“Justin,” he mumbles, and I want to have a sassy comeback, but with his hands literally all over me, I have nothing to say. My hand moves from his ass to his front, and I cup his covered cock. “Caroline.” He now says my name. I slowly open my eyes, but my eyelids feel like they are a thousand pounds. “We are slowly skating toward the goalie.”

“What?” I ask him.

“You are skating toward the goalie, and he’s leaving the net empty,” he hisses, and he doesn’t move as he watches me not understand. “I’m going to go off in your hand.”

“Oh,” I say, smiling that I put him to the point that one touch, and he will go off. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Trust me, I really want to score.” He kisses me. “But I want to do it when we have the whole night.”

“The whole night?” I repeat.

“The whole night,” he says. “Maybe even some of the next day, too.”

“That’s a long time,” I say. “Are you …?” I try to ask him. “Can you go that long?”

“I’ll just have to show you,” he says, and it’s like he threw down the challenge. “Better to show you.”

“I mean, there are things we can do before then …” I try to think, but my hand on his cock and his fingers playing with my nipple are not helping. “Before we …” His mouth covers mine. “Before we pull the goalie.”

“You are so hot when you talk hockey,” he says and makes his way down, kissing my ribs. His cock is gone from my hand as he trails kisses to my stomach, and then he looks at me as I watch him. My elbows hold me up as he kisses my stomach and sucks in a bit, then goes to the waistband of his shorts that he leant me. I don’t know how he is going to react to the fact I’m not wearing panties. He looks at me, and right before he’s about to go lower, we both hear Dylan scream out crying.

He’s off me in a blink of an eye and already out of the door. I grab his shirt and put it on, then run out into the hall, and my heart stops in my chest. He’s standing there in the middle of the hallway with my son in his arms as Dylan cries.

“It was just a bad dream,” Justin whispers to him while his face is buried in his neck. “It’s probably that movie,” he says and looks at me, the worry all over his face.

“What happened?” I say, walking up to them and rubbing my son’s back.

“He had a bad dream that we left him,” Justin fills me in. “And he couldn’t find us, and when he woke up, he was all alone.”