Sarah slammed her latest hockey smut book shut and tossed it on the passenger seat. The story had left her soaked, the way the enforcer character pinned the heroine against the boards and fucked her raw until she begged. She was heading to the arena for a late-night private tour after winning some dumb contest, but all she could think about was getting railed like the girls in those books.
Jake, the team’s captain, met her at the players’ entrance. Six-foot-four, scarred knuckles, that permanent scowl that made her clit throb. He recognized the book cover sticking out of her bag immediately.
“You read that shit?” he asked, voice low and rough.
“Every one I can find,” she answered. “They get it right. The ice, the pads, the way you guys fuck like you fight.”
He didn’t smile. He just grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the tunnel. “Lockers are empty. Come on.”
The moment the door shut behind them, he shoved her against a row of metal lockers. His mouth crashed into hers, tongue pushing deep while his big hands yanked her jeans down to her knees. No slow build. He spun her around, bent her over the bench, and ripped her panties aside.
“Wet already,” he muttered, dragging two thick fingers through her folds. “Those books got you this worked up?”
“Fuck yes,” she gasped.
He freed his cock—thick, heavy, already leaking—and slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Sarah cried out, gripping the bench as he started pounding her. Every stroke knocked her forward, the slap of skin echoing off the lockers. He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and fucked harder.
“Tell me what happens in those books,” he growled.
“The player bends her over the boards,” she panted. “Fucks her in front of the empty arena. Calls her his dirty little puck slut.”
Jake pulled out, dragged her across the room, and shoved her against the plexiglass. He kicked her legs wider, lined up again, and drove back inside. The glass rattled with every thrust. His hand reached around to rub her clit in rough circles while he hammered her.
“You want to be my puck slut?” he snarled in her ear.
“Yes—fuck—yes.”
He pulled out again, dropped to his knees, and buried his face between her legs from behind. His tongue fucked her hole while his fingers worked her clit, licking and sucking until her thighs shook. Then he stood, spun her to face him, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Her back hit the glass. He impaled her again, holding her up while he fucked her in deep, grinding strokes.
Sarah came hard, clenching around his cock, but he didn’t stop. He carried her back to the bench, laid her down, and fucked her through it, sweat dripping from his chest onto her tits. When he finally pulled out, he stroked himself twice and painted her stomach and pussy with thick ropes of cum.
They stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard. Then Jake reached into her bag, flipped open the book, and read the last line out loud.
“‘He marked her on the ice so everyone would know who she belonged to.’”
He looked down at the mess on her skin and smirked.
“Close enough.”
