Hung Jocks Novels & Stories

JULLIETTE. Here’s the thing no one tells you about hockey: locker rooms smell like a crime scene. Not blood, exactly, but sweat and leather and whatever unholy combination of protein shakes and desperation fuels professional athletes. So, literally that was where I was sent on day one. The Blackridge Wolves—the NHL’s golden boys, reigning champs, and a PR nightmare wrapped in skates. But this was my dream job. My ticket to the big leagues. My parents had cried when I got the offer. My friends had thrown me a champagne party. And me? I had spent the past week pep-talking myself in the mirror: You are a professional. You will not let a bunch of overpaid jocks intimidate you.

Not really. Next, we had the theater kids and the art freaks—too loud, too dramatic, and always so obnoxiously dressed it made my eyes hurt if I looked at them too long. But at least they had their own strange, glittery little world, and they were thriving in it. The jocks, of course, were easier to spot. Bigger, louder, and somehow always throwing something across the room—usually a football or an insult. Their egos were as inflated as their protein shake bottles.

Even knowing it was a lie, seeing it played out in 4K resolution was torture. The principal took the mic, droning on about sportsmanship, but nobody was listening. The real show was on the floor. Atlas and Evans were standing ten feet apart. The brothers. The rivals. The kings of Blackridge. Atlas took the mic first. “We’re bringing the trophy home tomorrow,” Atlas boomed, his voice echoing through the gym. “Football is the heart of this school. Hockey is just... what you do while you wait for the grass to grow.” Laughter from the gold side. Boos from the black side.

The couple in the corner leaned forward, their expressions curious. Jeffrey hunched lower in his seat, pulling his cap down further. "I'm not" he started. "I know you're not," the guy said, still grinning. "But you definitely are." Brielle watched the scene unfold, her arms crossed over her chest. She could see how uncomfortable he was, how desperately he was trying to disappear. But something about the situation felt like karma, like the universe had decided to pay him back for being an arrogant asshole this morning. "He's right," she called out, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "That is Jeffrey Kyler. Star player for," She paused, pretending to think. "The hockey team. You know the o

great now I feel like the damsel in distress, why do the guys have to have all the fun The Jock called all his teammates, soon it was Caleb and Luther against the whole football team "Go Tigers!" A freaking cheerleader yelled

The other half were girls in tiny dresses, laughing too loudly. So, these were the friends Juan had kept hidden from me. Juan’s hand pressed against the small of my back. “Stay close.” I ignored him, eyes scanning the crowd. I spotted a group of guys gathered near the pool table, laughing over some dumb inside joke. Then… my eyes landed on him. Travis.

For my lack of a wolf? The humiliation I’d made out of myself at the game tonight? Alpha Rhys Jaeger is known as the “Mad Alpha”, mentally deranged Coach who keeps himself off the ice during the games but keeps his pack hockey players in check. While he stands beside Alpha Silas, he looks more calm than the rumors portrayed, towering over even Silas’s pure muscles and height of 6 '2. Everyone knows about him. Or… thinks they do. They say he doesn’t have control when he shifts. That he’d killed Alphas during games, that he doesn’t keep wives, but sex slaves and trophies.

It’s every hockey players dream to have their goddamn name etched on that glorious trophy of all trophies. “Anyone up for hitting Jake’s after?” Shouts out one of the new guys to the team. Hitch, Henson, Hammonds? Forgot his name but it definitely begins with an H. Jake’s by the way is a local sports bar where we tend to hang out a lot. The downside is that all the puck bunnies hang there too and I am too drained to deal with them today. Although a good blowjob wouldn’t go amiss. And why exactly am I now thinking of Immi’s pouty lips wrapped around my dick? Why indeed. It’s making me go semi, fuck’s sake I am about to hit the shower. I can’t have the guys see this. Good job we have our own p

Sullivan grumbled, trying to straighten his tie with his massive, calloused fingers, "I’m gonna need you to promise that none of the bridesmaids will laugh at my cufflinks." "Sully, you look like a god," Jax said, his voice brimming with a rare, playful warmth. He wasn't the brooding, icy goalie anymore. He was a man surrounded by his brothers, and he was soaking up every second of it. I leaned against the doorframe, watching them. The sight of these four hockey giants—men who had body-checked opponents into the boards and fought through seasons of grueling violence—trying to navigate the delicate art of pocket squares and boutonnières was pure magic.

"Any comment on your suspension from the hockey team? Is it true you were fighting over Maya Blackwood?" More phones appeared. More cameras. The crowd was getting bigger, and I could hear the whispers starting. "There she is – that's the girl from all the videos." "She looks even crazier in person." "I heard she seduced three different guys at the same time." My breathing was getting shallow, and black spots were dancing at the edges of my vision. I needed to get out of here, but Jaxon's protective grip was making it impossible to move. "Let me go," I said quietly.