Unnecessary Roughness (ESC Mavericks Book 2)
Page 5
"Bullshit."
I just smirk at him. "That guy you saw me with? Smashes pussy every weekend. His boys damn near worship him. But one taste of a dude milking his prostate and he's begging to fuck me."
His eyes dilate even more and he sucks in a breath. This is a fucking dangerous game to play with somebody who's got it out for me as much as Collins, but he's had every chance to pull away and shut this down. Instead he's still got me up against the wall, his hard body pinning mine.
And I can feel the thick rod of his dick pressing into my thigh.
"You are one arrogant piece of shit," he manages.
My grin broadens. "Yep. Doesn't mean it ain't true." And because I can't leave well enough alone--because I want something to happen--I add, "Bet I could make you nut in five minutes tops."
His eyes flash and his chest expands with a sudden breath. My mouth's so fucking dry it's like a desert, and my heart is tearing up my ribcage with how hard it's beating.
I wait for him to pull back; to realize where this is going and stop it. But Owen Collins is one of the most competitive people I've ever met, and it doesn't even surprise me when he just stares back at me and says:
"You're on."
8
Owen
What did I just agree to?
That's the question pounding in my head like a bass drum as I stare back at Nate's stupid smug face. His arrogant but goddamn beautiful face, from the molten depths of his eyes to the crooked tilt of his lips.
I know why I agreed to it. From the moment I saw him getting pounded by that other guy, I haven't been able to get the image out of my head. I've resisted the urge to jack to it in the shower, but that's only made me more pent up and frustrated. Add to that a heaping dose of anger from him purposely goading me on the practice field and you have a volatile mix that's probably going to blow up in my face any moment now.
Part of me half expects Nate to whip out a phone and play back the recording of me pretty much confirming I'm not as straight as people think I am. I'd probably deserve it, considering what I did to him, though I sure wouldn't be happy about it. It's bad enough Nate knows. Even if he doesn't tell the whole team I popped some impressive wood watching him with another dude, his smug ass has just found a new surefire way to get under my skin.
I tell myself that's why I took the bait. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to let him get one over me. But as he just stands there, staring back at me, my whole body is flooded with a strong cocktail of apprehension and excitement as I wait to see how exactly he's going to rise to the challenge.
Or if he even is at all.
He answers the question by sliding down to his knees, brown eyes still holding my gaze as he looks up at me from underneath lashes that have no right being that long.
"Last chance to back out with your het card intact," he says with a smirk, reaching for the band of my sweats.
"You're doing a lot of talking for somebody who's supposed to have my dick in his mouth for the next five minutes."
Holy shit.
I don't even know where that came from. I've never been the guy who talks dirty in the bedroom. But then nobody else has really made me feel the need to. With Nate, it feels like an extension of our shit talking.
And something else. Something that sears across my body in the way his eyes flash, lust darkening their color even further. He's as into it as I am, and I let out a stuttered breath as he forcefully yanks down my sweats.
My dick's rock hard and pulsing already, a bead of precum wetting my boxer briefs. Nate notices immediately and his eyes take on a wicked glint.
"Looks like you've been hard since the other day." He makes sure I'm watching as his tongue sweeps over his lips.
"Fuck you," I manage weakly.
Nate just chuckles. "Sorry, babe. That wasn't part of the deal."
Before I can fire back some weak ass retort, he presses his mouth to that damp spot of cotton, his tongue pressing firmly against my cloth-covered slit. I shudder, burying my hands in his thick, curly hair.
All of this is surreal, and I know if I let myself think about it with something other than my aching cock, I'll start to question my sanity. But right now, that lust I felt for Nate Vincent in that parking lot my senior year comes surging back, pumping through my veins like the most powerful drug, and nothing else matters but feeling his pretty lips wrap around my dick.
He mouths me through my briefs again, taking the head and sucking as his hand cups my balls. The underwear adds just enough friction to make me gasp, but they take away from the sensation of sliding into his hot, wet mouth. The smug way he's looking at me, I know he knows it.
One of my hands fists in his hair, tugging. "You wanna win this? Stop screwing around."
After another teasing lick, he pulls back, wearing an expression I just want to fuck right off of his face. "Never knew you were so damn bossy, Collins."
"Guess you bring out the worst in me."
He snorts, and I'm not sure if he's trying to prove me wrong, but he yanks down my briefs, pulling them past my hips so they eventually pool at my ankles like my sweats. My dick bobs, and this time when he licks his lips I know it's not just to taunt me.
Hands braced on my thighs, Nate swallows my cock in one smooth motion, taking me so far his nose is pressed against my pelvis. My knees buckle and one of my hands shoots out to brace myself against the wall.
"Shit," I hiss through gritted teeth.
Big brown eyes look up at me as his throat works, humming around my dick. He pulls back then takes me again, making my hips jerk involuntarily. I can feel myself slide deeper down his throat, but he doesn't gag; he doesn't even flinch.
"God damn, Vincent."
There's a flash of pride in his eyes, like he's getting off just on my reactions. Like he's got me right where he wants me, and I guess he does, because I'm totally at his mercy right now. Pinned by the sound of his wet, sloppy sucking as he works my dick, pinned by the guttural moans I can hear coming from him. By the way he pants and gasps for breath when he finally releases me, his face flushed but his eyes hungry.
For a second I wonder if he's going to stop, but his hand replaces his mouth and he jerks my shaft while his lips close around the head, his tongue pressing to my slit. I moan, my own hand fisting tighter in his hair, dark brown curls spilling over my fingers.
Nate Vincent really is a beautiful man with his intense brown eyes, pillowy lips, messy curls, and naturally bronzed skin. I thought so even before I could understand why I thought it. He looks even better on his knees in front of me; doing to me what he was doing for that random hookup the day I realized I was bi.
"I wanna fuck your face," I say, breathless.
The tip of my dick pops out of his mouth and he answers, "Nobody's stopping you."
There's even a challenge in his eyes when he says it, like he's been waiting for me to do it; to take charge. Even when I move my hand to the back of his head and start thrusting into his mouth, my piece sliding down his throat with every sharp snap of my hips, we both know the truth of it. He's the one in control right now. He can move his mouth away at any time, deny me right when I'm about to come, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.
But he doesn't. He takes everything I give him and more, his hand squeezing around the root of my cock, silently commanding me to give the reins back over to him.
I stop thrusting and Nate focuses all his attention on the head of my dick, pressing his tongue to the sensitive underside. It's that one touch that starts me panting, my balls tightening with my inevitable release.
"Fuck, Nate, I'm--"
His lips clamp tight around my dick and his fingers grip my ass, pressing bruisingly into the flesh. That single-minded determination--like he doesn't want to miss a single drop--makes me come hard. A loud, low moan rips out of me as my dick jerks and I shoot into his waiting mouth.
When it's over, it's all I can do to keep standing. My knees are weak, my whole body's shaky, an
d I feel like I could just pass out and sleep for a week straight.
All from a blowjob. Credit where credit's due, Nate definitely won... whatever that was. He knows it, too, if that slow smile is anything to go off of.
I don't know what it is about that smile, but in my post-orgasm bliss I just find it so fucking adorable. I'm suddenly overtaken with an undeniable urge to feel those smirking lips against mine, and I reach down for his collar, yanking him to his feet.
Nate's eyes are still dilated, his breath coming out in short bursts. But when I go in for a hungry kiss, his hand presses hard to my chest, keeping me at bay.
"What the fuck, Collins?"
His incredulous tone is like being submerged into an ice cold lake. Any good feelings I was having, any warm, fuzzy buzz is instantly doused.
"You got a hole to stick your dick in, and I won the bet. Don't make this weird," he continues, pulling away from me.
For the first time since I've known him, he avoids eye contact with me. But I'm slammed so hard with hurt and shame and anger that I can't think about what that might mean.
If he wants to be an asshole about something he instigated, fine. But I'm not playing his stupid game anymore.
"Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can. This shit's not happening again."
Nate's features slide into that familiar, dickish grin I've gotten so used to seeing. "Until you get horny and don't have anybody else to suck you off. That's the way it always works, babe. Don't think you're special."
That hits me harder than it has any right to, like he's just driven a spear straight into my gut. My gaze hardens and I yank up my underwear and sweats, not wanting to be half naked in front of him despite the fact that he's seen me in the locker room plenty of times.
"I think I liked you better when you had my dick in your mouth," I grate out. "At least then you couldn't talk."
Nate just laughs, and the sound of it bothers me even more than his don't-give-a-shit attitude. Not wanting to examine why any of it matters right now, I grab my shit and leave.
9
Nate
Usually practice is pretty uneventful. I do my job and put in the work--nobody's ever going to tell me I'm not pulling my weight--but the real thrill for me is the games, and being able to test myself against other guys out on the field. Ever since the Mavs started putting up Ws, it's been a point of personal pride for me to do every damn thing in my power to help us win.
But preseason this year is a little different, because I've got another game running right alongside my practice routine. It's a game where I act like the asshole I am and poke and prod at Collins to try and get him to force me back to my knees.
It's his fault I can't let this go. If he hadn't been so damn sure he was never going to look my way again, I could've just let it be a one-time thing. He's not the first "straight" boy to act like he didn't go all weak in the knees from me sucking him off, and he won't be the last. Unfortunately for him, he is the one who gives me a massive hate boner, and I can't seem to stop myself from messing with him. On the field, in our room, while we're working out at the gym... it doesn't matter.
I tell myself I'm enjoying tormenting him because he's obviously queer and repressing it hardcore. It's one thing to let another guy suck your dick and pretend it's somebody else, but it's something completely different to get a hard on while watching two guys go at it. And that's not even mentioning the fact that his first impulse after coming was to pull me up for a kiss.
Jesus.
That's stuck with me for weeks after. His eyes dark with lust and pleasure, his grip desperate as he yanked me to my feet. I've imagined what his lips taste like so many times since then, and it pisses me off every time my brain starts pulling in that direction.
Especially since some part of me is tormenting him with the hope that he'll try it again. Or that he won't, so I can prove to myself it was just a fluke.
Because Owen Collins may be queer, but he's just like every other fuckboy jock I've ever sucked off. When their dicks are in my mouth or my ass, we're simpatico. But the second shit turns "gay," they start freaking out.
I guess it's probably fortunate for us both that Collins holds strong to what he said. He scowls and glares and tells me to go fuck myself, but I never once get that heated stare that made me weak in the knees.
So I get it the same place I always do: From random jocks looking to explore their bicuriosity in a way that won't end up with them feeling any more queer than they want to feel.
No kissing. No caressing. There's nothing tender or affectionate about it. I swallow their loads or let them come in my ass and we go our separate ways.
It should've been enough to scratch that itch, but for some fucking reason I can't stop thinking about Collins. I can hear his groans, feel the way his muscles clench and flex beneath my hands, taste the hint of sweat and musk on his skin even when I'm with another guy.
The dude's getting under my skin without even trying, and so our first game of the season, I decide to return the favor.
During practice, Collins is usually one of the last people out on the field. He's always got his earbuds in, and he looks like he's trying to get into some kind of Zen state before he runs down his teammates like a bulldozer. I figured he'd do the same thing before a game, and I'm not wrong. Taking my own sweet time to get ready, I see Collins sitting on a bench, his head bobbing up and down to music I can't hear.
I wait like some kind of jungle cat until he's separated from the others. A few of the guys are still hanging around, but two rows of lockers block Collins and I from view. I decide to make my move, wishing it was post-game so I could sidle up to him half dressed and fresh from the shower. Right now I'm in my uniform with my pads on, but I'm confident I can still unsettle him; get inside his head as much as he's been in mine.
"What do you figure our chances are?" I ask, sitting my ass down right beside him, my thigh just inches from his.
Collins looks at me like I've sprouted a second head, which is fair. Outside of trying to fuck with him or asking for his chem notes one day, I haven't really talked to him like a human being. A pang of guilt hits me, but I shove it down. The last thing I need to feel around this fool is guilt.
"Pretty good," he says, pulling the earbuds out. "The D-line looks weak."
I didn't expect him to give me anything other than a smartass answer, and it throws me off. So much that it takes me a second to notice he's nervous about something. One leg's shaking and he can't keep focus on me.
Am I really getting to him that much, or is there something else?
Jesus, why do I even care?
"Couple of the guys up front give Brody some trouble. Jones, number thirty-four is a relentless motherfucker." Collins seems like he's stuck in his own head, so I veer straight to fucking with him. "He's the same way in the bedroom. Fucked me so hard when we hooked up during spring break that I couldn't walk the next day."
His nostrils flare and I grin, knowing I've gotten to him.
"Good for you."
Easing closer, I bump his thigh with mine. He glances down, then over to the opening between the two rows of lockers. We're still alone.
"I'm gonna say this one more time, Vincent," he grates out, "it doesn't matter what you do or say. What happened between us is never going to happen again."
"Oh yeah? Because I'm a guy? Didn't seem to bother you when I was deep-throating that big dick of yours."
I know I've lost my fucking mind, because my hand goes straight for his bulge and I palm him through his jock strap and tight pants. Collins shoots me a murderous look before he pulls away.
"Because you're an asshole," he says, shoving his earbuds and phone into his locker.
I rise from the bench and stand behind him. Close enough I can see the tiny hairs rise on the back of his neck as I murmur in his ear. "Don't have to like me to fuck me, babe. In fact, it's hotter if you don't. I could go for you taking up all that pent-up anger and frustration on my ass."
But he doesn't. He just grabs his helmet, pushes me out of the way with his shoulder, and leaves me in the locker room with a half chub I have to will away before the game.
I can tell I got to him, because he plays like a complete maniac all game.
First contact on the opposing team's drive is him fucking destroying a running back who tries to cut up the right side. He slams into the dude so hard I can hear the hit all the way on the sidelines. Judging from the collective sound in the bleachers, all the people watching the game heard it, too.
He gets flagged late in the first quarter for grabbing a receiver's face mask and yanking him to the ground. I can hear the defensive coach reaming him further down the sideline as he's pulled for the rest of the half, and I feel a sick sense of satisfaction at the fact that he's probably thinking about me when he's tearing it up on the field.
When we have the ball, I mind my own damn business and work my routes with Brody throwing to me again and again for easy completions. Every now and again I look over to the sidelines and see Collins watching me and I grin like a motherfucker.
But sometime in the second half, things change. We're steamrolling the Titans, and Coach is starting to sub in the second string guys so none of the starters get injured if the other team decides to stop giving a fuck about penalties.
Collins gets put back in the game, though, and he goes from running down guys like a crazed beast to looking like he doesn't have a clue. A tight end who has no business out-pacing him beats his ass to the end zone. A receiver gets inside his head and fakes him out, pivoting before Collins can catch up with him and snatching up a screen pass. The one time he makes good, solid contact, he draws another flag.