The Arena Laughed at My Milk, So Four Hockey Men Kept Me novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: First Change

In the garage Katja calls the changes and each of the four drinks from her in turn while she gets herself off on Abram's thigh; her ex's text says her apartment is gone.

The steel door hit the concrete, and the garage went quiet except for the hum of the ice plant through the wall.

Four men stood in front of me in skates, and none of them had said a word.

"I leak," I said. "It's hormones. My body makes milk and it won't stop."

Taras opened his mouth.

"If you make a joke, you can go out the side door," I said.

He shut it again.

"I've hidden it for five months under vests and tape and an apron," I said. "I'm tired. I want it looked at and I want it wanted."

"I'll tell you what I want, since I'm not hiding. I want a mouth on me, not a camera."

Abram took a slow step forward.

His eyes were pale gray and level, and there was sweat drying in the gray at his temples.

"Tell me to stop," he said, "and I stop."

"Sit down," I said.

There was a long wooden bench against the wall where the crew hung their coats.

Abram sat on it, and I stood between his knees and unzipped the coverall to my waist.

The two sports bras were soaked through, and I peeled them off over my head and dropped them on the concrete.

The air in the garage was cold on my skin, and my nipples drew up tight and hard.

Milk beaded at both of them and ran down in two thin lines.

Nobody laughed.

Anders made a small sound in his chest, and Taras said, "Holy God," in a voice I had never heard from him.

Garnet stood against the wall with his taped hand held loose at his side.

He was watching my face, not my chest.

"Abram," I said.

He put both hands on my waist, bent his head, and closed his mouth over my left nipple.

I felt the pull all the way down.

It was hot and wet and steady, and the pressure that had ached in me since the second period went out of me with every swallow.

I had not known how badly I needed it to go somewhere.

I put my hand on the back of his head and held him there.

"That's it," I said. "Take it all."

He made a low sound against my skin, and his hand slid up my spine and spread wide between my shoulder blades.

He drank slowly, as if he had been told he could and was afraid to be told otherwise.

When he swallowed, I could feel the muscles of his throat move under my palm.

"Sweet," he said, with his mouth still on me. "God, it's sweet."

My legs gave a little, and I put one knee up on the bench beside his thigh.

Then I settled my pussy against his leg through his hockey pants, hard, and the heat of it went straight through the wet fabric of my underwear.

I rocked once.

He grunted, and his fingers dug into my back.

"Change," I said.

Abram lifted his head.

There was milk on his lower lip, and he licked it off slowly while he looked at me.

"You," I said to Taras.

Taras was already on his knees on the concrete.

He is six foot four, and kneeling put his face exactly level with my chest.

"Mar," he said. "I'm going to say something stupid."

"Say it with your mouth on me."

He did.

He took my right nipple between his lips and sucked hard, and he groaned into me so loud it echoed off the metal door.

"Jesus," he said, around me. "It's warm and it's sweet and I can't"

I pushed his head back to my breast with my fist in his curls.

"Less talking," I said.

He laughed, shaking against me, and then he drank, and the groan he made turned into something I felt in my belly.

I rode Abram's thigh a little harder.

I put my own hand down the front of my underwear, and found my clit, slick and swollen.

I rubbed it in small tight circles while Taras swallowed.

Abram's hands came to my hips and set the rhythm, slow and heavy, dragging me along his thigh.

"Change," I said.

Taras let me go with a wet sound and sat back on his heels, red-faced and grinning.

Anders came forward before I called him.

He did not touch me at all at first.

He stood there with his arms stiff at his sides and tears on his face, and his jersey was dark with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what to do."

"Come here and put your mouth on me," I said.

"Put your hands on my back. You can't do it wrong."

He bent his head.

His mouth was shy and warm, and he drew on me in small careful pulls, and then bigger ones when I held his head and told him to.

"Good," I said. "That's good, Anders."

His whole body shuddered, and I felt his heartbeat through his chest, fast and hard against my ribs.

My hand sped up between my legs.

I was close, and I knew I was close, and I wanted all four of them for it.

"Garnet," I said.

He had not moved from the wall.

He came over slowly, a big, quiet man with a gray-threaded braid down his back and tape on his right hand.

He took the tape off with his teeth, finger by finger, and dropped it on the floor.

Two of his fingers were swollen and purple.

"Don't use that one," I said.

"I won't," he said.

He put his left hand flat at the small of my back and lowered his head.

Garnet took my left nipple, still wet from Abram, and he was careful in a way the others hadn't been.

He drank slow, with a long drag of his tongue, and he kept his eyes up on mine the whole time.

I came with Garnet's eyes on me.

It broke over me in a long hard pulse that started under my hand and flooded up my belly, and my milk let down in his mouth and ran over his chin.

I cried out, loud, and Anders caught my hips so I didn't fall.

Abram's thigh was slick through his pants, and I ground down on it until the last of it had gone through me.

Nobody said anything for a while.

The ice plant hummed in the wall, and my breathing slowly came down.

Garnet lifted his head.

He wiped his chin with the back of his good hand, and he looked at the milk on his knuckle.

"Thank you," he said.

It was all he said, and it was enough to make my eyes sting.

Taras was the first to speak.

"I'm going to need a minute," he said. "And a cold shower. And maybe a priest."

Anders laughed, wetly, and wiped his face on his shoulder.

"Not tonight for the rest," I said.

I saw all four of them look at the front of their hockey pants and then away.

"Tonight was this," I said. "The rest is mine to start, and I'll tell you when."

"Yes, ma'am," Taras said, and he meant it.

"Don't ma'am me."

"Yes, Mar."

Abram put his jacket back around my shoulders, and I let him.

My phone buzzed on the seat of the machine.

It was Brent.

I read it standing there with milk drying on my stomach.

Your stuff is by the loading dock bins. Dad says don't come in Monday.

I held the phone out so they could see the screen.

Abram read it, and his jaw went hard.

Garnet read it over his shoulder, and said nothing, and his bad hand closed.

"It's thirty-four below," Taras said.

He was already pulling his jacket on over his jersey.

"My truck's out back. Eleventh Street. Let's go."

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