It was time for him to learn to lose control.
“Good boy,” Bash said. His strokes were frantic, and he slipped a finger back in Adonis’s ass. “Cum for me, baby.”
With that, Adonis lost control. His body convulsed, his muscles twitched, and an orgasm overtook him. He came across his stomach and chest, cum shooting from his cock as he tipped his head back, gasping and trying not to cry out.
Bash didn’t stop stroking until Adonis was positively wilted in the chair.
“Perfect,” Bash whispered. “Absolutely perfect.” He kissed Adonis’s semi-hard cock, licking away the string of cum that clung to it.
“What about you?” Adonis asked when he could finally speak again. “Are you gonna cum?”
Bash began to untie the scarves that bound Adonis to the chair. “No,” he said simply. “I’m very patient.”
Chapter 15
Bash
Bash was very patient, but he wasn’t superhuman. He had been waiting to fuck Adonis since that night in Minneapolis. It had been weeks, now, and the weather at Bellford was turning. Autumn would be here soon.
As much as Bash liked seeing Adonis lose control, and knew that lightening up a bit was good for Adonis, he knew that he needed to be in complete control. Not of others, but of himself. That meant that he was making himself wait for what he really wanted.
Fucking Adonis would be good, he knew it would be. They had great chemistry, and Adonis was clearly ready. He wasn’t as ready as Bash, though. Bash wanted it badly. It was primal, his desire for sex with Adonis. Because of this, he knew he had to wait.
The longer he waited, the more he wanted it, yes. But also, the longer he waited, the better he knew it would be, and the more he trusted that his appetites weren’t controlling him.
He was in control of his sex drive. It was not in control of him.
Soon, he knew, it would be time. Soon, he would let himself go, and they would fuck, and it would be glorious.
He hadn’t seen Adonis since edging him last week, a session that had been so hot, Bash had almost cum on Adonis, even though he had barely touched his own cock. The week since then had been full of hockey practice and classes, and they hadn’t managed to line up their schedules. They had resorted, again, to a scheduled “appointment” on their calendars.
It wasn’t for another three weeks, after fall break.
In the meantime, Adonis was out of state for another figure skating competition, and as soon as he was back, Bash was leaving for a scrimmage with Ashwell, their rival Ivy League school, in Rhode Island. Then it would be fall break, and Adonis had told Bash he would be traveling with his mother to visit the U.S. Figure Skating headquarters in Colorado.
The official hockey season would be starting in just a few weeks, and Bash’s strength and skill were almost fully back. His shoulder still got sore, and there was a lump on his collarbone from the injury. It would never go away, the doctors told him. A permanent sign of what had happened to him.
He didn’t mind. Instead, he thought it was a good reminder that, no matter how strong he was, he wasn’t invincible.
He was only human.
At least once a day, he and Adonis texted. Most of the texts were sexual—one of them would message the other, something short, something to get the other person’s attention. They would go back and forth for a bit, and then it would be pictures. The pictures were usually of ass (Adonis’s) and cock (Bash’s), though Adonis also loved to show off his cock (which was beautiful), and Bash was quite proud of his muscular ass (which Adonis called “majestic” on one occasion).
The videos they exchanged would’ve made even Bash’s most sexually liberated Dutch friends blush.
Bash loved it.
“You’re getting some ass, aren’t you?” Robbie asked him when they were getting ready in the locker room at Ashwell.
“What?” Bash said. He had been so focused on getting ready, adjusting his jockstrap, his moisture-wicking shirt, and compression pants, and his socks, that he hadn’t been paying attention to Robbie.
“Ass. You’re getting ass,” Robbie repeated, flicking a wet towel at Bash. Bash dodged the towel.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re glowing,” Robbie teased.
“It’s the sweat.”
