Him

by Sarina Bowen

  He’s not hating life, either. His hips roll beneath me, his cock bumping and scraping against mine. It aches. My balls are tight already. Rubbing off on him feels amazing, and I love that his sweet mouth is a prisoner of mine. But I don’t want to come yet.

  So I force myself to pull back. When I look down at Jamie, his eyes are glazed with lust, and his lips are swollen and red. I make the sign for “time out.” He tips his head back into the pillow and sighs, and I can’t help dipping down to kiss his exposed throat.

  I love you. The words are always right there on the tip of my naughty tongue. I swallow them back like I need to and say something much more practical instead.

  “Have you ever been acquainted with your prostate?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Jamie nods immediately, and my heart constricts. I must be insane to push him like this, but the things I crave are at war with my better judgment. So now I’m getting off the bed to dig in my duffel for the bottle of lube I keep in there.

  His eyes follow the bottle when I sit back on the bed. He’s probably seconds away from saying, “Hang on, that’s just too gay for me.” So I lean down and take the tip of his erection in my mouth.

  “Fuck,” he gasps, arching his back.

  Once again I am socked with the certainty that I’m the world’s most manipulative bastard. But I’m trying to blow his mind, and I’m hoping that’s enough justification. I torture him with my tongue until he’s practically levitating off the bed.

  “Lift this leg,” I whisper.

  Drunk from my teasing, he hikes his knee without complaint, and I position him so I can reach his crease easily. I dribble some lube onto the fingers of one hand. Then I drop my head and take his cock in my mouth. When I start sucking, he gasps. But when I slide my fingers between his ass cheeks, he goes silent.

  For a moment I don’t know what he’s thinking. I release his dick and place a kiss on its tip. “You okay?”

  He takes a slow breath. “Yeah,” he says as I tease his hole. “It’s strange.”

  “Can you take more?” If he says no, I’ll drop it.

  “Okay.”

  I apply some more lube and then penetrate him with the tip of my finger. “Relax for me, baby.”

  He tries. So I reward him with some kisses right where he wants them. “Mmm,” he says. “That I like.”

  I give him some more. Since I’ve weirded him out with the ass play, he’s not teetering on the edge anymore. I lean down, sucking and licking and just generally bringing out my A game. And at the same time, I’m working a finger slowly toward his prostate.

  When I finally get there, everything changes.

  “Ohfuckohfuck,” Jamie whispers, his thigh muscles trembling.

  I rub his prostate again and give another good suck.

  He moans, and I reach up with my free hand to cover his mouth. “Shh,” I remind him. “Don’t make me stop.”

  He shakes my hand off his mouth. “It’s… You’re… My feet are tingling.”

  That’s a good sign.

  Smiling, I resume my wicked ministrations, my finger sliding inside him in time to the long, lazy strokes of my mouth. Jamie begins to shift his hips, thrusting into my mouth. And it’s not just his dick he’s thrusting. It’s his ass, too. He’s bumping it toward me, seeking me out. Jesus. He’s trying to fuck my finger.

  “You doing okay?” I murmur.

  “More than okay.” His voice is a choked whisper.

  He’s squeezed his eyes shut. A flush rises in his cheeks, his brow drawn together as if he’s in pain. But I know pain is the last thing he’s feeling right now. His dick grows impossibly hard in my mouth, and I groan when his ass bears down on my finger.

  “Wes…” He breathes out my name, his thighs quivering as he lifts his hips again. “You’re making me crazy.”

  That’s what I like to hear. His arousal surrounds us like a thick mist, pulsing in the air, in my cock. I slide the pad of my finger over his prostate again, and he croaks out a curse, and I’m loving it. “Has anyone ever told you before that you’re sexually adventurous?”

  One eye opens. “All the time,” he mumbles, and I experience a jolt of jealousy, wondering which lucky girl helped him discover it. Jamie groans again. “Keep doing that. Please…don’t stop…”

  This guy is under the impression that stopping is even an option. I would, of course, if he asked me to, but as long as he’s begging for my mouth? For my finger? Nothing short of dying will stop me from giving it to him. I’ll give him every fucking part of myself, serve it to him like a feast at a banquet.

  Jamie Canning has no idea the kind of power he has over me.

  21

  Jamie

  I thought I had sex down to a science. I mean, it’s not difficult. Kissing, foreplay, intercourse. I’ve tried almost every sexual position known to man, even the crazy ones you see in porn, where the chick pulls some exorcist-contortionist maneuver while I pound into her.

  But my ass was never part of the deal.

  Right now, it is the deal. Because even though Wes’s mouth engulfs my cock like it’s trying to swallow me whole, the arousal humming in my blood is centered solely on the pressure between my ass cheeks. It’s good pressure. A slight burn that turns into a mind-melting rush of pleasure each time he hits this one spot inside me.

  He’s destroying me. He’s bringing to life nerve endings I didn’t know existed. It’s unfamiliar. It’s new. And experiencing it is a million times hotter than watching it happen to some other guy in a porn clip.

  “So good,” I choke out. “Jesus, don’t stop…baby.” He called me that before and I test it out now. It feels weird leaving my mouth. As weird as the new sensations coursing through me and tingling in my ass.

  I wasn’t sure I’d like this, but I do. God, I do. When his tongue ring scrapes the underside of my dick, I shiver, my breath catching. His finger is lodged inside me, and I wonder what it would feel like if he slipped another one in there. Or if he used something other than a finger…

  I suddenly think of the porn I watched earlier, the husky moans of the guy who was being drilled, and the dirty memory makes me clamp harder around Wes.

  He lifts his head abruptly, his finger stilling but not withdrawing.

  Uneasiness circles my gut as I meet his eyes. Lust has darkened them to stormy silver, and his throat works as he swallows.

  “Why did you stop?” I swallow, too. “Are you going to…fuck me now?”

  The question brings a jolt of panic. As hot as it was to watch on a screen, I don’t think I’m ready to experience that for myself yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready—

  “No.” He’s quick to reassure me, his gaze softening when he sees my face. “Not unless you want me to.”

  “I…” I bite my lip. “I…don’t know. Maybe another time.” Maybe another time? God, when I go gay, I really go gay.

  Wes’s lips quiver. “We’ll put a pin in that.”

  I shudder out a laugh. “Why’d you stop then?”

  “Just wanted to do this,” he says roughly, and then his finger disappears as he slides up and brushes his mouth over mine.

  The kiss goes from sweet to molten in a matter of seconds. His tongue fills my mouth in deep, hungry strokes that make me gasp. I’m eager for more, desperate for it, but he’s gone again before I can blink, crawling back between my legs.

  This time when his finger slips past that puckered ring of muscle, I welcome the burn. I crave it. Wes licks a hot line from the tip of my cock to my aching balls, teasing the delicate sac while his finger toys with me. When I try to push my ass against it, he retreats, a dark chuckle fanning over my shaft.

  Jesus. I can’t take it anymore. I need to come before I self-combust.

  “Stop being a cocktease,” I growl. “Give me what I want.”

  His tongue ring teases my slit. “Yeah, and what do you want, baby?”

  “For you to suck me dry.�
��

  Wes pushes his finger in deeper, rubbing that spot that makes me see stars. My prostate. Why hasn’t anyone ever told me the prostate was some kind of magical pleasure zone? Are there unicorns and orgasm fairies dancing around in there?

  “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it.” He grins up at me.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Make me come, jackass.”

  His laughter sends my heart soaring. Which is the most confusing thing of all, because it adds an element to the sex I didn’t expect. I’m comfortable with him. I have fun with him. I’m not trying to impress anyone. It’s…easy. Like splashing in the lake. But with orgasms.

  “You’re a bossy bastard, Canning.” His lips tickle the head of my cock. “I fucking love it.”

  And I love what he’s doing to me. The sucking, the blunt fingertip rubbing inside me. It’s not long before the tension gathers again. A knot of pleasure that coils tighter and tighter until finally I cup the back of Wes’s head and bear down on his finger as the orgasm shoots through me. Out of me.

  Wes drinks me up like he can’t get enough, humming around my cock, and I have to tug on his hair to get him to stop once my dick has had enough.

  I lie there panting. When my breathing finally slows to an almost normal rate, Wes is straddling my thighs, his hard dick in two hands. He jacks himself slowly. My gaze rests on his erection, long and proud, the engorged head making my mouth water. It’s the same response I have when a girl parts her legs for me, offering that sweet paradise to my mouth or dick. I never thought another guy’s package could look appealing too, and I really wish I knew what it meant.

  Now’s not the time to dwell on it, though.

  “Give it to me,” I say roughly, beckoning to his erection.

  His eyebrows go up, the barbell catching the light. “You feel like returning the favor?”

  When I nod, he moves closer and straddles my shoulders, then grabs the second pillow on the bed and tucks it under my head. The added height brings my mouth to cock-level. I swallow, then flick my tongue around the head.

  “I’m almost there,” he admits.

  “Yeah?” I tip my gaze up, but keep my mouth on him, lightly scraping my teeth over his dick.

  A soft groan escapes his lips.

  I release him with a chuckle. “Didn’t we have a whole convo about stamina last night?”

  “That was before I spent twenty minutes fingering your ass.”

  I shiver at the memory. Jesus, I’m getting hard again. It’s like I can’t get enough of this guy.

  “Turned you on, huh?” I drawl.

  “Oh yeah.” He nudges his cockhead forward, and I open my mouth, letting him slide inside.

  My hands drift around his body to cup his ass. I squeeze and he groans again, pushing in a bit deeper. With my hands occupied, it’s hard to control how much of him I take, but he’s not a jerk about it. He doesn’t plunge deep and force any deep-throat action on me. He seems to sense my limits, the same way he senses shit on the ice—when to pass the puck, when to take his time until that perfect opening reveals itself so he can slap one in.

  He fucks my mouth in fast, shallow strokes that match his fast, shallow breathing. I taste his pre-come on my tongue. It’s a heady flavor that makes me wonder how it would feel flooding my mouth, sliding down my throat. Never in a million years did I think I’d be contemplating that. Or that I’d be kneading another man’s ass cheeks, urging him to orgasm while I clamp my lips around his dick.

  “Coming,” he warns.

  I stick with him until the end this time. The first hot spurt hits my tongue, the second goes to the back of my throat, triggering my gag reflex. I breathe through my nose and swallow, my heart pounding as my best friend gasps through the orgasm.

  That wasn’t…bad. The taste of him is strangely appealing.

  I indulge in one more lick before allowing him to pull out. He collapses beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We both release a sated sigh, then laugh.

  Silence stretches between us, but it’s not an awkward one. We’re both relaxed. My mind drifts in a post-sex haze, where thinking is overrated.

  “We should probably head to the dining hall before dinner ends,” Wes says. “Don’t want to miss the big show.”

  Right. The song. Someone—ahem, Wes—had decided the coaches should serenade the kids with some good ol’ Britney Spears. Pat had griped and complained, claiming he didn’t know the words to any of her songs. Wes, of course, had promptly whipped out his phone and emailed the older coaches the lyrics to Britney’s entire catalogue. Very resourceful, my best friend.

  I’m too relaxed to move, though. “Five more minutes,” I tell him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders to prevent him from getting up.

  His cheek nuzzles my left pec. “You’re a cuddle whore, huh?”

  I am. Absolutely. Just never dreamed I’d be cuddling with another guy.

  “I watched porn earlier,” I blurt out.

  He snickers. “Yeah, I figured. You had that guilty, I-just-tugged-one-out look when I walked in.”

  I pause. “Gay porn.”

  He tilts his head up to look at me, his gray eyes twinkling playfully. “Uh-huh. I see. Did you enjoy it?”

  Another pause. Then I puff out a breath. “Yeah.”

  Wes lowers his head again, rubbing a soothing hand over my stomach. “Freaked you out, huh?”

  “Well…” It’s not easy to explain. “I’m a little freaked out about not being freaked out. If that makes sense.”

  We go silent again. I can tell he’s absorbing what I just told him.

  “Can I ask you something?” I murmur.

  “Hit me.” His breath tickles my nipple, and it hardens. Instantly.

  “Have you ever…” I’m not sure how to phrase it. “Bottomed? Is that the right word?”

  His shoulders tremble as if he’s trying not to laugh. “As good a word as any. ‘Been fucked’ also works. ‘Taken it up the ass’, also a goodie.”

  “Okay. Well?”

  He shifts a bit. “Yeah. I have. Once.”

  “Just once?” I guess I’m not surprised. Wes has “top” written all over him. “Did you like it?”

  He considers it. “Not at the beginning. And definitely not at the end. But it was pretty good in the middle.”

  Classic Wes answer. I burst out laughing, my palm sliding over his bare arm before I give his biceps a pinch. “Um…what happened at the beginning and end?”

  “The beginning, it hurt.” His tone is rueful. “But that’s probably ’cause we were both eighteen-year-old morons and neither one of us thought to bring lube.”

  Eighteen. For some reason that makes me bristle. I wonder if it was before or after our last night at camp. Before, I’d be okay with. But after… Not sure why, but the thought of Wes cutting me out of his life and then going off to lose his virginity to some dude pisses me off.

  “Spit’ll only get you so far,” he’s saying, oblivious to my turbulent thoughts. “So it took a while for him to…yeah.”

  I force a casual tone. “But then it got good?”

  He pauses again. Then nods, his chin bumping my shoulder. “Yeah, it got good.”

  A hot rush travels up my spine. I’m stunned to realize it’s jealousy.

  “And at the end?” I prompt, in the hopes that hearing how the sex got sucky again will ease the tightness in my chest.

  Wes sighs. “He wasn’t anyone I need to see again. He got off on making it degrading for me. Kind of soured me on the whole experience.”

  I stroke the top of his head. I can tell he feels awkward talking about it, but I appreciate that he told me. It’s rare for Wes to shed his fuck-the-world attitude and let himself be vulnerable.

  “So that was it? You didn’t let anyone else…uh…stick their flag in there after that?”

  He chokes out a laugh. “Nope. I decided I’d leave the flag-sticking to me.”

  I chuckle, stroking his hair again. It’s silky-soft beneath my p
alm, a contrast to the stubble scraping my shoulder.

  “I…” He clears his throat. “I’d let you do it, though.”

  My hand freezes in his hair. “You would?”

  Wes nods. “I’d let you do anything to me, Canning.”

  When his voice cracks, something inside of me does, too. I have no clue what’s going on here or what we are to each other.

  Friends. We’re friends. Except that doesn’t feel like the right label.

  Friends with benefits? Doesn’t feel right, either.

  I must have stayed silent for way too long, because Wes suddenly sits up, the warmth of his body abandoning me. “Come on,” he says gruffly. “We should get going.”

  22

  Wes

  Our coaching schedule picks right back up again the next morning, and I hit the ice ready to coach the hell out of these kids. I had a rough start last week, letting their hot-headedness and inability to follow my instructions get to me, but I’m determined to take a page out of Jamie’s book and exercise some patience.

  Don’t get me wrong, I know how to be patient—when I’m playing. But watching other guys play? Seeing the mistakes they’re making and then watching them make them all over again instead of correcting them based on my advice? It’s maddening.

  The kids are listening better today, though. I’m running some basic passing drills with my forwards, switching up the lines every so often to let them get a feel for their teammates’ style and technique. For the most part, it’s going okay, but one kid—Davies—hogs the puck no matter what line he’s playing on.

  I blow my whistle, tempted to rip my hair out by the roots. Davies has just ignored my instructions again, snapping a weak wrist shot at Killfeather instead of passing back to Shen like he was supposed to.

  I call him over, and he skates up to me, red-faced and surly.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jamie watching us carefully, as if he’s assessing my coaching prowess. Pat’s watching too, from the bench, and I’m gratified to see he’s finally quit scowling at me. Last night Canning and I had shown up too late at the dining hall to catch the live performance, but luckily, Georgie filmed it on his iPhone. And trust me, I’m never going to forget the sight of Pat and his four coaches shuffling around and singing the most off-key rendition of “Oops, I Did It Again.”