Don't Read in the Closet volume one
Page 21
He laughed when Owen smacked his ass as he stood to gather his jeans.
“What are you doing?” Owen asked, pulling himself up onto the couch and stretching out on his side to watch, head rested on his hand.
“Lucky for us we just happen to be attending the number one party college in the States. And what does every responsible school’s locker room for horny athletes have?”
Owen cracked a sly smile. “A condom dispenser.”
“Bingo, baby!” Rory winced inwardly at the total porn star dialogue, but paused when he saw the way Owen looked at him. The same way he’d looked at Rory in every single dream that had featured the only man he ever longed for -- with love and longing. A flush of heat spread over his skin.
Rory cleared his throat and pulled his gaze from Owen. Mission renewed, dug into his jeans pockets, pulling out coins and tossing them onto the coffee table until he counted out enough to buy a condom and a pillow packet of lube. He gathered the money and raced to the showers, where there were dispensers for soap and shampoo, Band-Aids and ointments, lotions to cool or heat strained muscles -- and most important of all, condoms. Rory’s hands shook as he shoved the coins into the slot, pressed the correct buttons and ran back to where Owen waited.
He came up short when he saw Owen stretched out on the black leather couch. Golden skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, defined lean muscle wrapped artistically around dense bone, sun-bleached hair dusted long legs that were made for running, a thick cock rose straight and proud from a course thatch of hair. Lips swollen from kissing, and eyes glazed with lust and desire. Rory’s knees just about buckled and his chest swelled.
Owen Harris was his. Finally.
“Good God, you’re beautiful,” he said. A pink flush colored Owen’s cheeks.
Rory dropped the two small packets on the table and knelt down at the end of the couch, before Owen’s feet. He clasped his hands over Owen’s ankles and leaned over to kiss the top of one foot and then the other. Mouth and tongue followed hands and fingers as Rory worked his way up Owen’s legs. He traced every dip and groove and expanse of skin and muscle and bone that made up the gorgeous man spread out before him. He continued his journey until he reached the sharp line where hip and thigh met groin. Rory slid one hand under Owen’s ass, while the other lightly covered his rock solid erection. Owen moaned and pushed into Rory’s palm, wanting more.
Rory licked at Owen’s balls with the flat of his tongue, and breathed in the musky male scent that sent a spike of desire shooting up his center. He sucked one ball into his mouth and rolled it while Owen writhed beneath him, mumbling incoherently. He released it to give the other ball equal treatment, and then licked up the length of Owen’s shaft to the leaking tip. The bittersweet taste that was all Owen trickled over his tongue and down his throat, and Rory knew he would be addicted to that flavor for the rest of his life.
Rory opened up and swallowed down that thick, velvet-covered cock until it bumped up at the back of his throat and he had to make a hasty retreat. Obviously deep-throating was a practiced skill, and damn if he wasn’t looking forward to practicing as often and long as possible to perfect it. He smiled and chuckled with his mouth full of Owen, which caused Owen to clench his hands into Rory’s hair and thrust up into his mouth.
“Yeah, Rory,” he panted. “Yeah.”
Rory hummed a response that drew a full-bodied shudder from Owen and gave Rory a sense of power, knowing it was he giving this pleasure to his best friend. He was the one able to reduce Owen to a babbling bowl of jell-O. Reveling in this new-found discovery, Rory continued to work Owen with his mouth and tongue and slight graze of teeth until Owen began to tense.
“Ror…” he groaned.
Rory released him with a pop and crawled on top of Owen to claim his lips in a bruising kiss. Owen immediately opened to him and their tongues fought for control. The need for each other once again escalated to panic level. Rory couldn’t wait any longer. Every part of his body cried out for Owen.
Rory broke the battling kiss and reached over for their supplies. He rolled back to Owen and gruffly commanded, “Get me ready.”
Owen took the packets with a shaky hand as they readjusted themselves. Rory stretched out on his back. Owen knelt between Rory’s legs and pulled them to rest over his thighs. He looked down at Rory with questioning eyes.
“Cover your fingers with the lube, then slowly work around and into my hole. Start with just one and add more as the muscle relaxes. Then lube yourself up and take me.”
“You learned this from watching porn?” Owen’s expression shifted from uncertainty to amusement. “That’s so not romantic.”
Heat spread over his cheeks. “Shut up.”
Owen gently traced the line of Rory’s jaw with his fingertips, and then his teasing smile faded. He worried his lower lip and with single-minded focus, looked down and tentatively pressed one finger against Rory’s sensitive opening. The unfamiliar sensation sent a rush of goose bumps over his skin and drew a moan of pleasure from his throat. Owen worked him with a reverence and gentleness that flooded every corner of Rory’s body with an overwhelming sense of belonging. He was no longer nervous, no longer afraid. This was Owen. The man he loved his whole life.
“Now, Owen,” he said, his voice ragged with need. “Now.”
Owen fumbled with the condom wrapper for a moment, then with a frustrated huff gave up and tossed onto Rory’s chest. “Fingers are too slippery.”
Rory opened the packet, slowly rolled the latex down Owen’s straining length, and then held him in his hands. Burning into his memory what would soon feel inside his body. Owen closed a hand over Rory’s and their gazes locked for a moment of silent communication. Rory nodded his head once and let his hands fall away to rest on Owen’s thighs. Owen shifted to line himself up. “Here we go, baby.”
Owen looked down to where his cock pressed at Rory’s entrance and held still. Anticipation built into narrowed, biting focus. There was only Rory and Owen and the matching beat of their racing hearts, and the harsh rapid breaths that echoed in a room that had closed and wrapped around them with the weight of a heavy blanket. Nothing beyond existed.
“I don’t know if I’ll fit, Ror.” Owen’s whole body trembled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You will and you won’t, O. I promise. Just…just go. God, I need to feel you.”
Owen squeezed his eyes shut and a long growl rose from deep within his chest as he pushed inside one slow inch by one slow inch. Rory felt the stretch of tight muscles, the slight burn and discomfort of invasion, and then a flooding wave of sweet, eye-watering pleasure as his body opened and Owen filled him completely. And two became one.
“Oh. My. God. Ror.” Owen’s voice a jagged whisper. “You feel incredible. So fucking tight and hot and…oh…God. I think I’m going to come right now.”
“Don’t you dare.” Rory reached up for Owen’s neck and tugged him down. The second their lips met, he rocked his hips up and gasped into Owen’s mouth as the angle shifted and Owen rode over Rory’s prostate. Every single nerve ending in his body ignited. “Oh… God…”
Owen slid almost all the way out, and slowly pushed back. Rory matched Owen’s movements and they settled into a steady, pounding rhythm that gained speed and force with each thrust until Rory’s whole body sang with the exhilarating rush of Owen’s taking, claiming -- loving. He always knew making love with Owen would be amazing, but the sheer perfection of it almost overwhelmed him. A gasp escaped his throat that sounded dangerously close to a sob.
Owen broke their kiss and stared down at Rory with fire in his eyes. He took Rory in hand, and pulled and twisted Rory’s cock in time with every hard, deep plunge into his body as they raced to crescendo together.
“I’m gonna… Ror... I…” Owen panted, his rhythm faltered and body jerked. Rory had never seen his best friend look more beautiful than right there in that moment, with his eyes squeezed shut and lips parted, buried so deep inside Rory’s body he didn�
��t think they’d ever come apart. “Holy God, Rory!” Owen shouted so loud Rory knew his ears would still be ringing the next morning. Before the last echo of Owen’s roar faded in the team locker room, Rory’s orgasm caught him by surprise and charged through his body with lightning speed, exploding in hot, wet strikes across his stomach. Sparks danced before his eyes, temporarily blinding him.
Owen carefully pulled out and collapsed on top of Rory in a boneless sweaty heaving heap, and Rory cherished the weight of his best friend, his lover, covering him. He threaded his fingers through Owen’s hair as their breathing and pulses steadily throttled back.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” Owen mumbled against Rory’s cheek.
“I can’t believe it took us so long.”
“We’re both total idiots, you know.”
“Yeah.” Rory agreed. “And we totally deserve each other.”
Owen chuckled and then said, “Will you move back in now?”
“No.”
Owen fell silent and Rory felt the smile slip from his face. He gave Owen a playful shove. “You’re moving in with me because you’re too damn loud for us to share the dorm. We’d be kicked out in a week.”
This time the silence that swirled around them was laced with pure contentment and a sense that all was right in the world.
“I did mean it,” Owen said. “I love you.”
Rory hugged him tighter to his chest and nuzzled his nose into Owen’s hair. “I love you too,” he whispered into Owen’s ear. “I’ve always loved you.”
~ Touchdown ~
THE END
Author bio: Artist by day, author by night, L.C. Chase is a hopeless romantic and adventure seeker. Many of those adventures are fodder for her stories. The first time she left home, she traveled 1200 miles to California -- to be a rock star -- with two hundred dollars in her pocket. A four-year walkabout took her on a coast-to-coast back roads tour of the USA, across both of New Zealand's islands by bicycle, and a short road trip in Australia. Now that L.C. has two of the coolest nephews on the planet, she calls the Canadian West Coast home. When not writing, L.C. can be found reading, drawing, horseback riding, or running the trails with her goofy Australian Shepherd, who, if he were human, would be a stand-up comedian.
Website: http://www.lcchase.com
Blog: http://lcchase.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/lc_chase
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/39906...
Kim Dare – MASOCHISM 101 (BDSM)
Selected by Kim Dare
Dear Author,
The poor fellow in this picture is having a very bad day.
[PHOTO: The man is caught in mid-disaster. In an old-fashioned bathtub shower, a lean, naked, dark-haired guy is taking a spectacular fall, feet higher than his head, tangled with the clear shower curtain, arm, head and shoulder headed for impact with unforgiving porcelain. One hand has grabbed the flimsy curtain. It will not be enough to save him.]
I'm hoping a hot doctor or nurse will fall for him during his sponge bath. No matter what he needs some loving and a happily ever after, don't you think?
Thanks so much.
Lora
Genre: BDSM, contemporary
Tags: BDSM, masochism, friends to lovers, kink, medical, nurse, reluctant dom, bratty sub
Words: 7,229
MASOCHISM 101
by Kim Dare
A loud hammering sound rudely inserted itself into Charlie Porter’s world. He frowned as he made a vague attempt to take stock of his surroundings. He was lying on something cold, hard and wet. Pity that didn’t rule too many places in or out really.
A gutter? An alleyway? The floor of a club that had a leaky roof?
Charlie tried to stretch out his legs. Pain shot through his ankle as his foot hit against something. He was…in some sort of container? A cage? No, whatever he’d kicked hadn’t felt like bars. Maybe he was wedged into the corner of someone’s playroom?
Charlie’s frown deepened as he groaned his annoyance. Whoever was creating all the racket wasn’t quitting and the banging noise wasn’t helping Charlie’s headache at all. Damn, he usually had more sense than to drink if he was going to play hard—but the ache in his bones made him sure he’d taken part in one hell of a scene, and the pounding in his head implied he’d drunk way too many humorously named cocktails the night before.
A shiver ran down Charlie’s spine. Nerve endings whirled into action all over his body and dutifully reported back that he was probably feeling so bloody cold because it was raining. The patter of cold droplets continued to fall against Charlie’s skin as he tried to sit up and failed.
It was only then that he realised there was nothing getting in the way of the rain. Charlie slowly put two and two together. He was stark bollock naked. His frown turned even more puzzled as he hazily tried to remember how he came to be that way. He didn’t remember hooking up with anyone. Come to that, he didn’t actually remember leaving the flat.
He did, however, remember stomping away from his flat-mate and storming into the bathroom. And he certainly recalled cursing his cock for responding so bloody enthusiastically to his oh-so vanilla friend.
Charlie played it all back inside his head as he mentally retraced his steps that day.
Yes, he’d slammed the bathroom door behind him, that was right. Clothes off and thrown on the bathroom floor, check. Then he’d jumped in the shower and started to jack his cock as hard and as fast as he could, unwilling to praise his body for getting turned on by Sam, but unable to resist jerking off before he headed for a club either. Charlie recalled all that clearly enough.
Someone had left a bar of soap in the bottom of the bath. Charlie remembered kicking it irritably out of his way. Then, Sam must have forgotten he was in the shower and turned on the tap in the kitchen, because the water had suddenly turned icy. Charlie had jumped back and—
The pounding noise suddenly, blessedly, stopped.
A moment later, Charlie heard the sharp crack of wood splintering to his right.
“Bloody hell, are you okay?”
The words came from right next to Charlie. He tried to blink open his eyes. Bright white light stabbed him in both eye balls, but he didn’t need to see anything to put the final pieces of the jigsaw together inside his head.
“Of course I’m okay. I was taking a sodding shower not going sky diving!” Charlie muttered as he squinted at the vague blond form looming over him.
Charlie lifted a hand to try to shield his eyes from the maliciously bright bathroom light. He stopped short, letting out a yelp of pain as some sadistic little sod shoved a red hot poker through his wrist.
“Stay still!”
Charlie’s supposed rain stopped falling as soon as Sam leaned over the bath and turned off the shower. Letting out an irritable growl, Charlie tried to reach for the edge of the bath with his other hand. Whoever the sadist was, he obviously liked symmetry. An equally well heated poker was shoved through the fingers of his left hand. Charlie quickly let go of the tub and slumped back.
“I said stay still!”
“Good for you,” Charlie snapped. “Now, bugger off, there’s a good boy.” He tried to sit up once more but an over-sized hand came to rest in the centre of his chest and held him down against the bottom of the bath without any apparent difficulty.
Charlie finally managed to focus well enough to glare at his flat-mate. “I’m fine. Will you just get out of here?” Charlie demanded as embarrassment rushed through him and chased away any chill the sudden blast of water might have left in its wake.
“No.”
Charlie looked up at his friend. Sam looked back at him, big blue eyes full of worry.
Charlie spat out a curse.
“You’ve probably got a concussion,” Sam countered.
“And you’d know that, would you?”
“Of course not, they just let me work in A&E because I’m a nice guy.” Sam crouched down next to the bath.
“Do you know what day of the week it is?”
Charlie raised one dark eyebrow. Soapy water promptly dripped from his hair, straight into his eye.
“The day of the week,” Sam prompted again.
Something moved against Charlie’s leg, he looked down just in time to realise Sam was tugging at the mangled shower curtain. The clear fabric had somehow wrapped itself around Charlie as he fell. Now, it was the only thing between Charlie’s body and Sam.
“Hey, give that back!”
Sam‘s eyes opened wide with shock as Charlie managed to catch hold of the edge of the curtain and pull it back over his body in spite of the pain it sent shooting through his wrist.
“What? You’re shy?” Sam asked.
“Yes, got a problem with that?” Charlie demanded.
“You have sex in front of clubs full of guys on a regular basis,” Sam pointed out, as if it was something a man might forget doing.
Charlie said nothing. That was completely beside the point.
Sam sighed. “I’m a nurse, Charlie. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before on an entirely professional level.”
Charlie glared up at the other man. He looked so…so not like the kind of guy who would ever have sex in front of a club full of men while wearing nothing more than a pair of leather chaps and a very enthusiastic smile. Sometimes life was so bloody unfair…
“I don’t need your help.” If Charlie was going to get anything off Sam, he’d be damned if it would be TLC. He’d far rather it be a good whipping. Or at least a nice rough—
“Well tough, because you’re going to get it.”
Charlie blinked.
“I’m not leaving this room until I’ve checked you out.” Sam folded his arms across his chest. Just for a moment, there was just a touch of the dom that Charlie wished the other man was, about him.
“Fine,” Charlie spat. It wasn’t exactly the height of witty repartee admittedly, but considering every drop of blood in his body seemed to have been diverted to his cock, Charlie was still pretty impressed with how pissed off he’d managed to sound.