Starting Line

Chapter 1

Ethan “Wildman” Wilder

“Faster.”

I groan, my back arching slightly as I stroke my dick. My body is already covered in a sheen of sweat. It passed ‘light sheen’ and now I feel like I just got out of the shower after hours on the ice. Sweaty. Shaky. Breathless.

“That’s it. Look at you. So needy for me.”

When he’s horny, his Czech accent gets thicker. Over the last eight years, it’s thinned out and become only slightly accented. Enough so that you would immediately know that English isn’t his first language, but not quite enough to figure out his natural tongue. Not unless you’re familiar with the Czech accent. Since hockey is big in the Czech Republic, many hockey fans can pick it out easily.

My cock is throbbing. My balls ache. He’s been torturing me for what feels like a goddamn day! Since I only got back to my apartment around six, I know it hasn’t been that long.

“Come on, kocourek. I want to see tears in your eyes.”

“Sadist,” I mutter, my hand moving faster over my hard dick. My hips come off the mattress as I groan. His answering chuckle makes everything inside me flutter. “Fuck, Jakub.”

“Soon, zlato. I will fuck you soon.”

His words make my ass clench. Jesus, it’s been far too long.

“Slow down, lásko. You will come when I do.” His voice gets sharp when he says, “I didn’t say you could touch your balls.”

I pull my other hand away and push it under my head. Every muscle in my body is tight. Needing release. It’s his favorite way to torture me. I mean… please me. Especially when we’re almost 3,000 miles apart, like we are most of the year.

“No, lásko. Keep touching yourself. Begin at your neck; wrap your hand around it.”

A pathetic whimper escapes my throat as I do what he demands. My fingers wrap around my throat and I whine like a bitch. “That’s it,” he says. “Squeeze. Apply pressure, kocourek.”

His terms of endearment simultaneously make my chest warm and turn me the fuck on. You’d think with as angry and needy as my cock is right now that I couldn’t get any more turned on. That would be incorrect. The combination of his words in that sexy fucking accent of his, him calling me a little male kitten (yeah, I don’t get it, but it’s apparently a really sweet thing to call your male lover), and the restriction of my airway, my cock is leaking like a sieve. Thankfully, it just adds more lubricant to my hand, so I’m not rubbing myself raw.

“Yes, good. Do not slow your stroking, lásko. So sexy.”

“Please,” I mutter. My eyes squeeze shut.

He ignores me, of course. “Down your chest. Rub over your sexy pecs.” I do, touching my chest and running my hands over my nipples. My hips leave the bed again. Fuck, I’m acting like I’m touch starved. “So hot, Ethan. Pinch your nipple.” He makes a sexy sound when I do, which only gets me hotter.

“Your stomach, lásko. Like that.”

Fuck, I’m going to burst. Words leave my mouth, but I’m not really here anymore. I can hear Jakub telling me what to do and I immediately obey. Running my hand over my sweaty torso while my other abuses my dick. My ass clenches over and over as my hips leave the bed, desperate for sex. For my husband.

“Please,” I whine.

“Touch your balls, now.”

I do, squeezing them hard to try to stave off my impending orgasm until Jakub says I can. He likes to come together. It’s more important to him when we’re apart than when we’re together. Hell, when we’re together, it’s like I’m a horny teenager all over again. I orgasm so fucking easily. Often. It’s disgusting and hilarious.

“Slip your fingers down, kocourek. Slip into your hole.”

“It’s over if I do that.”

“It is not over until I say it is, Ethan.”

Gooseflesh rises all over my skin as I bend my body slightly to do as he commands. The feel of my finger against my hole is almost enough to push me over. It’s barely been a month. I shouldn’t feel so desperate. Christmas is right around the corner, too.

But it feels like years since he’s touched me. Years!

“So needy.”

“Talk Czech to me,” I say, my voice breathless.

One of the things I love about this man—and there are many things—is that his version of dirty talk in his native tongue is all sweet. He keeps the dirty words in English so I understand every word.

“Moc mi chybíš, lásko,” he says. His voice is almost a purr. I groan, pressing my finger against my aching hole. My pre-cum has dripped all over the place, as has the excessive amount of lube I used because I was too anxious to keep myself neat. The tip of my finger slides inside just as he says, “Nemůžu se dočkat, až tě zase uvidím.”

I moan as I work my finger into my tight hole. My breathing stops as I try to deprive myself of oxygen in an attempt to keep my orgasm at bay.

“Look at me, miláček. Now.”

Shifting my head, I force my eyes open to look at his gorgeous face on my tablet screen. He’s completely exposed to me. I can see his large hand moving frantically over his even larger dick as he watches me. His light blue eyes are almost silver, and I swear, I can feel them like a caress over my body.

I’m so close.

“Miluji tě.”

His breathy voice, his words, his hot as hell accent has me coming with force as if I hadn’t just jerked off this morning. I spray all over my chest, continuing to work myself over with his words ringing in my ears. Our eyes are locked as we come together. I can barely make out through the blurry image the way he drips long threads onto his thigh as his open mouth pants near the screen. He’s so close that the camera is having trouble figuring out what to focus on.

I drop limply to my bed and stare blearily into the screen. “That’s it,” he says, breathless. Voice deep and gravelly. “Run your fingers through your juice, lásko. Look at me when you clean your fingers.”

My hand moves slowly, as if it’s a limp noodle. I drag my fingers through the river of cum on my sweaty skin and bring my fingers to my lips. Making sure my eyes are locked with his, I dip my two fingers into my mouth, closing my lips around them and suck them clean of my release.

Jakub groans. “So pretty.”

I snort quietly. Then we stare at each other for a long time until he finally says, “Get cleaned up, kocourek. Then come back.”

It takes a lot of energy to force myself to get up. I’m shimmying a bit as I try to move my way across the bed, staying somewhat vertical to avoid making a mess with the dripping semen on my body. There’s nothing more annoying than leaving behind a trail that you need to clean up before you can drop boneless once more to enjoy the effects of a good release.

Jakub’s already clean and waiting for me when I return. I drop onto the bed, on my side, and stare into the screen at his handsome face. Light hair kept short. Scruff along his jaw and hinting around his upper lip. He has a lean face, though it’s not hard.

Then there are his eyes. They’re like something out of a children’s tale. Magical. Such a color shouldn’t exist in real life. Blue turning silver with a shine and sparkle all their own.

If anyone is gorgeous, it’s this man. And he’s mine.

As if he knows what I’m thinking about, an amused smile curves his lips. “Stop lusting over me.”

“I’m allowed to. You married me.”

This time, he grins. We met eight years ago playing for the farm league in Detroit, where we spent a year together. We got married. Enjoyed three months of married life. Then Jakub was traded to Anaheim. I’d have followed. I’d have given up my career to be with him. Except three weeks after he left, and I was ready to go crazy, I was offered a contract by Colorado. We've been traded a handful of times since then.

We talked extensively about whether I wanted to continue with my career or be his trophy husband. Often, I’m not sure why we agreed to do this long-distance thing. It’s difficult. Sometimes more than others.

Like right now when I’m feeling needy, lonely, and slightly vulnerable. I know that’s why he called me tonight. I know that’s why he made sure I had some extra torture to break down my resistance, so I’d talk about it without trying to shove it away. After a good orgasm, my inability to curb my thoughts and feelings is higher.

It’s been a long seven years apart. Anyone who tells you marriage is easy is lying through their teeth. It takes a lot of communication and compromise. It’s made all the more challenging by the distance between us. The infrequency of our time together.

And the fact our marriage is practically a secret to the world. Why? How do we keep it that way?

Many reasons. For starters, being an openly gay man in any high-profile sport puts an extra layer of pressure on you that you’re not always prepared for. My life was always going to be seen through tabloid headlines, but now it’s under a microscope.

Add to that the fact that we have an open marriage? The world hates both those things—homosexuality and non-monogamy. Imagine having those two things together!

Nope. It’s easier on both of us if we keep our personal lives a secret. Which isn’t hard since we rarely see each other. No one is looking for this scandal since I’m openly gay and Jakub is perceived as straight. He’s not. He hasn't been with a woman since before he met me. But what the world believes will keep them happy.

“Ready to talk?” he asks.

“Sure. How’s the team?”

He smirks. “Luca is a pain in my ass. If he wasn’t the only other player on the first line worth a shit, I’d kick his sorry ass.”

I laugh.

“Yours?”

I sigh. “Same as usual. Gilpatrick is never where he needs to be.”

It’s been a struggle since Credence Ayrton was drafted fresh from college. He and I just… gel. We’re fucking amazing together. There’s some magical connection that has our moves, our thoughts, our plays completely synced.

We’ve been accused of shutting out the third on the line, but for fuck’s sake. We’ve been through three right wingmen in the last few years as management tries to find us one that gels with Creed and me. I think the rest of the league is hoping that doesn’t happen. We’re a force just the two of us. If we had a third who harmonized as well as the two of us together…?

Then again, there are those who say that the reason Creed and I are just a powerhouse together is because of our chemistry. While I might give that hypothesis thought under other circumstances, the only thing on my mind when we’re on the ice is hockey.

Not how the pants spread over his ass and display the outline of his jockstrap. That’s locker room observation and bathroom fodder. Not what I think about during a game!

“Is there talk of a trade?” Jakub asks.

There’s that little voice that says I shouldn’t share what I know about my team with the competition. But Jakub and I always agreed that our marriage is our first priority. It might not look that way since we’ve chosen careers that take us to near opposite ends of the continent. But our conversations, our relationship in general, are a safe place. We can talk, vent, whine, cry, whatever about whatever we want. And it stays between us.

“Not that I know of. I think they still have hope for him.” I shrug. “He’s forced to take extra practice that Creed and I attend twice a week as we try to sync up.”

“Not happening.”

I shake my head. “Not yet. Once in a blue moon there’s a glimpse of perfect harmony. It’s always during practice, of course. But the plays, the passes, his position—it’s just right. Like he finally found our wavelength. But fuck if he can keep it. I think it’s enough of a promise that the coaches are really pushing him. He’s better than Vinny, Kain, or Romanov were.”

Yes, the three wingmen that came before Gilpatrick. Owen Vincent, Vinny, was here when Creed was drafted. He and I had worked well together for the previous season. It was good enough, but once Creed’s skates hit the ice, he and I were just… perfection. Vinny was traded for Noah Kain within the year.

Kain lasted six months. Honestly, it’s like our playing styles were complete opposites. I liked him. Especially since we were already friends. As one of a handful of queer hockey players, we get thrown together often as the poster boys for ‘even the gays can play’ campaign. No, it’s not as crude as that, but it’s the message that the world sees.

Kain was traded for Kozlov Romanov, an amazing and aggressive wingman whose Russian is so thick, I was rarely sure what he was saying. He lasted through the end of the season and was traded over the summer for Ryan Gilpatrick.

Here we are.

“Now we talk about Creed,” Jakub says.

Ah, the segway into my growing crush on my best friend and teammate. I grin and drop my face into the pillow.

Our marriage works like this: our communication is almost embarrassingly frequent as we talk about everything. Like even when one of us finds something new we like in bed (or don’t like, as it’s happened once or twice). Especially when it’s more than a hookup, someone we want to see repeatedly, we talk about it incessantly. To the point where it could get annoying and uncomfortable.

As it happens, more often than not, a lover being the frequent topic of conversation has killed the attraction.

But when I found I could talk about Creed and never get tired of it; when just the mention of his name in conversation makes me smile and fills my body with tingles and cliché streaks of warmth; when I realized that my attraction to him was far more than physical… that’s when I decided that I couldn’t be with him.

I was going to fall for Credence if I allowed myself even a peek of what it might look like beyond the friend zone.

“Jakub,” I say quietly. “I can’t do that.”

“Talk about him?”

Laughing, I shake my head and pull my face up to look at him. “You already know how I feel about him. If I let it, it’s going to go too far.” Biting my lip, I study his face for a minute. “I’m afraid of what will come of that. How this is going to work. Hookups are simple and careless transactions. Meaningless. A means to an orgasm.” I shake my head again. “Creed is none of those things.”

“You already love him, lásko.” My chest tightens at his words because I fear they’re true. “I trust you. Same rules apply.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Nothing will break us, Ethan. Our marriage, our relationship, is strong and healthy. Our love is solid, flexible, enduring. Eight years, kocourek. In eight years, I have grown to love you more. Fallen in love with you all over again. Many times. No matter what other relationships we explore, ours will always flourish.”

In these conversations, when I hint that I might want something more, Jakub is always quick to tell me these same things. But he left one thing out this time. That our marriage is a priority over any other relationship.

As if he knows I can’t go into a relationship with one partner taking priority over another, he has already modified our standing.

“We talk every day,” Jakub says. “That will continue. We will video when we can. We will make time together when we’re close or can sneak away, as we always do. And this summer, the three of us will spend time together. Look at me, Ethan. Look into my eyes.”

I hadn’t realized my gaze had fallen until he said so. Meeting his eyes again, I see nothing but his love for me. Even through a screen. Even 2,700 miles away, I can feel it. It makes my heart beat erratically. My breath stutters.

“I have known since you first spoke of Creed that he has a piece of your heart, lásko. It is time to see where that goes.”

“It could break the team,” I say. “What if we… don’t work?”

The thought alone makes my chest tight. Losing Creed would be devastating. Not just because he’s a teammate, but because he’s my best friend.

“I have confidence in the two of you,” my husband tells me with a soft smile. “It’s time to make that man yours, Ethan Wilder.”

“Miluji tě,” I whisper.

He chuckles. “Your pronunciation is shit, miláček. But I love you, too.”