Stone Creek by Davis, Lainey (reading diary .TXT) 📕

to be professional with him in the hockey building on Monday. The past few months, I've grown hungrier and hungrier for the feel of him. I need the firm presence of his body against mine. Behind closed doors is one thing, but I get a sense of satisfaction at putting my head on his shoulder in public, smiling at the waitress who sees us as just another couple out for lunch together. I feel my mind start to drift into the frightened place, where I'm afraid of my strong feelings for Neal, when he speaks.

"I want to teach you to skate," he tells me. I raise my eyebrows at this. "Then," he says, "you're going to give me a math quiz and smack me with a ruler when I get the answers wrong."

I laugh, crumpling up my napkin. "Do you even have a ruler? What about my calculator case?"

We leave the diner, continuing to joke about all the math tools I'll use to apply corporal punishment, when I realize that he was serious about skating first. He pulls into a parking spot outside the arena. "Neal!" I say. "I have never skated in my life."

He fumbles in his pocket for his ID card and swipes us in. Most weekend mornings, the arena is open for the public to ice skate, but everything is closed up and dark for the holiday. "No worries," he says. "I help coach peewee hockey camps all the time. If I can teach a 3 year old to skate, you should be fine."

"Yeah," I protest, "But the toddlers are a lot closer to the ground when they fall on their ass!" Ignoring me, Neal hops over the rental counter and starts to look for a pair of skates for me.

"What size shoe are you?" His eyes are serious. There's no getting out of this.

I sigh. "8."

He procures a pair of brown skates and tells me to put them on. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to my locker to grab mine," he says. His steps echo down the hall as he jogs through the empty arena. It looks so different than it had when I watched him play a few weeks ago. No music, no concessions. No atmosphere of competition. Today, it's just Neal's happy place. "And the freezing cold ice, where I'll bruise my tailbone," I mutter.

I get the skates laced and start to walk toward the ice, wobbling a bit. I hear Neal come up behind me and he kisses my neck. The ice is lit by the arena emergency lights, so it's enough to see but still dim enough that I'm not too embarrassed as I trip and flap my arms. Neal skates backwards, holding my hands and pulling me along the ice.

"Bend your knees a bit," he says in a soft voice. "Feel how you glide along with me." I exhale and try to stop thinking about it so much. His hands are strong around mine. I focus on his legs as he moves. The skates are an extension of his body and we speed faster and faster until the wind flaps the scarf around my neck.

Neal coaches me to lean my weight into one foot and then the other, pushing off with my thighs and slightly bent knees. He's right--he is good at teaching people how to skate. We move a bit faster together and I'm starting to feel comfortable, despite myself. Suddenly I realize he's let me go and we are soaring around the ice next to each other. As soon as I become aware of this, I trip over something and start to fly forward. Quick as a flash, Neal is in front of me, scooping me back upright. "You move like a panther," I tell him, breathless.

We slow to a halt against the boards, where I lean for support, panting a bit. "Maybe a fox," he says, reaching behind him. I see that we've reached the penalty box. Neal flicks open the door in the wall and, still moving backwards, tugs us in. "Or a dirty dog." There's a long bench inside and Neal backs into it, pulling me down so I'm straddling him with my knees.

He kisses me and starts unwrapping my layers, tossing off the hat and scarf, rubbing my ass inside my jeans. His hands feel warm through the fabric, heating up my chilled skin. His unshaven cheek is rough against my face and I like the raspy feel of it. He is wild, nipping at my neck with his teeth and thrusting his hips beneath mine. I can tell he's very aroused at the idea of having me here in the arena. "I thought we were going to play hot for teacher," I tease him, biting the tip of his ear as he starts unzipping my sweatshirt.

I squeak as he lifts me off his lap and plunks me on my knees on the foam mat. He stands up in front of me, towering impossibly high up on his skates as he starts to open his jeans. "Oh we're playing that later. Right now, though, I'm going to fuck you in the penalty box."

Neal sits back down and leans forward. He starts to slide his hands up my shirt and his touch brings goosebumps to my skin. The contrasting sensations of his hot touch in the chilly air feels exciting and I shrug out of my sweatshirt, giving him easier access to my breasts beneath my t-shirt. His erect cock is right at my face level and, inspired, I move my hands to stroke him from root to tip. He hisses at the contact with my icy hand, pulling back from my touch. I laugh. "Maybe I should find something warmer to put on your dick," I say as I open my mouth to slide him inside.

I hear him moan as I begin to work his shaft with