The rink was electric, the kind of energy that made Trudy's skin buzz like she'd downed three rapid cum shots. Okay, before her current boyfriend, she had done the triple suck off and throat gulps behind the gym, but that was two months ago.
Tonight, she leaned into Jaxson, his arm slung around her shoulders, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of her arm where her sweater had ridden up. The game was tight—third period, tied 2-2, and the crowd was a living thing, roaring every time the puck neared the net. But Trudy barely noticed. All she could focus on was the heat of Jaxson's body pressed against hers, the way his breath tickled her ear when he leaned in to whisper something filthy.
"You're killing me, Tru," he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe. "Sitting there with that skirt riding up like you don't know what it does to me. But you do."
She smirked, shifting just enough to let the hem of her skirt creep higher. The box seat was private, but not that private—just a flimsy partition between them and the next section of wealthy season-ticket holders. The risk of play was half the fun. As long as it stayed at half.
"Maybe I do know," she purred, reaching back to grab his thigh, her fingers inching dangerously close to the bulge straining against his jeans. "Maybe I like watching you squirm."
Jaxson groaned, his hand sliding down to grip her hip, pulling her flush against him. The puck smashed against the glass in front of them, the crowd erupting, but all Trudy could hear was the ragged edge in his voice when he said, "Fuck the game. I want you now!"
Her body got ahead of her mind and the location. Turning in her seat, she straddled his lap, the denim of his jeans rough against her bare thighs. The skirt was short enough that she could feel the cool air of the arena on her ass, the lace of her thong doing little to hide how wet she already was. Jaxson's hands were everywhere—gripping her waist, squeezing her tits through the thin fabric of her top, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they ached. She arched into his touch, biting her lip to stifle a moan as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her skirt, tracing the damp lace between her legs.
"Jesus, you're soaked," he growled, his voice rough. "Been thinking about this all game, haven't you?"
Yep, she had, all those big long sticks banging about on the ice.
Trudy rocked against his hand, her breath hitching when his fingers slipped under the fabric, two of them sliding inside her with ease. She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the whimper, her hips moving in desperate little circles. A soft, sloshy slap sound reached her ears as his fingers played where she craved.
The crowd around them was a distant hum, the game nothing but a blur of colour and noise. All that mattered was the way Jaxson's fingers curled inside her, the way his thumb pressed down on her clit, the way his free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose her throat to his mouth.
"Fuck, Jaxson—" she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Someone's gonna see."
The tingle to her pink private bean had her humming, "Mmm, mmm."
"Let 'em," he rumbled against her skin, his teeth grazing her collarbone. "You think I care if the whole fucking arena knows how good you take my fingers?"
Our guy was not great in maths class, but hell, who needed to count beyond three? Perfect pussy pushing. A trio was ideal.
His finger probe sent a jolt through her; her coochie clenching around him. She was so close already, her body coiled tight, but then the buzzer blared—overtime.
The crowd lost their minds, and Jaxson pulled his hand free, leaving her empty and whining in protest. But he just grinned, wicked and slow, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a groan. "Tastes even better than I remembered."
A quick slick stuff of her slit and he invited, "Taste yourself."
Trudy couldn't resist the tacky delight of her own nectar. She just manufactured the slickest, sweetest, girly finger garnish.
She didn't give him time to savour her. Or herself, time to swirl over her private jus.
Trudy fumbled with his belt, her fingers trembling as she popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening.
The squads were taking penalty shots.
Trudy had the best seat in the house. No, not the private box. Her boy's private and she took her best shot, full spit and deep throat.
Tonsil tickling territory. Full gutteral, glop, grunt and gurgle.
Screw the score. Penalties smashing into the back of the net, and outrageously good saves.
Trudy was saving her speciality, ball licking and rimming, but not for too long.
The arena was entering sudden death shoot out.
In the box, she didn't hesitate—shifting forward, she guided him to her juice-drenched entrance, sinking down onto him in one smooth motion. They both hissed, Jaxson's hands flying to her hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to nearly bruise.
"Fuck, you feel—goddamn good, aaah, aagghh," he grunted, his head falling back against the seat as she started to ride him, slow and deep at first, then faster, her skirt hiked up around her waist, her thong shoved to the side.
The game was still going—she could hear the announcer's voice, the slap of sticks, the roar of the crowd—but it all faded into white noise, drowned out by the wet sounds of their bodies, the slap of skin, the way Jaxson's breath hitched every time she took him to the hilt.
"Harder," she demanded, her voice a ragged whisper. "Fuck me harder, or I swear to god—"
Jaxson didn't need telling twice. He lifted her slightly, then slammed her back down, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her that made her vision blur. Trudy cried out, her hands flying to cover her mouth, but it was no use—she was too loud, too needy, and she didn't give a damn. Let them hear. Let them watch!
Their private noise was lost in arena mayhem. Shot for shot. The tension in the arena ratcheted up, the crowd on their feet, but Trudy was too far gone to care.
Jaxson's hands were under her ass now, lifting her, guiding her, his cock pistoning up into her with brutal precision. She could feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly, her thighs trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Gonna come," she gasped, her nails raking down his chest. "Fuck, Jaxson, I'm gonna—"
"Of course you are, babes. And I'll hold it, to join ya. Orrgh, fuck, I'm cumming. Orrgh, Oorgh!"
Well, hot little Trudy got there too. Okay, her fingers helped.
Winners on the ice, who gave a fuck. Oh, some supporters.
Off the ice, orgasms reached, not in sync, but close enough.
Trudy wiped between her legs with her skimpy panties. She stuffed the wet musty fabric in Jaxson's pocket; he could sniff them later.
She grabbed his hand, tugging down her skirt, and said, "I want a hot dog."
"Geez, babes, give me ten to recover."
"Doh, you duffer, I want a frankie, a soft bun and mustard."