Puck Up Lines Novels & Stories

***** Author's POV Getting up took longer than any of the 3 would have admitted. Eric got his feet under him first — slowly, with the careful movement of someone taking inventory of what hurt before committing to being fully upright. The other two followed, in various states of the same process, none of them looking directly at each other in the specific way of people who had just been embarrassed and hadn't decided how to talk about it yet.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Neither of them looked away first. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> The puck dropped.

My eyes focused on the game that was going on in front of me. The movement on the ice was smooth and very fast. It was hard to focus on the puck because one minute, you'd think it was on this player's stick, the next, it's on another player's. The second started to count down and the screams continued. Somehow, the goalie of the team was able to kick out the puck before it entered the net. “Yes.” I mumbled to myself. They were leading the rival team by two goals already. They still had thirty seconds left. Liam played into my view and my eyes focused on him as he played with the puck and in a few seconds, he passed it to Ethan and then there was another goal.

*** The puck exploded off the blade of Liam’s stick, streaking across the blue line and slamming violently into the top corner of the net with a sharp, metallic clang! Liam didn't pause to watch it drop. He dug his edges into the ice, spraying a white curtain of frost against the boards as he spun on a dime, scooped up another puck from the pile at center ice, and did it again. Clang!!! Another hit. Another score.

But this time, there was a second line scratched across the vertical one, turning it into a little cross. I’d read enough pack history to know what that meant. Layers. Progression. Phase one was just the mark. Phase two added the cut. Establish, then activate. I didn’t know what activate actually looked like in whatever sick game this was. I only knew that yesterday it had been one line on my desk while I was sleeping six feet away. Today it was two. My wolf pressed right up against the backs of my eyes. She didn’t growl or snap or anything. She was done with noise. She was just waiting.

Without looking for it. The collision came in the second period, both of us going for a loose puck in the corner. Shoulder to shoulder, then chest to chest, then the barrier stopped us both and we were pressed against it with his hand gripping my jersey and my forearm across his chest and neither of us moving. The play had ended. The whistle had gone. We both knew it and neither of us pulled away. Three seconds or maybe four, Long enough that I became aware of the noise from the crowd changing texture, becoming something specific and pointed. Long enough that his eyes dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second before coming back up to hold mine..

Darren wanted to piston hard and fast into Thea. He held back, which took a lot of self-control, especially with the way she looked: her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed, and her mouth-oh, fuck, her mouth-sliding up and down Trent's cock, cheeks hollowed as she suctioned.

Just as I leaned in to strip it from his blade, he flicked a pass off to another teammate. “Too slow,” Tristan taunted, a smug grin flashing across his face. I pivoted hard, spraying ice, and charged toward the other player. I managed to poke the puck free and regain control, but before I could turn up ice, Tristan materialized out of nowhere. He lifted my stick, stole the puck, and snapped a wrist shot clean into the back of the net. The coach’s sharp whistle echoed through the arena. “What’s with you, Kings? You feeling okay?” Coach barked, his brow furrowed with irritation rather than concern.

Fuck. As soon as I see an opening, I stole the puck at the blue line, weaving through their defense unit like a man possessed. For a second, I think I’ve got it. The net is wide open but my eyes caught Carter standing by the side, an imploring gaze in his eyes. Biting my tongue, I switched the hand of my stick and tapped the puck towards him. His eyes widened in confusion and he began skating forward, hustling for the puck. As I watched him in that millisecond, I tried to rationalize my action.