by Eden Finley
“You good?”
“Keep going. You know what they say, the burning is good.”
“That’s not what my doctor says.”
Soren winces again. “Can you maybe not make me laugh while you’re inside me? Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re all good?”
“Yes. I need … more. Give me more.”
The pressure surrounding my dick could kill me if I keep going, but I do as he says. I just go really, really slow.
That brings other problems though. Like focusing on Soren’s face as he takes more of me. The heat in his gaze. The want in his flushed cheeks. The adoration in his half-smile.
Nope, nope, nope.
Love hearts are trying to fill my eyes again. I can feel them trying to blind me to what the truth of this is—something with no future.
We both know this.
“I have an idea.” I pull out of him and fall to the bed. “Face the wall.”
Soren rolls onto his side and bends his top leg.
I enter him again, pushing in the tightest hole known to man, but now with him facing the other way, I can pretend for a moment it’s not Soren. My Soren.
And that works for a while.
I’m able to imagine the brown hair in front of me belongs to some random fan and prepare myself for the inevitable emptiness that will come once we’ve both gotten off.
I’ve never, ever, been the type of person to equate sex with love. For me, in my world, the two don’t correlate. But when I’m with Soren, even that first night, it’s hard to separate the two.
It’s easy to confuse this consuming lust with something deeper when it’s not.
It can’t be.
Yet, when Soren calls out my name and lifts his arm to reach behind him and wrap it around my neck, it’s even easier to put that confusion aside and let go.
I get lost in him.
Drowning in his body.
In everything Soren.
Which is why what we’re doing is so dangerous.
Chapter Fifteen
Soren
Jet and I pull ourselves out of bed midafternoon, and that’s only because our stomachs rumble with hunger.
After almost an entire day in bed with Jet, walking around the island without touching stings a little.
“Hey, do you think Joni and Ema gave the other guys condoms too?” Jet asks. “We’re gonna run out. We should sneak into their rooms and steal them.”
“That won’t be suspicious if they go missing.”
“They probably don’t even know they’re there. They wouldn’t have looked. They’re all committed and lovey and crap and most likely go bareback.”
I have to smother a moan because the word bareback coming out of Jet’s mouth should be illegal. “Are you proposing we Mission Impossible them out of there? You know what we could do?”
“What?”
“Ask Joni and Ema if they have any more.”
“Well, that sounds a lot less fun, but okay.”
The island is quiet again, and I wonder if everyone went to the mainland with Matt and Noah or if they’re all in their rooms having an afternoon nap.
We enter the main house, and Ema immediately comes down from upstairs. I wonder if they have some sort of sensor when someone’s approaching or if Joni and Ema have ninja senses.
“I thought you boys might have gone to the mainland seeing as you’ve been absent all day.” She says this with a warm smile, but I can hear the inquisitiveness too. Where have you been?
“We’ve been hanging out,” Jet says. “Our appetites brought us out of hiding.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“Anything,” I say. “I could eat a horse.”
“Leave it to me,” Ema says and goes into the kitchen.
Jet leans in. “I have something you could eat that’s as big as a horse’s.”
I snort. “I need actual food.”
“Hey, cum is totally full of protein.”
A loud crashing sound comes from the kitchen.
“I reckon she heard me,” Jet says.
“You know, your brother didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea of us. And clearly, Ema knows something’s going on. Ollie and Lennon know. Maybe we should tell the other guys?”
If Jet’s face is anything to go by, he doesn’t like that idea. “Is there really any point? You don’t think when we go back to our normal lives they won’t give us sympathetic stares and do the whole ‘How are you doing since the big breakup?’ And no matter how many times we tell them it wasn’t a breakup because you need to be in an actual relationship to break up, that they won’t still look at you like ‘Aww, poor baby is heartbroken.’”
“That’s an oddly specific scenario.”
“I just don’t see the point.”
“Uh, so that when they do find out, I don’t get my ass kicked by the entire offensive line of the Chicago Warriors?”
Jet makes a “pfft” noise. “Three guys is hardly the entire offensive line.”
“Oh, sure, because three NFL players aren’t scary on their own. Plus, Noah. Plus, maybe Maddox. Damon would have to stay neutral because Matt and I are both his clients. If we’re up front about it, there’ll be a lot less backlash than if they find out another way.”
Jet hesitates, and I wish he’d tell me why he’s so reluctant. I should be the reluctant one. It’s my ass that’s going to get kicked.
“I’ll think about it,” he says.
I guess that’s all I can ask for.
After lunch, we go our separate ways to get changed into our swim trunks and casually meet at the pool at separate times in case anyone is there.
They’re not.
“Mmm, got the whole pool to ourselves.” Jet waggles his eyebrows.
“Hey, you’re the one who doesn’t want anyone finding out about us, so you need to keep your hands to yourself. Any of them could come by at any minute.”
“Fine. If that’s the way you’re gonna play.” Jet drops his towel on a pool chair.
I expect him to jump right in, but instead, he stares at me with a gleam in his eye. He unties his board shorts and shimmies them down his thighs, revealing teeny, tiny Andrew Christian pride bikini bottoms.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?” With a practiced innocent look, Jet bends over to pick up the bottle of sunblock he brought with him.
“You’re a fucking tease,” I growl.
“You love it.”
I do, but that’s not the point. “I love it when I can do something about it, not—” I stare down at my hard cock.
Jet laughs as I rearrange myself, and he applies sunblock. That makes my predicament even worse.
“You know, I totally thought you’d be out of steam after last night and today, Big Daddy.”
I point at him. “No. That is not catching on, and it’s not a thing.”
“No problem, Big D.”
Another protest almost passes my lips, but then I really think about it. “Hmm, actually I can live with that.”
“Of course, you’d like that one.”
“Naturally.”
Jet’s still laughing when Ollie and Lennon appear out of nowhere.
“Did you guys get Matt’s message?” Ollie asks.
I cock my head. “Message? I thought we weren’t allowed phones.”
Ollie hands his over. “Turned off all social media. But apparently, it’s time to put our money where our mouths are.”
There’s a photo of all the others outside an ice-skating rink. They’ve captioned it “May the best athletes win.”
“They’re in Suva, and they found an ice-skating rink, so they’ve rented the whole place out for us tomorrow.”
“They’re seriously challenging us to a game of hockey? For real?”
“I’m assuming there’s stipulations, but yup.”
“Oh, I am so there.” I give Ollie his phone back, and he raises his other hand for a fist bump.
“What are you guys up to?” Lennon asks.
“We just had some lunch. Now we’re going swimming.” How Jet manages to make that sound dirty, I have no idea.
“You guys were going to fuck in the pool, weren’t you?” Ollie asks.
“Eww. I refuse to swim in jizz,” Lennon says.
Jet squeezes his eyes shut and mutters to himself. “It’s too easy a shot. Do not take it.”
Lennon throws his towel at Jet, smacking him in the face. “No fucking in the pool.”
“Do handjobs count in that?” Jet asks.
“Yes,” Ollie and Lennon say at the same time.
I climb into the pool, using the steps off to the side. “You guys are no fun.”
“Jet’s a bad influence on you,” Ollie says.
“Why do people think you’re all humble and innocent?” Jet asks. “The things you’ve done to me—”
Lennon blocks his ears. Ollie looks horrified.
I laugh. “I take it back. You guys are fun.”
Jet runs and jumps into the pool, cannonballing right next to me.
I flick the water from my hair and glare at Jet. “You’re asking for it.”
“What if I am?”
I pounce, but I’ll give him one thing—the rock star is fast. He manages to evade me but not for long. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pull him under with me.
Bad idea. Skin on skin, his tiny swimsuit taunting me, and visions of the last twelve hours of being in bed with him, my body thinks it’s time for another round.
“Is this all you two are gonna do all day?” Ollie asks when Jet and I come up for air.
Jet wraps himself around me. “Nah. Seeing as we’re not allowed to fuck in here, I reckon we’ll be leaving soon.”
“Really soon,” I agree.
Ollie smiles this time.
“What?” I ask him.
“Nothing, man. You look happy.”
Jet and I share a glance, and his lips pull tight. He turns to Ollie. “Well, duh. Sex makes you happy.”
I’m a little offended he thinks him making me happy has only got to do with sex.
I grab Jet’s hand and pull him toward the steps of the pool. Turning to Ollie and Lennon, I ask, “Can you guys cover for us tonight at dinner? We’re not going to make it.”
Jet’s in obvious agreement because he walks right past his things and heads in the direction of our cabins.
Yeah, he makes me happy. Even if he’s not ready to accept that.
As soon as we enter the ice rink the following morning, I take a deep breath.
Ah, there’s the smell of home … with a touch of coconut. Seriously, how does everything smell like that here?
I’m used to smelling the ice with a side of man sweat that no one should ever have to endure.
We’re fitted with shitty skates, and there’s a bucket of old hockey pads and equipment for us to use.
We leave the pads for now because Ollie and I can’t get out there fast enough. By the end of the season, I need a break from everything hockey, but a month later, I crave flying across freshly resurfaced ice again.
I chase Ollie around the rink, and we both skate around the others who try to get their bearings.
“Sorry, who are the ultimate athletes again?” I taunt Damon. “Baseball players, right? I think that’s what you said.”
Ollie approaches and uses a hockey stop to shave ice all over us. Maddox flinches as if he expects Ollie not to stop in time.
“We never said we had to be good at your sport,” Damon says. “Just that we could manage to do it.”
I skate backward while Damon and Maddox push forward, holding on to each other for dear life. “Is this you managing it?”
I’m beginning to wonder if most of this group’s communication is expressed through our middle fingers because two are pointed my way.
“You don’t have to worry about us, but those two seem to have it handled.” Damon nods in Lennon and Noah’s direction. Matt’s holding on to the side, too scared to push off.
Lennon’s surprisingly coordinated for someone who can’t even dance. He puts his arms wide and pulls himself into a spin.
Who knew that nerd could be so graceful?
As I think that, he loses his balance and almost falls.
I turn back to Damon and deadpan. “I’m scared.”
Distracted by the thrill of being back on the ice, I don’t notice Jet still off to the side. He’s in the stands, biting his bottom lip.
I skate over to him. “Never skated before?”
He shakes his head.
“Didn’t you used to work as a game DJ for Ollie’s team?”
“I know I sucked at that job, but I didn’t realize I was so shit that I was supposed to do it on the ice and not in the booth.”
“Smartass. I mean you had to be around the rink a lot. You never skated?”
“Didn’t know how to.”
I hold out my hand. “Come on. I’ll take you around.”
“If I break an arm, my label will be pissed.”
“If you break an arm, I’ll be pissed. I kinda like your arms.”
Jet grimaces. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“You’re a weird thing to say.”
He’s holding back laughter, I can tell. “Who’s supposed to be the mature one here?”
“Age has nothing to do with maturity. Look at those two.” I point to Talon and Miller who are skating around competently, Miller behind Talon and holding his waist while Talon holds his arms out screaming, “I’m king of the world!”
“Point taken.” Jet takes a hesitant step toward the ice. “You won’t let me fall?”
My fingers intertwine with his. “Never.”
He doesn’t need to know I mean in general.
The first step onto the ice is shaky, and he tries to overcompensate by leaning forward, which makes him fall into me.
My free arm goes around his back. “See. I’ve got you.”
And what I’ve realized is this is a total loophole in the whole “no touching Jet in front of his brothers” rule.
As much as I’d love to have the ice to ourselves, this is the next best thing—holding his hand under the excuse of not letting him fall.
I pull back and trail my hand down Jet’s arm, joining our fingers on that hand too.
Skating backward, I pull Jet along with me.
His eyes are wide and terrified, and he keeps glancing between me and his feet.
“Look at me,” I say.
He does.
“Trust me.”
“How can I when you’re going backward and not even looking?”
“I do this for a living. Plus, we’re skating at a snail’s pace. If I hit anything, we’re not going to fall.”
Jet lets me pull him along for a lap or two, but whenever I suggest he push with his feet, he says, “I’m good with this.”
He’s got good balance, only wobbling on occasion. He could easily pick up the basics, but while he’s touching me and staring into my eyes, I’m good with just doing this too.
After a few more laps, Jet stops alternating looking between me and the ground and glances at the others who have all picked up a little more skill thanks to Ollie. Whether he’s showing them how to skate or taunting them so their egos and competitive natures come out to make them focus harder, I’m not sure.
“Okay, I want to skate now,” Jet says.
I grin. “You are skating.”
“I want to learn to skate on my own.”
“What you want to do is put weight on your right foot and push backward. Bring it back to center. Then do the same with the left.”
He takes instruction well, and as suspected, he picks it up easily, but he’s still overcompensating and almost falling at times.
If I was anything like my father while he was teaching me to skate, I’d tell Jet falling is a part of hockey, so he should do it and get it out of the way.
If
it weren’t for my Canadian pride coursing through my veins, I’m sure I would’ve grown up terrified of the ice after the way my dad coached me.
He was the typical tough love kind of dad. Huge hockey fan. Would’ve gone pro himself if he had the talent, which he liked to complain about all the time. He had skills, and he was a great coach, but the NHL wasn’t his fate.
He coached my high school team, and after I made it to the NHL, he took the chance at private coaching, using my rep to gain clients.
He’s retired now, he and mom living the relaxed life of a retired couple, traveling the world.
“What are you smiling at?” Jet asks.
I’m smiling? “I’m thinking how lucky you are that I take after my mom. If I was like my dad, I’d leave you in the middle of the ice and tell you to get yourself back to the gate.”
Jet wobbles again. “But you won’t, right?”
I pull him closer to me so fast that he doesn’t have time to freak out or register that he might fall. My arm goes around his back, and I hold him to me. “I promised I wouldn’t, and I don’t make empty promises.”
His brown eyes stare up at me.
Our breaths mingle.
Our chests rise and fall in sync.
I want nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him, but doing that and finding a way to explain how that’ll teach Jet to skate will take some thought.
A loud whistle echoes through the empty rink.
Jet’s skate slams into mine as he turns toward the noise.
I hold on to him tighter.
“We doing this or what?” Ollie asks from the other side of the rink.
“Yeah, I’m definitely going to sit this one out,” Jet says.
“Figured.” I pull him to the gate so he can go sit in the stands and watch.
Matt decides to sit out too.
“What, they don’t have ice skating in Tennessee?” Ollie taunts.
Jet and Matt share a look that screams childhood issues. I know of some of them from what Matt has said, but to say the least, their parents weren’t the “let’s take the kids skating” type of parents.
We put on the pads, which are half falling apart, and take the hockey sticks, which are light and flimsy. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m just happy to be back on the ice again.
