Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I focus on the sassy figure skater as my hand drops to the waistband of my sweats before sliding over the material and grabbing the thick erection that tents the cotton.
I hiss out a breath.
The tip is already sensitive.
Who would have thought the feisty blonde could get me so hard?
My fingers drift lower, tracing the ridge of my erection until reaching my balls. I roll the sac around, massaging it before squeezing.
Damn, that feels good.
Under normal circumstances, I try to stretch out the show for about twenty minutes before the grand finale, but I don’t think I’m going to make it that long.
Fuck it.
Instead of waiting, I shove down the sweats and boxers, allowing my erection to spring free. Then I pull out my balls.
They’re just as much of a showstopper as my cock.
Especially since they’re shaved and as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
Don’t believe me?
Check out the comments section.
Maybe I don’t watch them scroll by, but I always read them afterward to see what people enjoyed.
With one finger, I circle the crown, gliding over the slit where moisture has beaded, before spreading it around until the bulbous head is slick with arousal. If I lift my finger, a little string of clear fluid would come with it.
Then I tighten my grip around the girth and slowly slide it up and down the shaft. Just when my balls tighten, I force myself to release the length, massaging my sac for a second time. A groan rumbles up from my chest before escaping between my lips as my head falls back and I arch, impatient to feel the slide of my hand against my dick.
It’s nothing short of torture.
I’m so damn close to coming.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I nudge myself closer to release before easing off. Then I do it all over again until I’m dancing on the precipice. When I can’t stand another second, I allow an image of Ava to creep back into my thoughts.
I wasn’t kidding when I said she’d look good on her knees with her mouth stuffed full of cock.
My cock.
That image is all it takes to send me flying over the edge.
With a guttural groan, my balls tighten as the first hot spurts of cum land on my lower abdomen. My orgasm seems to last forever. It’s only when I’ve completely emptied myself that I loosen the chokehold on my dick and sink farther back on the chair.
I massage the jizz around my belly since I know the fans love it.
With a peace sign, I end the livestream.
I pluck a few tissues from the box on my desk and clean up the mess before tugging up my underwear and sweats and then heading to the shower.
I glance at the screen, zeroing in on the number of viewers.
The corners of my lips tip upward.
We’re venturing into record-setting numbers, which translates into record-setting amounts of money that will hit my bank account and help pay for Mom to keep food on the table and my siblings in hockey.
There’s nowhere else I could earn this kind of cash for twenty minutes of “work” a couple times a week.
Who knows, I just might miss it when I finally pull the plug at the end of the semester.
7
Ava
The noise is deafening as I step inside the arena. The sports venue is packed tonight with a sea of fans wearing Western Wildcats jerseys and hats. The hardcore supporters are easy to spot with their orange and black face paint. Near the plexiglass, a group of girls are holding up glitter-bedazzled poster boards in a desperate plea for attention.
The way some of these chicks lose their minds over the hockey players around here is ridiculous. It’s like they forget these guys aren’t out there curing cancer or solving climate change.
As I scan the crowd, I spot my new friends. Britt pops up from her seat with a wave. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and the knot of tension in my belly loosens as I make my way toward them. When Britt first introduced me to her crew, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Girls like them—tight-knit, supportive, genuinely nice—didn’t exist in my world. I was always on the ice, too busy training to make real connections. And even when I did get close to people, the relationships felt catty and filled with jealousy.
But these girls?
They’ve done the unexpected and welcomed me with open arms.
Britt pulls me in for a warm hug the moment I reach her. “Ava!” she chirps, her excitement contagious. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”
My muscles relax as I settle into the seat next to her. The others—Fallyn, Juliette, Carina, Stella, Viola, and Willow—are scattered around, all engaged in various conversations. It’s noisy with the music blasting through the loudspeakers, hyping fans up for the game.