I need to be at practice in three hours. I should stretch, hydrate, act like a professional. Instead, I choke down Alaric’s cock under the sheets—because I can. Because I don’t think I could ever get enough of him.
My hand is slick against his shaft as I chase my mouth. Alaric gasps, his free hand tangling in the sheets.
God, I could do this all day. My tongue drags over the red head.
“Wait. Wait?—!”
I should probably be nice and not make a mess of his bed after he went through the trouble of washing his sheets yesterday. I let him come in my mouth, long and hard. His salty taste drips down my throat as I swallow.
“Fuck.” Alaric goes limp against the pillows.
I crawl up his body, kissing every piece of skin I can before pulling the blanket off my head.
“Good morning,” I say around my sore jaw.
He hums, half-waking. His body pushes me back into the bed as he lies on my chest. “What time is it?”
“Too early, to be honest,” I say, rubbing his back “Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t, not fully. He curls tighter into me, one hand sliding under the hem of the T-shirt I never took off, fingers warm against my stomach. It’s sweet in a way that should make my skin itch; instead, it makes everything quiet. Like I’ve found a switch I didn’t know the room had.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand.
He doesn’t move. I pretend not to notice. The screen lights the wall with a pale square and dies again. He’s heavy on my chest, trusting in that unconscious way that kills me.
It buzzes a second time—longer. He shifts, exhales against my collarbone, and reaches blindly.
The name flashes bright before his hand covers it. Kyle.
I stop breathing.
No, I can’t act out. I finally have him where I want him. I need to calm down.
“I’ll call him back later.”
He lets it ring out. Puts the phone face down. A small mercy. I pull him closer like gravity chose sides and sink my mouth against his neck, right at the soft place under his jaw. He shivers, but it’s the good kind. His hand curls in my T-shirt.
“Magnus,” he warns, smiling.
“Mm?” I run my nose along his skin. He smells like warm linen and me. “Problem?”
The phone buzzes again. Persistent. He sighs. “I should take it.”
I stop, the words like ice water. “You just said?—”
“It might be an emergency,” he says. He’s already rolling away, the bed cooling where he was. He sits up, back to me, and the distance feels bigger than the width of a mattress. “It’ll be quick.”
“Sure,” I say, too light.
He pauses at the tone but doesn’t turn. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting.” I’m absolutely starting.
He answers. “Hey.”
His voice does something—goes gentle, automatic. The version he uses for fans, for rookies with nerves, for stray dogs and broken machines. I listen to one side of it.Yeah. Mm. No, I’m good. Just a quiet day.I can practically hear Thorn on the other end, filling the spaces, laughing at something that isn’t funny. My jaw tightens. Alaric’s face in profile is a study in control: polite, careful, private.
I stare at the ceiling and count the ticks of the radiator to keep from saying something stupid. He laughs once, low, and some reptile in me bares its teeth. He’s just nice, I tell myself. He’s kind to everyone. He doesn’t belong to you.
