Matt smirked. “Now, hurry up and change into your sarong, dahling, because, based on your answers to the first two questions ofHandshake Rule-ette, I can kiss you and caress you while I’m in this jock and you’re in a sarong—and it won’t be a handshake.”
William undressed—all while offering a running, fussy, commentary on his surroundings. The smells. The lack of hangers in the empty locker. Where were the shower sandals for his feet? Surely, he wasn’t expected to walk barefoot on that nasty linoleum floor!
“Tick, tock dahling,” Matt said.
Still, William dawdled. Still, he complained.
“How did you ever survive high school gym class?” Matt asked.
“Medical waiver. I took chorus instead.”
Finally, eventually, William stood swaddled in his towel/sarong. Here in this masculine space infused with the testosterone and sweat of thousands of athletes, stood this chicken-legged, pale, raven-haired boy with a head too big for his bony frame. He stood awkwardly, his skinny arms folded across his chest, long fingers covering his nipples as though he were a maiden and not a twenty-year-old libertine. Here, stripped of his haughtiness, humbled by the ghosts of all the knuckle-dragging hetero mouth breathers who had scratched their hairy nuts in this room, he was no Godmother. He was the cringing boy who had sought a doctor’s note to escape gym class.
And he was gorgeous. Not Adam-level, grown-up Christopher Robin gorgeous, but he made up the difference Tallulah Bankhead style.
Matt’s throat went dry, his chest drew tight with longing,and his cock swelled to near bursting, engorged as it was with blood that would normally be feeding his brain. He almost swooned, so smitten with lust was he.
“Come here,” Matt rasped.
William obeyed, tucked himself into Matt’s embrace.
Matt held William in his arms, slowly pivoting their bodies until William’s back was against the lockers. Matt held him there with the weight of his own body. Matt’s cock drooled against William’s sarong.
The lockers groaned against the strain.
Even in the dull light, Colton’s promise ring glinted from the chain on William’s neck.
Matt took the ring in his fingers, tempted to yank it loose and free William from its curse.
“D-don’t.” William’s voice was a whispered plea.
Matt, of all people, understood that it was William’s prerogative to decide when he had paid his penance to the gods of broken hearts. Matt slid the ring along the chain until it was out of sight on the back of William’s neck.
Matt kissed William, softly at first. He nudged William’s mouth open, slid his tongue between William’s teeth, then explored the crease between William’s lower lip and his gums, sucking the lip into his mouth. His hands caressed William’s hair. He ground his cock against William’s hips.
William moaned. His erection tented the sarong, seeking exit.
Matt moved his mouth to William’s neck. A small, blue vein snaked under the milky skin. He nuzzled the spot, suckling it like a kitten on a teat, teasing it into the bruise that would mark his conquest.
William struggled to free himself, tried pushing Matt away with the one arm that wasn’t already pinned by Matt’s body.
Matt grasped William’s arm with one hand, held it high against the lockers. Tufts of black pit hair unfurled like mold spores on Wonder Bread. He resumed painting the hickey on William’s neck.
“Timeout!” William croaked. “Rules violation! You said ‘kissing’ and ‘caressing.’ I know I did not hear the word ‘hickey.’ And pinning my arm? This is handshake territory.”
Matt broke away from the hickey-in-progress long enough to look into William’s eyes, gauging whether the protest was sincere or de rigeure. This seduction was about skirting boundaries, not shredding them.
“I am kissing you,” Matt whispered. “Just not on the lips. Check Webster’s Dictionary later, if you have the energy. Oh, and ‘caress’ is just a fancy word for touching. If you really want free of my caresses, just say the word and I’ll let you go. So—again—no handshake.”
William ceased his struggles, surrendered his neck.
When Matt had finished, he took William’s hand and led him back to the bench. He directed William to sit straddle-fashion on one end facing him.
William hesitantly complied, complaining, though, about how cold the steel was against his tush, wondering if the surface was sanitary.
Matt reached into the nearby duffel bag, retrieved a bottle of lube. Then he straddled the other end of the bench, facing William. Barely two feet separated their bodies.
Matt squirted lube onto his palm, worked it along the length of his shaft until it glistened like polished chrome.
