when he replaces his two fingers with his cock.

I’m barely prepped, and he goes slow, but he’s so thick the sting is intense. I cry out in pain, and he stills.

“Are you all good?”

I love that he checked, but it’s unnecessary. “So good. I love it. I love your cock. Keep going.”

“You sound like it’s hurting.”

“Only in the best way. I promise I’ll tell you if it’s the wrong kind of pain.”

Lane pushes in more, and I almost lose it.

I have to grip my cock hard to get it to calm down.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Lane rumbles.

“If I don’t, this will all be over in about two seconds.”

“It’s cute you think that if you come too fast, it’ll all be over. It’s not over until I’m coming inside you. So unless you want to be fucked until your oversensitive prostate wants to grow legs and run away, you better hold off.”

I snort. “Well, with an image of a runaway prostate in my head, I think I’m all good. You really know how to talk sexy to me.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? You’re no longer too close to the edge. Now, focus on outside. On every car driving by. Maybe one of your neighbors is walking their dog and happens to glance in here.”

“Urg. Now you’re bringing me back again.”

Lane pushes inside me the rest of the way, bottoming out.

There’s this push-pull he’s doing, putting me so close to spilling that I swear it’s all over, then distracting me with pain or his words until I’m calmer before doing it all again.

It’s a sweet, sweet torture, and I never want it to end.

I close my eyes and breathe deep as he begins moving in and out of me in smoother motions, stretching me wide, lazily brushing my prostate.

“Open your eyes,” he orders.

“If I close them, I can imagine every single person that goes by watching.”

“Whatever fulfills your attention whore fantasy.”

He thinks that’s an insult, but it really isn’t. I am an attention whore.

I close my eyes again. “Now, I need you to let go. You need to fuck me like you’re putting on a show because in my head, you are.”

“Oh, you want a show? I’ll give you a show.” Lane doesn’t hold back.

He moves in and out of me hard and fast, only getting harder and faster with every thrust. I have to white-knuckle the back of the couch to prevent me from crushing my dick. The slight brush of leather against the head of my cock only adds to the sensory overload, and I can’t take much more.

I feel him everywhere. From his commanding presence behind me, the way he moves inside me, the goose bumps he causes to race all over my skin. I’ve never been so … owned. There’s fucking to get off and have fun. And then there’s this.

It’s everything I’ve fantasized about but never quite found. The way he’s turning me inside out, not only physically but the way he’s making me a better person on the inside. Even if I hate it when he tries to drag my baggage into the conversation, there’s no denying I’ve taken more steps to cut the outside act with him more than anyone I ever have.

And as he continues to own me, that sense only grows.

Lane might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, whether I’m willing to admit that aloud or not.

“You’re so tight,” Lane says. “Now it’s my turn to worry about coming too fast.”

As much as I’d love to hold out forever, I know it’s not going to be possible. “I’m close too. Tell me when you’re about to lose it. I want to come together.”

“You better start jerking yourself because …” He stops to take a breath. “It’s … oh fuck, I’m coming.”

My hand flies to my cock, and I jerk fast. Lane’s thrusts turn wild before slowing right down, but even then, he changes from short and shallow to hard and deep. He’s breathing heavy, slowly coming down, but it’s not until he says, “Come, Oskar,” that I finally unleash.

It’s been so long since I’ve been turned inside out so thoroughly, I shouldn’t be surprised by the amount of cum that decorates the black leather in front of me.

My muscles turn to jelly, and I flop forward, resting my chest in the mess I made while the last few drops hit the floor.

Lane silently pulls out of me and walks away, leaving me exposed, used, and dirty. And yeah, I fucking love that too. When he returns, I flinch because I’m not expecting the warm cloth that runs between my thighs and over my ass, cleaning out all the excess lube.

“Turn around for me,” he instructs, his voice losing the edge he had while inside me.

I stand upright and then turn, resting my ass on the back of the couch next to my mess. Lane leans over and licks any cum off my softening dick while wiping down my chest and the couch with the cloth. It feels a hell of a lot like looking after me, and I’m realizing that’s a running theme with us.

“Now, I’m definitely not complaining,” I say, “but what exactly prompted this little romp?”

He stands again. “I saw what you did today. With the LGBTQ youth shelter. You deserved a reward.”

And even though my chest dances with happiness that I made him proud, the rest of those fuzzy feelings about us being domestic and almost like a normal couple die a horrible death.

Because this wasn’t an “Oskar is irresistible” thing. This is still an “I need to keep Oskar on a leash” thing.

That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

I think I’m getting in way too deep here.