by Eden Finley
All I can manage is a small nod.
He takes one step forward, my anticipation builds, and then the asshole sinks to his knees again.
I groan.
“No complaining.”
The second he pulls my cock out of my boxer briefs, tension builds in my gut, and I almost come. “I ain’t gonna last long.”
Noah chuckles. “Ain’t. So cute.” His head dips and his tongue swipes over my slit, and then he sucks me into his mouth.
“Holy fuck.”
I try to grip his hair, but his closely shaved head doesn’t allow it. Instead, I fist my hand on my leg. My hips lift off the seat, and Noah moans around my dick.
Closing my eyes, I try to make this feeling last. The wet heat of his mouth brings me closer and closer to the edge, but then he’s pulling off me. The cold air of the cabin hits my skin, and my cock tries to shrivel up.
My eyes fly to Noah’s.
“I told you to keep your eyes on me. No closing them.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I mumble.
“And no complaining.”
I’ve never had the desire to give the finger to the guy blowing me while simultaneously begging him not to stop.
When he takes me into his mouth again, I make sure not to look away. Watching as his head bobs up and down adds to the sensory overload.
“Noah,” I warn.
His mouth is replaced by his hand. “Come on my chest.”
My breathing is ragged, but I grind out, “Swallow. Less messy.”
“You forgetting there’s a shower in the plane bathroom? You were literally just in there.”
That’s all it takes. I come with a grunt all over his skin. My muscles tremble, and I haven’t fully recovered when Noah stands, grips onto my hair, and brings his cock to my lips.
I welcome him eagerly, taking him to the root in my mouth, while my arms continue to shake and my breathing still falters.
“Damn,” Noah whispers.
The plane hits unexpected turbulence, and Noah falls forward. His hands go to the headrest of my seat. His cock goes to the back of my throat, and it doesn’t help the breathing situation, but I want it. Fuck, I want it.
“You ready for it?” he asks.
I hum and squeeze his ass cheeks, controlling his thrusts into my mouth. His muscles contract under my fingers, and warm spurts hit my tongue. My chest fills with something like pride or accomplishment. Making a guy come is the one thing that boosted my confidence whenever I doubted football. A shrink would probably say it’s the intimacy I get from being with someone, but that’s bullshit. It gives me a high.
After Noah’s done, he shudders and pulls out of my mouth. Then he sort of falls on top of me, as if his limbs can no longer hold him up, and straddles my lap.
I haven’t had the chance to even swallow before he takes my mouth with his in a searing kiss. This is usually the part where I’d run away from my hookup, so it takes me off guard that not only is this guy kissing me with the taste of himself on my tongue, but that I like it. Love it, even. Hottest sexual experience of my life.
Noah pulls away. “We need that shower. We’ll be landing soon.”
Reluctantly, I let him go, and he climbs off me. Noah’s comfortable moving around the cabin naked, but paranoia kicks in. I stand and tuck myself away.
“Noah?”
He pauses at the door to the bathroom.
“There aren’t like … surveillance cameras in here, are there?”
He flinches back. “Wow. The high from coming really doesn’t last long with you, huh?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, you jackass. There aren’t any cameras in here. I wouldn’t film anyone while I got them off. At least, not without telling them. I’m not that much of an asshole.” He heads for the bathroom again.
On shaky legs, I follow him. “I didn’t mean it to sound accusatory.”
Noah ignores me and closes the shower door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” I say loud enough for him to hear over the spray.
He turns and pierces me with an exasperated gaze. “Hurry up and get in here.”
I strip and join him, wrapping my arms around him from behind, because I’m not convinced he believes my apology. “I was honestly asking because I was trying to figure out if we had to find a way to destroy the footage. I wasn’t going to be mad if there was a tape. It’s just, Damon would kill me if a sex tape got out, and not thinking about this stuff has clearly bitten me in the ass before.”
Noah leans back against me. His ass presses against my half-hard dick. My lips find the back of his neck and trail down to his shoulder.
Noah was right about one thing. I’m more relaxed around him now. Or maybe that’s the aftereffects of a mind-blowing orgasm. It might be official: blowjobs fix everything.
“Do you realize you’ve had like three showers today?” I chuckle against his neck.
“What can I say, you make me feel dirty. And as much as I’d love round two, we don’t have time,” Noah says. “If we’re not back in our seats for landing, they will come in here to get us.” He turns in my arms, and I love the feel of him against me. I’m regretting not doing this the first time he asked. “But I promise there’ll be more once we get home.”
With a quick kiss and a rinse off later, I have to grab a new shirt from my duffel bag because mine is covered in my cum. “I told you it was messy. Even with the shower.”
“I like messy. I like being marked.”
And I’m hard again. Fuckin’ hell.
“Don’t give me that heated stare with your sweet brown eyes,” Noah says. “We don’t have time. Buckle up.”
I slump in my seat and throw my head back, closing my eyes.
“Oh, and Matt?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Welcome to the mile-high club.”
I grin and do my internal victory dance when I score a touchdown. I’m not one of the guys who dances in the end zone. I’m more of a fist pump, yell, and get tackled by teammates kinda guy. Or … I was. I wonder if that’ll change with a new team that knows I’m gay. If I even get a contract.
When Noah gives me a questioning look, I say, “You admitted blowjobs count. Guess I’m not a virgin, huh?”
Noah’s face falls. “Damn it. Okay, you win this one.”
Chapter Eight
Noah
By the time our chauffeured car pulls up to my brownstone, it’s late and I’m ready for bed but not necessarily to sleep.
The in-flight blowjob only took the edge off. Or perhaps it was the appetizer. I’m ready for the main course. I should probably take things slow with Matt, but it’s not like we’re doing this for real. We’ll be pretend boyfriends who fuck. He won’t ask more of me.
That’s what Aron said in the beginning.
I don’t have time to dwell on that thought because Matt grabs his duffel bag out of the trunk.
“That’s what the driver is for,” I say.
Matt scoffs, tips the driver, and then grabs my suitcase and wheels it behind him. “Scared you’ll get calluses if you carry your own stuff?”
“It’s his job.”
“Come on, money bags, show me your mansion. I didn’t get a good look last time I was here.”
True. The night we met, I could tell he was there, but he wasn’t really there. His mind was in survival mode.
“It’s not a mansion. It’s a small four-bedroom townhouse.” That’s worth about six million dollars. Yeah, don’t mention that. “And one of the rooms is so small you can barely fit a queen bed in it.”
“Oh, the hardship,” Matt says.
I grit my teeth. It’s not my fault I was born into a rich family. It’s not my fault that when my grandfather died, he left me the brownstone in Manhattan or that my family dynamic is pretty messed up. My father was practically disowned by my racist grandfather when he got my mom pregnant, but for some reason, he never took out that anger on me, his biracial grandson. He spoiled me. I
often wonder if he would’ve left me Dad’s share of his estate had he known I was gay too. I inherited this place before I could even legally vote.
I get why Matt would look down on something like having your driver carry your bags, but it is literally part of their job, and it’s the life I’ve led since I was born. It’s reflex. I know not to say things like that to a guy who almost had to live in a trailer park growing up, though.
Seeing it through his eyes, I cringe when we reach the stoop to my place. I try not to be a dick to those on the family’s payroll, but I guess I don’t go out of my way to make them feel appreciated either.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matt mumbles as he stares at the house.
“Okay, okay, I’m a rich snob. Fine. You can say it.”
Matt shakes his head. “Not what I was going to say at all. This place is amazing. An architect’s dream.” His hand reaches for the crown molding around the entryway.
“You do architecture as a hobby?” I quip.
“Nah. Always interested me though. My dad said I needed to go for something easier like a business degree and focus on football instead. I might’ve become an architect if I knew how to stand up to the guy.”
That’s pretty heavy. “But I thought you were born for football.”
“No, I was born gay. Football was my escape growing up, which is pretty ironic if you think about it. Without football, I could’ve come out in college and fucked my way through the entire queer population at Olmstead. Instead, all I had were protein shakes, training, and the occasional hookup where I did all the work because I was too chicken shit to ask Maddox to return the favor.”
“He didn’t even offer?” I ask incredulously. “What a dick.”
Matt laughs. “We were both pretending we were super straight. Hell, after I left, he still thought he was straight.”
“Until he met Damon.”
“Right.”
“Okay, question,” I say. “If you could do it all again, give up your football career and study architecture while fucking your way through college, would you?”
Matt purses his lips as he thinks it over. “No. I love football even if I was forced into it. It’s been my life, and I ain’t ready to let it go.”
“Then you have your answer. You don’t need to dwell on what could have been when you’re living the dream.”
“Am I, though? I’m currently unemployable, I was outed against my will, I’m hanging on by a thread—”
I grab his shoulder and squeeze. “We’ll get that contract. You’ll still play.”
While I have no idea whether it’s possible for that to happen, it does the job. Matt relaxes under my touch, and then he leans in and kisses me. I’m taken off guard because this isn’t a hookup type of kiss. It’s soft, and the hand cupping my face is gentle. It’s appreciative, like he actually believes the shit coming out of my mouth. I hope I’m telling the truth, but I don’t know a thing about football.
I step forward and press against him, and Matt moans when my tongue takes control of his.
“Inside,” he demands.
Why’s it so much harder to unlock a door when you’re about to get laid? Oh, right, because Matt squeezes my ass, and my dick volunteers to open the door for me by trying to push its way through my pants.
We manage to stumble inside, drop our bags in the foyer, and toe off our shoes before I can’t take it and pin Matt against the wall.
The grunt that escapes him when I line up our cocks and thrust my hips has me almost coming.
“Maybe you were right in the beginning.” I breathe hard and speak in low murmurs. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
Matt pulls away so fast his head bounces off the wall behind him. “Why?”
I cup his face. “Because once wasn’t enough. I don’t know my number with you.”
“Your number?”
“How many times it’ll take to get you out of my system.” And that scares the shit out of me. Except for Aron and my douche of a high-school-slash-college boyfriend, there’s always been a number, and I’ve always been able to predict how long.
A month, a week, a cab ride …
There’s something innocent and pure about Matt, which is hilarious when taking in his two-hundred-thirty-pound frame and muscular football physique. I want to show him new things. I want to show him how good it can be with the right person. Not a forever guy—I can’t be that for him—but someone Matt can be himself around. I’m the last person who’s going to judge him.
He kisses me hard and pulls me against him by gripping my ass. I want to fuck him. I want him to fuck me. God, I just want us to fuck each other—I don’t care how, where, or who’s on top.
The chance to do either dies along with my erection when someone clears their throat.
“When you’re quite done,” Dad says, standing at the archway between the foyer and the living room.
“Shit,” I mumble and bury my head in Matt’s neck. This is the big blowup I’d hoped for, and now that I’m about to get it, it’s the last thing I want.
“Umm, Noah?” Matt asks. “You have company.”
With a deep breath, I pull away and face Dad. “Hello, Father.”
“Son.” Dad turns the icy stare he’s perfected onto Matt. “Mr. Jackson.”
Matt holds out his hand. “Senator Huntington.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask when Dad doesn’t shake Matt’s hand.
“Someone calls for the jet, I naturally assume it’s you. And seeing as your phone’s been off for days, this was the only way I could get through to you that this relationship needs to end.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I say.
“You’re twenty-six years old, Noah. When are you going to stop playing around?”
“We’re not playing around. We’re serious.” Lying to my dad has always come easy for me. Of course, I wasn’t one of the ones getting drunk on the beach. Of course, it’s the professor’s fault I failed poli-sci sophomore year. Of course, I’ll come home for Thanksgiving. I tell him what he expects to hear, because I know he won’t be interested in the truth. Ever. If I told him I was helping out a friend by using our family’s rep as leverage, I’d probably be disowned. Not that it would mean much. Thanks to Grandfather, I’m worth more than my father at this point.
“How am I supposed to spin this?” Dad asks.
“With all due respect, sir,” Matt says and steps forward. “My agent and management team are working on salvaging my reputation and my career. Noah and I have not, and will not, do anything wrong or anything that will make you or your campaign look bad.”
“My son being with a media nightmare is bad enough.”
Unexpected protectiveness builds in my chest, and I swear a growl escapes. Apparently, I growl now. Great. I shake it off.
“Do you know what this looks like?” Dad says.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it looks like your son believes love is love no matter who it’s with. Even a down on his luck football star with a shady reputation.”
“Find someone else. I’ve managed to stay scandal free my entire career.”
I laugh, not only at him talking about Matt as if he’s not standing two feet in front of him but because I’ve heard this speech before. “Who? Who should I find? You’ve never approved of any of my boyfriends, and we both know you never will. You want the trophy gay son for your campaigns, but you don’t want me to be gay. People are cool with the queer thing if they don’t have to see it, right? No PDA—no one wants to watch that. That’s what you told me numerous times. I’m a token to you. With me you get the black vote and the LGBTQ vote, but you don’t want me to actually be either of those things.”
Beside me, Matt’s hands fist at his sides.
Shit, I’ve said way too much in front of him. “It’s time for you to go,” I say to my father.
“You can’t kick me out of my own home.”
“This is my home, or did you forge
t that?”
He’s always hated that I got more than him in Grandfather’s will. Of his siblings, Dad got the least, and then his share was divided even more because of me. My cousins resent me because I’m the only grandchild who got anything, and I get the feeling that happened because my grandfather suspected my uppity family would try to cut me out in the future. Rich dude logic—they’re never happy with what they have, even though they’re wealthy enough to buy their own country.
Dad relents. “I expect you to be in the office tomorrow to discuss this further.”
“No can do. Busy. Sorry.” Okay, even I heard the sarcasm in that.
“You’re needed on this campaign. I never make you come in, but there are strategies that need to be devised, and you are still one of my strategists, aren’t you?”
“Only because you know if you fire me, the tabloids will catch wind of how shitty a father you are.”
Dad’s raging but trying to contain it in front of Matt. He’s not a violent man. He barely shows emotion other than his usual stoic expression. The biggest thing he’s ever done was threaten to cut me off. But right now, he stands there with his face turning red, and he’s more than livid. It’s the first time in my life where I’ve wondered what would happen if I pushed too far.
“When are you going to get over what I did for you in college?”
He talks to me as if I’m the one being a petulant child, and well, maybe he has a point, considering my relationship with Matt is a ruse to piss him off, but I’m not the one trying to control my father’s life. No, that’s the other way around. Always has been that way, and I’ll be damned if I’ll continue to lie down and take it.
“What you did to me, you mean. Not for.”
“If that boy really was the love of your life, he wouldn’t have accepted a measly fifty grand and tuition to leave you. Especially when he knew how much we’re worth. Trust me when I say he”—he points to Matt—“will be no different.”
Matt makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat, and I freeze. I can’t move, and I can’t think of a retort other than a big fuck you, but I don’t know if it’ll be worth it.
So we continue to stand here staring at each other with nothing left to say.
