Chapter Text
The Hockey House hit Hannah like a wall of noise and stench the second she stepped inside. Shouts and laughter boomed from the living room, the floor sticky under her sneakers. The air was thick with the sharp tang of burnt popcorn, cheap body spray, and that unmistakable musk of too many guys living together. Doors slammed constantly. No one seemed to knock, and she later would find out that Dean thought closed doors were a suggestion.
Somehow, all of that didn't faze her half as much as what she saw next.
Garrett appeared at the top of the stairs wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, and her stomach did a slow, treacherous flip.
Water still clung to his skin from a shower, tracing the cut lines of his abs and the sharp V disappearing beneath the waistband. Hannah's cheeks flushed as her mind involuntarily replayed that day at the arena, that brief, mortifying moment when she'd seen much more than his naked chest.
Not that she was thinking about it.
At all.
Her brain was a pristine, memory-free zone.
(She was such a terrible liar, even to herself.)
Garrett's bedroom was a paradox of the house. The stale odor of beer and sweat hung in the air, but beneath it was something fresher— mint, maybe? Hannah couldn't quite place it. The room itself surprised her with its tidiness, considering the chaos downstairs. No mountain of dirty laundry, no random equipment cluttering the floor. Everything had its place, except his desk, which was a wasteland of empty Gatorade bottles, a lone hockey puck, and what looked suspiciously like a fossilized protein bar. She perched cautiously on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, her heart racing for reasons she refused to acknowledge. Focus on philosophy. Pretend you're not alone with a semi-naked hockey player in his bedroom. Pretend you don't notice how the faded sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing that V-line that led…she needed to stop thinking immediately.
Only to then proceed to almost have a full internal meltdown because why the hell was Garrett standing in only his boxers now?
Focus. Philosophers. Pretentious old men. Easy.
“Okay,” she started, voice steadier than she felt. “For your oral presentation, you need to argue one philosopher’s viewpoint and how it connects to modern society…”
Her words were cut off by the rapid ping ping ping of his phone.
"What was that?”
Garrett gave a noncommittal shrug, barely glancing at whatever was on his screen before answering her, "Oh, nothing. Just a snap from a puck bunny.”
What the fuck?
"Is that what you actually call women?”
"They call themselves that.” Which was...less bad? But still definitely not nice.
Wait….
"Wait, are people gonna think I'm a puck bunny?" That would be the icing on the cake of her already pathetic week.
Garrett seemed almost amused as he told her that no one would think that.
Well….rude.
She could be puck bunny material, thank you very much!
Or could she?
A dark thought came to her head: 'puck bunnies are probably capable of orgasming with someone else'.
She shook the thought away before it could land.
More than it already had.
The notifications kept coming.
She tried to ignore them. Tried to focus on Nietzsche. But each buzz felt like a tiny needle under her skin.
Eventually, she snapped. She grabbed his phone, typed quickly, and hit send: ‘This is Garrett’s tutor. Please leave him alone. He’ll fuck you later.’
Garrett let out a low laugh. “Damn. Now I have to fuck her later.”
Something sharp twisted in her chest. She hated how much she hated hearing him say it.
Thirty minutes later, the textbook was still mostly useless. Garrett could spit back facts, but connecting them? That was another story. He stretched lazily, arms over his head, and his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of smooth, toned skin. Hannah’s mouth went dry.
“I know I bombed the last test,” he said, catching her looking. “That’s why you’re here, right? My personal tutor.” The way he said personal should’ve been illegal.
“I’m not your personal anything,” she muttered, cheeks flaming. “We made a deal. That’s it.”
He grinned like he didn’t believe her for a second.
Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re hopeless.”
“Maybe.” He flipped the book open. “But I work better with motivation.”
“You mean like a good grade and not getting benched?”
“No, I mean…” He looked up at her, dropping his voice an octave. “Something worth working for.”
The air thickened. Hannah wondered if he did this to other girls, if he always made any word sound sinful. The answer was probably yes, and she should remind him she was not one of his puck bunnies. She should shut it down. Remind him she was here to tutor, not to entertain his fantasies.
But her eyes snagged on the way his shorts stretched tight across his thighs, and she thought about the fact that she was doing all of this to get Justin, but she still had never come with a guy, and if she ever got that date and potential subsequent hookup, she would just frustrate Justin, so why not…
Something reckless sparked in her. Before she could talk herself out of it, she heard herself say:
“Fine. Every time you get a question right, you get a reward.”
His eyes lit up with sudden, dangerous interest.
The first few were innocent. A compliment. A pen. Then he got Plato right, and she felt the shift in the air like static before a storm.
“Third reward,” she said, pulse thudding in her throat. “Name it.”
Garrett’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “A kiss.”
She should have said no. Instead, her stupid, curious, aching body whispered yes.
Garrett Graham was uncomplicated.
She didn’t think he would be able to do what the others hadn’t, but…
It couldn’t hurt to try.
“A kiss?”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward, arms crossing across his chest. “One kiss. On the lips. For the next correct answer.”
She hesitated still. Not because she didn’t want it. It was exactly because she did. Garrett pressed on.
“Think about it, Wellsy. It will only help us. It will help with this little blushing problem you have around me, and it will certainly help if Jules sees you walking out of here with kissed lips.” His eyes were molten gold, hungry.
“I do not have a blushing problem.”
“You do, but that’s not the point.” She was going to protest but thought better of it.
“Fine,” she breathed. “Next question. What philosophical concept is associated with Immanuel Kant’s idea of acting according to a universal moral law?”
He didn’t even look at the book. “The categorical imperative.”
“Correct.”
He was already standing, slowly getting closer to the bed, his body blocking out the dim light from the single lamp. Hannah’s breath caught as he bent down, one hand braced at her side, caging her in.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
She didn’t. She wanted to watch.
His lips met hers, soft at first, testing. Then she opened her mouth, and he took the invitation, tongue sliding against hers, tasting of mint and something darker. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss, and she felt it everywhere, a hot curl in her belly, a damp ache between her legs.
When he pulled away, she was panting.
It was unfair how good of a kisser he was.
“That’s the kind of reward you had in mind?” he asked, voice rough, pupils blowing wild.
She should leave. End this. End whatever the hell was this thing electrifying her whole body.
But she found she couldn’t.
So she stayed.
And decided that maybe she could be a little bit of a puck bunny for the night.
“Maybe.” She swallowed, her fingers gripping the comforter beneath her. “But I’m the one who decides when you earn it.”
“Then give me another question.”
She asked about Nietzsche’s concept of the Übermensch. He answered correctly without hesitation. She asked about Descartes’ famous statement. He said “I think, therefore I am” before she finished the question.
“Two more rewards,” he said, his eyes tracing her lower lip. “What do I get?”
“Whatever I want to give you.”
“Then give me something better.”
It was funny, how he could demand without sounding forceful. Something in Hannah knew, without a shadow of doubt that if she showed the littlest hint of discomfort, of wanting to end this little game of theirs, he would stop. He would back away with no comment, no harsh words or looks, just understanding. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
And it just made him hotter.
She stood abruptly from the bed, walking until she was facing him sitting on the chair. Garrett didn’t move, but his eyes tracked her, the way she stepped closer, close enough that her chest brushed his.
“I think,” she said slowly, “you’ve earned a better reward.”
She reached down, fingers hooking into the waistband of his shorts. His breath hitched. She pulled him toward the bed, and he followed without a word, the textbook forgotten on the floor.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, and she straddled him, knees sinking into the lumpy fabric. His hands immediately found her hips, gripping hard.
“You sure?” he asked, but it was barely a question, a mere formality, because they both knew the answer. They could both feel it in their veins.
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
He did. Deeper this time, messier, his tongue in her mouth while his hands slid up under her shirt, palms rough against her bare skin. She arched into him, rolling her hips against the growing bulge in his shorts.
“Fuck, Hannah,” he groaned against her throat.
His voice did something to her, and she decided to be bold. Bolder.
“More questions,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Answer more questions, and you can have me.”
He laughed, breathless. “You’re evil.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her again, then pulled away, grabbing the textbook off the floor and flipping it open. “Ask me something.”
She threw questions at him - who wrote Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Nietzsche), what is the veil of ignorance (Rawls), name three existentialists (Sartre, Camus, Kierkegaard) - and he answered every single one, his voice steady even as her hands wandered. She traced the outline of his cock through the shorts, watching him struggle to concentrate.
“Correct,” she said after he correctly identified John Stuart Mill as a proponent of utilitarianism.
“Then give me my reward.”
She slid off his lap, kneeling on the floor in front of him. His eyes went wide.
“What are you…”
“I said I’d give you something better.”
She tugged his shorts down, the fabric catching on his hips. His cock sprang free - thick, hard, already glistening at the tip and just as mesmerizing as that day on the locker room. She wrapped her fingers around the base, feeling the heat, the weight of him.
“Hannah, you don’t have to…”
“I know.” She looked up at him, licking her lips. “But I want to.”
She lowered her mouth, taking the head between her lips, tasting salt and skin. Garrett’s head fell back with a groan, his hand threading into her hair, not forcing, just holding.
She worked him slowly, deliberately, thanking all her vocal exercises as she took him deeper inch by inch until he hit the back of her throat. He cursed, hips jerking, and she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard.
“Fuck…that’s…that’s good…”
She pulled off, dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft. “Did you earn another reward?”
“Yes, fuck yes, ask me something else.”
She licked his tip again. “Name the three main branches of philosophy.”
He choked out the answer between ragged breaths - metaphysics, epistemology, ethics - while she took him back into her mouth, bobbing faster, her hand working the base in tight strokes.
“I’m gonna...Fuck, Hannah, I’m gonna come”
She didn’t stop. She wanted him to. Wanted to taste him, wanted to feel his release.
She felt empowered. Sexy. In control. Like someone who was whole and normal and complete.
She also felt extremely wet.
He came with a shout, hot pulses spilling across her tongue. She swallowed, pulling away slowly, licking her lips while staring deep into his eyes.
Garrett stared back at her, chest heaving, eyes blown wide.
“What the fuck.” He said, but it sounded like a prayer.
They could have ended at that.
She should have ended at that. Stopped it before they got to a point where he expected her to come. Stopped before Garrett Graham could discover she was broken.
Something inside her roared and she couldn't stop.
She climbed into his lap, pressing him back onto the bed. “We’re not done.”
“We’re not?” There was excitement and hope and so much lust in his voice it dripped through her like honey.
“I still have questions. And you still have rewards to earn.”
He groaned as she ground against him, his softening cock stirring back to life against her core. “How many more?”
“As many as it takes.”
She stripped off her shirt, then her jeans, leaving herself in a thin lace bra and panties. She was eternally grateful at that moment for Allie's commands about always wearing sexy underwear because Garrett’s eyes became even more molten as he stared at the black lace. His hands found her breasts immediately, thumbs circling her nipples through the fabric.
“Last question,” she said, breath hitching as he pinched gently. “What did Aristotle say about the purpose of human life?”
“Eudaemonia, happiness or flourishing through virtue.” His voice was strained, his fingers already hooking into the waistband of her panties.
“Correct.”
He flipped them over so she was pinned beneath him, his cock pressing against her soaked entrance. “Then I get my final reward.”
His fingers found her drenched pussy, and he stroked her with a reverence that deserved sonnets written about it. His callouses were delicious against her clit and she was truly having to bite down her lip to avoid the noises that wanted to come out.
“None of that, Wellsy, use that little singing voice of yours. I want this entire house to hear how good I’m making you feel.” He emphasized his request by inserting two fingers inside of her and continuously rubbing her clit.
She was delirious with pleasure, lost in the feelings of her body. She had stopped biting her lip and was now moaning like crazy. She couldn't even think about the embarrassment she would feel looking at all the people downstairs who were definitely hearing her.
When Garrett removed his fingers from inside her, she honestly to god whined, a sound low and sad, which earned her a chuckle from the hockey player currently above her. She wasn’t disappointed for long as she saw him reach into his nightstand and pull out a condom.
In no time, he slid into her, slow and thick, filling her in a way that made her see stars. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he buried his face in her neck, fucking her with deep, even strokes.
“God, you feel…you feel incredible. So fucking tight and wet and hot. Fuck," Garrett muttered against her skin.
“Faster,” she demanded.
He obeyed, picking up the pace, the bed creaking beneath them and joining their moans in alerting everyone about what they’re doing. She clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin right on top of that slutty little tattoo of his, as the pressure built low in her belly. The room was filled with the lewd sound of skin meeting skin, and Hannah could not focus on anything aside from the feeling of his cock stretching her so fucking well.
“I’m close,” she breathed into his neck, and she was so lost in the haze of pleasure her brain didn’t register the enormity of those words.
“Come for me, Hannah. Come on my cock.” His low and husky voice was all it took.
She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her in waves, clenching around him. He followed a moment later, groaning her name as he spilled inside the condom.
They lay there, tangled and sweaty, the philosophy textbook still open on the floor.
And then reality crashed into Hannah.
She had just orgasmed.
With someone.
Not someone. Him.
Garrett Graham had done the impossible.
And that…that changed everything.