CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Dom walked toward his stall, game sticks clutched in his hand. He couldn't stop smiling as he reached for his tape.

He deftly wrapped it around the blade, then ripped it from the roll.

God it was good to be back.

It was only the first round of the playoffs so they still had a long way to go, but Boston's goaltending had been garbage so far and a couple of their guys were out with injuries.

The Fisher Cats were—Dom rapped on the side of his stall—in much better shape than they'd been last season.

Everyone was as healthy as could be expected for this time of year—which was to say a little battered and bruised but overall in good shape—and now Dom was back in the lineup.

Despite his hope that he'd be back before the end of the regular season, he hadn't quite managed that.

Shea had been a huge help with his rehab and conditioning though and Dom had returned to play sooner than the cardiovascular surgeon, the team doc, or the trainers had anticipated.

There had been a few "fuck you for making me do this" moments as he sweated and white-knuckled his way through the training sessions required to get him ready to come back.

But he'd done it.

He'd made it back in time for game two of the first round and damn had that felt fucking good.

He smiled, remembering his first game back. Shea had been there, cheering him on from beside the other SAPs.

The moment had choked the breath from Dom's lungs, overwhelmed him.

To see Shea there, wearing his jersey and knowing that he was committed to a future with Dom … it was something Dom had never imagined for himself.

After warmups, Dom had asked Pete—their head equipment manager—to send Shea a signed stick, to make him laugh.

Dom had signed it, To my biggest fan, xoxo , then scribbled his name and jersey number.

That night, after he got home from the game, he'd made a face when he saw it hanging in their living room.

"Really?" he'd asked.

"Really." Shea had grinned, pushing him onto the couch and dropping to his knees on the carpet. "Now let your biggest fan give you your reward."

Fuck, Dom was a lucky man.

Now, Matty danced by, shaking his ass to the beat of the music thumping through the speakers. Dom reached out, smacking his ass for good luck, then returned to his taping job, sliding into the familiarity of his routine like slipping on a pair of perfectly broken-in skates.

He finished taping his sticks, leaning one against the wall near his stall then slotting the extras into the rack in the hall outside of the dressing room, ready for Pete to hand over in case he broke one mid-game.

Back at his stall, Dom began the next part of his routine, dressing slowly and carefully, noticing the texture of his gear. The soft, slippery texture of his base layer, the glide of the laces against his fingers, the stiffness of the logo on his jersey when he settled it over his shoulders.

He felt calm and centered as he took a seat in his stall, bowing his head and closing his eyes to visualize the game ahead. The shick of his blades cutting through the ice, the solid thwack of the puck of against his blade, the vibration of the stick traveling up his arms as he let the disc fly.

Someone called out the time and Dom took a deep breath and then another.

He opened his eyes, rose to his feet, then strode toward the exit where guys were lining up. He tapped his teammates on the shin as they went past, wishing them a good game and getting glove taps to the chest in response.

Matty leaned in, doing their pre-game handshake, and when Dom glanced up, Matty met his gaze, brown eyes light and happy.

"You ready to go kick some Harrier ass?"

"Never been readier!" Dom said with a laugh as they moved fluidly through the handshake and chest bump.

Dom flew onto the ice like he was the winged hawk, soaring on the roar of the crowd.

Toronto's arena was packed to the brim, the whole barn shaking from the music and the noise from the fans.

They were currently 3-1 against the Harriers in the series. If Toronto won tonight, they'd go on to the second round. Dom had no idea how many games they had ahead of them, so he had to make the most of every single one.

"Alright, boys," Gilly said, raising his voice to get their attention as they prepared for the first period. "We know what's at stake here. But we also know how to beat Boston."

He glanced over at Webby, who had been on a hot streak after Macky had fumbled game one.

"We know how to keep pucks out of our net. What we need is pucks in their net. You hear me?"

"Yes, Gilly!" the team shouted.

"We've seen it in the previous games. Their defense breaks down when they're barraged with shots so I want you to keep the puck in their zone and hammer them. If you think you have a chance, you shoot. I want them overwhelmed. I want them scrambling to keep up. You got it?"

"Yes, Gilly!" they shouted, louder this time.

"Alright. Let's knock those Massholes out of the series tonight!"

He clapped his hands together and the team did too, rising to their feet and shouting their agreement. Dom roared and let the excitement fill him, fueling him for the game ahead.

Energy coursed through Dom as they stood for the national anthems, a thrumming excitement and anticipation, a focused dedication and hunger that made his body feel like it was vibrating.

There was nothing like playoff hockey.

Dom could hardly sit still on the bench as the puck dropped, Dustin gaining possession immediately, slapping the puck toward Boston's net.

Boston was ready for it though, battling to get it to Toronto's end of the ice.

On the bench, Dom held his breath through several shifts, but on the second one, Nico made a beautiful pass toward Yates, who smashed it into the net like the puck had done something to personally offend him, the goal horn lighting up and making the crowd roar.

The team cheered on the bench, Dom hugging his boys hard, hope sizzling through him.

The first goal was often the hardest and they'd done it.

"Keep it up!" Gilly yelled.

Dom waited impatiently until his next shift, flying over the boards to take his place on the ice, skating like it was the beginning of the season, and not the end.

The weeks of rest and rehab had done him good and he was dialed in, ready to take on the world.

Boston played with a ferocity that Dom hadn't seen in the previous games but he won his puck battles and made scoring chances and he felt good when he came off the ice, watching intently as the first line went out again.

It didn't matter that Dom was no longer the one leading that top line, that he was only a small piece of the team now. He was a part of it and that was all that mattered.

They were still at 1-0 when the first period ended.

In the next period, Jonah managed a second goal and Jordan a third and Dom could hardly hear himself think over the noise of the crowd when they took the ice for the third period.

But Boston was playing with renewed fire.

One of their players took down Erik Jensen three minutes in and he limped to the bench, flexing his knee as Eddie crouched down to take a look at it.

When Dom went over the boards for his next shift, one of his wingers—a Black Ace who showed some real promise—went flying down the ice on a breakaway toward Boston's net but was taken out on a hard hit from one of Boston's D-men, an obvious tripping penalty and elbow to the head if Dom had ever seen one.

But there was no whistle from the refs and Dom seethed as he battled for the puck along the boards.

"That was fucking bullshit," he called out to Connor O'Shea, Boston's captain.

"It's not my fault your guys can't stay on their feet," he said through gritted teeth, elbowing Dom in the ribs.

Dom refused to be baited and when he was finally able to snag the puck, he snapped it toward Felix, who wheeled around the back of the net, tangling with one of Boston's players.

Felix held on though, shooting the puck to Dom's other winger—a young call-up who shoved the disc in the net with a desperate grunt.

Dom slammed into him, hollering his appreciation, reaching out to jostle Felix's helmet in celebration when he skated over to join the celly.

"Fucking right!" Dom shouted. "Keep it up! Keep it up!"

Dom's next few shifts were uneventful, but when he went out for the next one, he was out on the ice with O'Shea again, who seemed determined to single-handedly put his team on his back and win this game.

Not on my watch , Dom thought grimly. He skated after O'Shea, thighs burning, sweat dripping into his eyes as he wheeled around the net. Connor was a high-scoring forward, and Dom was determined to keep him from shifting the momentum of the game with a well-timed goal.

The Fisher Cats were ahead 3-0 but there was nothing guaranteed with over fourteen minutes left in the game.

A moment later, O'Shea got the puck and tore down the ice on a breakaway. Dom swore and took off after him, too slow to have any hope of catching up to him, but trying anyway. Matty came out of nowhere, barreling in like a freight train and O'Shea went flying, sliding feet first into the net, the puck still on his stick.

There was a scramble as Webber battled to keep the puck out, the net going flying and Jesse landing on top of O'Shea's prone body as the ref's whistle sounded.

The crowd went wild as Dom skated over, worried about their goalie.

"Hey! You okay, Webby?" he called.

Jesse had pushed himself half up and was staring down at O'Shea with a dazed look.

O'Shea shook his head, groaning, and Webby scrambled back, nearly knocking into the net that a Boston player and linesman were trying to re-set.

"Webs?" Dom shouted. "Are you hurt? Do you need a trainer?"

He blinked and looked at Dom. "No, no I'm good."

He glanced furtively over at O'Shea who stood with his helmet off, talking to another linesman.

O'Shea was a big guy, taller than Dom and broader through the shoulders. He looked a little bit like La Bouche, with his red hair and beard, though it was a darker shade, almost auburn.

Dom looked between the two of them, realizing his teammate wasn't dazed from the hit, but drooling.

For fuck's sake!

"Get your fucking head in the game, Webby!" Dom shouted. "I don't care how hot you think Boston's captain is, this isn't the time for it."

Jesse's face went red and he turned to face Dom. "Shut the fuck up, asshole," he muttered, whacking at Dom's shins with his blocker. "I wasn't … I'm not …"

"You can think with your dick all you want after the series is over," Dom reminded him. "But we've got a game to win, okay?"

Webby straightened, squaring his shoulders, his eyes going focused in that dead-eyed goalie stare that Dom always found a little creepy. "Got it."

"Good." Dom slapped the back of his helmet, shaking his head at the kid.

Jesus.

Dom could admit there were plenty of advantages to guys knowing who they were and being open about it. But maybe there were some benefits to being a little goddamn afraid of anyone finding out.

He had never been distracted by an opponent.

With a roll of his eyes, Dom skated over to join the faceoff. He was never letting Webby live this shit down.

To Dom's relief, the puck stayed out of the back of Toronto's net.

The Fisher Cats continued to hammer Boston and Dom panted on the bench from his previous shift, watching as a beautiful goal from Dustin—with a gorgeous assist from Nico—netted them their fourth goal.

The team played keep away with the puck for another few minutes, and despite Boston's attempts to score, the game horn sounded, nearly drowned out by the sound of the crowd.

Dom shouted too, already hoarse, and hugged his teammates on the bench, Matty screaming in his ear.

They were going on to the next round!

Dom was still buzzing when he lined up to shake hands with Boston's players.

"Good game," he said sincerely as he shook Connor O'Shea's hand.

He swallowed hard but nodded, his disappointment palpable but his grip firm. "You played well," he said roughly. "Good luck with the next round. This is your final season, yeah?"

Dom nodded. "It is."

Connor slapped his arm in a friendly gesture. "Congrats. Hope you make it all the way then."

"Thanks, man. That means a lot."

Dom thought about Connor's words while he continued down the line, shaking hands with the rest of Boston's players.

Dom had never played with Connor O'Shea, though he knew his brothers Pat and Finn a little better, having played with them at All-Star and Olympic games over the years. Their youngest brother, Kelly, played for Evanston, and was dating retired player Anders Lindholm.

They had quite the family legacy.

Their father, Declan, had started the dynasty. As captain, he'd led Boston to several playoff victories over the years. Pat and Finn were both retired now, but they too had been alternates or captains and hoisted the Cup.

The role was Connor's now and Dom winced at the weight of the expectations he carried. Boston had struggled in recent years and the press had focused heavily on that angle, talking about Connor's leadership role on the team. On his ability to lead Boston to the win.

Poor guy , Dom thought as he waited for the last Fisher Cat player to leave the ice, then bent down to kiss it.

Dom didn't envy Connor that pressure one bit.

Later, after the media scrum, cooldown workout, and shower, Dom hummed to himself while he toweled off, then slipped on his underwear.

Behind him, he could hear the chaos of guys horsing around as they talked about going out to celebrate their win. He smiled at the happy shouts and off-tune warbles from the showers and the loud, excited conversations flying around as guys dried off and dressed.

He shrugged on his shirt, shaking his head as he watched Matty gallop around the wet room, hugging guys and swatting their asses and generally making a menace of himself.

When it was Dom's turn, he braced himself—for all the good it did him.

"God it's so good to have you back!" Matty barreled into Dom, shoving him into the locker and hugging him.

"Jesus Christ," Dom gasped. "I'm starting to doubt that it was the hit from Crawford that caused the damn aneurysm. Maybe it was you ."

"Aww, don't be grumpy, old man," Nico said cheerfully. He wandered by in a towel, carrying his toiletry kit. "Today's a day for celebrating."

"I'm not grumpy ," Dom protested, still trying to disentangle himself from Matty's octopus grip. "But I was hoping that being a married man with four children would make Matty a little less obnoxious."

Matty grinned and pressed a big, slobbery kiss to his cheek. "Nope! No luck there. I've got plenty of love to go around!"

"Joy," Dom said drily, wiping off his face. "Lucky me."

He finally shook Matty off and reached for a button. "Now, can I get dressed?"

"Only if you're coming out with us tonight," Nico called from in front of a mirror. "We've got some celebrating to do. And don't try to get out of it. We already cleared it with Shea."

They had a few days before round two started and Dom had been hoping to go home and fuck his boyfriend, but apparently not.

"I knew Shea joining all of the group texts were a mistake," Dom muttered.

"Well, then maybe you should join them yourself," Jordan called out from where he stood at the mirror, using a small amount of oil to style his hair.

He was growing it and his beard out—along with the rest of the team—and they were all beginning to look a little scruffy.

Three more rounds and they'd look like mountain men. Dom rapped his knuckles again

"Well, someone has to keep an eye on all of you," Dom said drily. He reached for his phone and checked it.

Sure enough, there was a text from Shea. Great game, baby! Go out and celebrate with the boys tonight! You deserve it.

Dom smiled and shot off a reply. Thanks. Can't wait to celebrate with you too!

Dom tucked his phone in his pocket. As much shit as he gave the guys, he was looking forward to going out with them.

Colton snorted. "Seriously. One of many reasons we're glad you're back, Olds. You gotta keep the boys in line. I swear to God, Jesse is going to end up with mono by the end of this run."

"You better not," Dustin threatened. "We need you, Webby."

Jesse let out an offended squawk. "I'm not gonna get mono. Just because you guys got locked down doesn't mean the rest of us can't have a little fun."

"There's a little fun," Dustin said drily, "and there's swapping spit with half the greater Toronto and Boston areas."

"Kissing is a highly underrated way to spend time," Jesse said in a lofty tone. "Besides, it's not my fault I'm irresistible."

"Oh God, someone get him away from Nico!" Felix groaned. "Clearly we have a 2.0 on our hands."

"Hey, don't blame me," Nico protested. "I go home every night to my Auggie."

"Yeah, and someone's gotta pick up the slack." Jesse shot them a sly smile. "The young, hot singles in the area still need love."

Dom rolled his eyes, looking Jesse over.

Despite the fact that Jesse had finished his shower before Dom did, he was still dressed in a towel. It showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist, all lean, tight goalie muscles.

With striking blue eyes and chiseled features, he was far too much of a pretty boy for Dom's taste but he supposed he could see the appeal.

Jesse shot him a wink and Dom glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable. Shit . He never got caught looking at men in the locker room.

He froze.

Then again, did it matter now? Everyone knew he was gay and clearly didn't give a shit about it.

Everyone knew he was with Shea.

No one cared .

"So, are you coming willingly, Olson?" Nico prompted, waving a hair dryer threateningly. "Or are we going to have to hog-tie you and take you kicking and screaming?"

"I'm not sure how much kicking I could do if I was hog-tied," Dom said drily as he knotted his tie. "But yeah, I'll come. No force necessary."

A cheer went up from around the room and Dom had to turn away and reach for his jacket before anyone saw his eyes grow damp.

The truth was, for all his protests, he wasn't going to have this for much longer and he wanted to appreciate every second of it.

He froze with the jacket in his hand, wondering if that was why Shea had encouraged him to go out tonight.

Probably.

If anyone would understand the way Dom was trying to savor these final games before they were gone, it was Shea.

Fuck, Dom was so in love with him it made him dizzy.

"Hey, are you coming, Olson?" Jordan called and Dom shoved his phone in his pocket and followed him, falling into step beside him.

"Yeah, let's celebrate!" he said, grinning as he slung an arm around Jordan's shoulder. "C'mon, boys. First round's on me."

"I am so pissed Crawford was out with an injury this post-season," Matty shouted over the noise of the crowded club a few hours later. "I wanted to pummel him for making your ass bleed."

Dom glared across the table. " Please never refer to the aneurysm that way again. And if you had taken stupid penalties and we'd lost to Boston, I would have kicked your ass."

"But what if I'd taken stupid penalties and we hadn't lost?" Matty asked with a bright grin. "Besides, you couldn't kick my ass if you tried ."

"Wanna bet?" Dom asked, although he knew it absolutely wasn't true. Matty had way too much bulk on him for Dom to ever compete.

"We'd all have kicked your ass if you'd taken a stupid penalty like that, Matty," Dustin said drily. "Besides, Crawford didn't mean to give Dom an aneurysm any more than you meant to separate Chad Morrison's shoulder or injure Boyd Marsh's ankle in previous seasons. It's hockey. Shit happens."

The argument continued for a while and Dom eventually tuned it out, letting the good-natured shouting wash over him as he glanced around, smiling.

For a moment, he tensed at the sight of a couple of guys kissing by the bar but he forced himself to take a deep breath. This was fine. This was perfectly normal.

Dom usually tried to find excuses not to go when the team went to a gay club but the times he hadn't been able to get out of it, he'd felt horribly exposed. Like someone was going to take one look and go, "Ah-HA, I knew you were one of us!"

Kate had been right.

Now that Dom and Shea had been spotted in public together and nothing new had come out about their relationship lately, JockGossip had moved on to other things. The latest was some baseball player who'd been caught using amphetamines and Dom was hoping that he and Shea could finally fade into relative obscurity other than whatever attention came from this playoff run.

And although Dom was disgusted by the public's need to know every tiny piece of his personal life, it was nice to know that now he didn't have to skulk and hide anymore.

He looked around the club at all of the happy couples, silently wishing them well and wondering if maybe he should take Shea here sometime.

Did Shea like dancing? Dom had no idea. But he couldn't wait to find out.

"Huh. So it looks like we're going up against Carolina next," Felix said, staring at his phone.

"Oh shit, really?" Dom leaned forward to peer at his screen.

"Yep, they just beat Washington in triple OT."

Matty gave a fist pump. "Good, I hope they're totally gassed."

Dom snorted. "Well, we can always hope."

"Shots, boys!" A waiter sashayed up with a tray of drinks and Dom groaned when he passed them out. "On the house."

"I thought we weren't going overboard tonight," Dom said to the table.

Jesse flashed him a grin. "Maybe you're not."

He blatantly eyed the waiter as he stole a shot with a wink.

"Hey, no hitting on the waitstaff," Dom reminded Jesse, kicking him under the table. "It's rude when someone is working."

The waiter shot him a smile, but shrugged, passing one of the shots to Dom. "For him , I might make an exception."

Dom reached for the shot. "Please don't reward the egomaniac. He's already insufferable."

Jesse smirked. "Hey, I got a shutout tonight. I deserve to be cocky."

"Damn, really?" The waiter looked impressed. "I'm off in twenty minutes and I know a quiet corner, if you're into that."

He turned away with a flirty wink.

"I'm into it allll," Jesse called after him.

Dom snorted. "Yeah, I could tell. You were all over Connor O'Shea earlier."

"Fuck you. He crashed my net!" Jesse protested. "I was just … momentarily stunned."

"Mm-hmm," Dom said skeptically.

"Well, whoever you screw around with, if you get caught and end up in JockGossip , it's your fucking funeral, man," Dustin said with a sigh.

Jesse grinned. "I'll take my chances."

Dom's head swam a little when he let himself into the apartment in the wee hours of the morning.

God it was late. Horribly late, and he was grateful Gilly had given them the day off tomorrow.

He'd probably get up with Shea when he got up for work, then crash for a few hours.

He liked having Shea's coffee ready for him before he left though.

When Dom handed it over to him, the soft look in Shea's eyes and the smile on his face when he kissed Dom goodbye was enough to make him feel like he was falling in love with Shea all over again.

Dom crept quietly through the dark bedroom, not wanting to wake Shea, but he stirred almost immediately.

"Hey, welcome home," Shea said huskily.

"Hi," Dom said, taking a seat beside his hip and squinting in the dark bedroom. "I didn't think you'd be awake."

Shea yawned. "I woke when you got home, I think."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you." Dom pressed a kiss to his shoulder, surprised to feel fabric against his lips instead of the warm, bare skin he'd expected. Shea usually slept in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else.

"I know." Shea let out a soft sigh. "It's okay."

Dom breathed in his scent, the familiarity of it making him smile. He touched Shea's hair, combing his fingers through it. "You can go back to sleep if you want."

"What if I'd rather do something else?" Shea reached out and turned on the lamp beside the bed.

Dom blinked at the sudden brightness before his gaze landed on the green and white fabric stretched across Shea's shoulders.

"Really?" he said hoarsely.

Shea chuckled, the sound a low, warm noise that curled around him like a physical caress. "You like it, huh?"

"Fuck yes I do." Dom felt a little shaky as he pulled the covers back to reveal the entire jersey and Shea's bare lower body.

Dom traced his fingers across the white lettering. O-L-S-O-N and then the number 63 below, wetting his lips at the sight of Shea's muscular ass on display.

Silently, Shea reached for Dom's hand, setting it on his bare butt cheek in blatant invitation.

"Yeah?" Dom asked, brushing his thumb across the soft skin. He shouldn't be thinking about sex. He was tired from the game and the drinks and well, being a forty-year-old pro hockey player.

But the feel of Shea's warm, smooth skin under his palm was difficult to resist, as was the sight of Shea in Dom's jersey.

They'd had to go weeks without sex while Dom was recovering from his surgery. They'd been making up for it lately but arousal still settled low in his belly, urgent like they hadn't given each other handjobs in the shower this morning.

"What do you want me to do?" Dom asked huskily, already smoothing his hand across the globes of Shea's ass, gripping the muscle and kneading it.

"I think that should be pretty obvious," Shea said with a low laugh. He settled his cheek on the pillow, sliding his arms underneath. "I want you to fuck me. Wearing nothing but your jersey."

"Oh, do you now?" Dom leaned forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Shea's stubbled jaw, his other hand wandering to the cleft between Shea's cheeks because he wasn't going to turn down an invitation like that.

"Mm-hmm." Shea arched into Dom's touch. "Watching your game made me hot."

Dom was unsurprised to find the spot between his cheeks slick and the blunt end of a plug stopping him when he tried to go deeper but it still made his breath catch to think of Shea prepping himself this way.

"Next time I want to watch you put a plug in," he rasped, toying with the plug for a minute, pressing it in and twisting a little. "Or maybe I'll do it for you."

"You could always do it after you come inside me," Shea said, grinding his cock against the sheets.

"Christ, you're going make me come in my pants," Dom said, pressing the plug in deeper, loving the way Shea trembled.

"Fuck, don't tease me, Dom," he pleaded.

"Oh, that's rich coming from you." Dom laughed softly, tugging and making Shea moan. "You're the one who told me to go out with the boys when you had all this planned."

"I guess I didn't think it through. I've had the plug in for a couple of hours," Shea admitted, his hips rocking with every thrust Dom made with the toy. "And it's been driving me crazy. I've been half-hard the whole time, thinking about you."

"Christ." Dom buried his face against Shea's shoulder, biting though he mostly got fabric between his teeth. "You're so good to me. I don't deserve you."

"You don't have to deserve me," Shea whispered, suddenly serious. "All you have to do is love me."

Hands shaking, Dom stood, stripping off his clothing and letting it fall to the floor. When his clothes were gone, he knelt on the bed, staring down at Shea.

The sight of him felt obscene, all hard muscles and long limbs and that jersey …

Dom felt crazed as he smoothed the fabric up to the middle of Shea's back before he bent down, biting at Shea's ass cheek.

He gasped, muscles clenching, then shuddered.

Dom ran his hands across Shea's skin, smoothing over the mark before parting his cheeks again. He used one hand to toy with the plug some more, enjoying the low panting sounds Shea made and the rock of his hips.

" Please ," Shea begged and Dom felt the answering pulse of his cock.

He eased the plug out of Shea's body, enjoying the way it made Shea's opening stretch wide before the silicone finally came free. Dom set the plug on the nightstand but rather than plunge his cock inside like he was tempted to do, he grabbed the lube and slicked himself, then warmed a little on his fingers.

He eased them into where Shea was warm and open, fucking into him with shallow little thrusts that made Shea's hips rise and fall in a mesmerizing rhythm.

When Shea made desperate little sounds, whimpers and moans that made Dom's cock pulse with need, he finally slid his fingers away and dragged his cock over Shea's hole.

It gaped open a little and Dom could resist no longer, pressing his dick inside. The feel of Shea wrapped around him, slick and hot and bare now that they were no longer using condoms for anything, made his head spin.

Dom was lightheaded from the drinks but it was nothing compared to this. The overwhelming, drugging pleasure of it all.

"Fuck, fuck," Shea chanted, his back bowing as he tried to thrust back onto Dom's cock. "God, move , Dom."

With a soft laugh, Dom stretched out over him, knees on either side of Shea's thighs, lacing their fingers together before he drove into him harder

"You're incredible," he managed, nuzzling at Shea's ear. "You're everything to me."

Shea cried out, panting beneath him and Dom sped up, their skin slapping together.

"I want you like this all the time," Dom rasped. "I want you . Want to know you're mine."

"I am yours," Shea said with a gasp, shaking beneath him.

"God, I missed you tonight," Dom whispered in a raw, choked voice. "Going out with the boys is fun but fuck , I love being home with you. Coming home to you."

It felt like all of the things Dom had ever wanted to say but had bottled up were coming out now, pouring past his lips as he drove into Shea's body, harder and faster with every stroke.

Shea let out a little cry and Dom bit at the spot where his neck and his shoulder met. He sucked at the skin, worrying it with his teeth, knowing that it would leave a mark that would last for days and loving it.

Shea whimpered, grinding against the bed, his body trembling like he was holding on by a thread.

"I love you," Dom whispered, his voice breaking, and Shea clenched around him so tight anything else Dom was going to say was swept away in the rush of his orgasm.

With a rough sob, Dom buried his face against Shea's shoulder, shaking apart.

"Christ. I love you, Shea, I love you more than I ever thought possible," he whispered, the emotions welling up inside him so big and overwhelming it felt like they were the only words he'd ever say again.