“Don’t be. I liked it.” He cupped my cheek in his heated palm and drew my face down to his. “I liked everything about it and... waking up with you.”
He kissed me and my brain fell silent. Primal desire overcame me, and I was on him before I truly knew what I was doing.
I lifted him clean off his feet and walked him back to my bed, ignoring the wrench in my gnarled up leg. We fell onto the mess we’d left behind, and I fought with the jeans he’d somehow slept in. My sweats and Nike tee were more accommodating. They landed somewhere beyond the bed; I didn’t care where. How could I when Sam was naked on my bed, and I was naked too, writhing on top of him, grinding, desperate for friction?
An evil voice lived in my head. It had been there since I’d first got a boner for Ryan Giggs, telling me every moment I was with a bloke that it would ruin me and cement my status as a reliable disappointment to my parents. In the end, my constant fuck-ups had given it the validation it craved, but health and healing had kept it at bay since I’d met Sam, and as I rolled onto my back and pulled him on top of me, its warning call didn’t sound. For the first time in my life, I was stronger.
Sam rose up on his knees. My dick dug into his back, hard and insistent, but I was transfixed by his. It was as if I’d never seen one before, and Iachedfor it. I ached forhim.
Perhaps sensing my desperation, Sam tilted his head sideways. “What do you want?”
“I want you in my mouth.” The words fell out of me, but I meant every syllable. I needed him in my mouth before I legit combusted. Needed him to slide down my throat and fill my senses. “Please?”
The tension in Sam’s shoulders melted away, his questioning frown replaced by a smirk that sent shivers down my spine. He walked forward on his knees, straddling my chest, and brought his cock to my lips, demanding entrance.
I let him in and swallowed him whole, moaning as his ragged groan shattered the heated quiet. My hands found their way to his thighs as though I’d gripped the sinewy muscle a thousand times, and I drew him forwards, hoping he’d decipher the message:fuck my mouth.
“Yeah?” Sam whispered. “You want it?”
I wanted it like I’d never wanted anything. I opened my throat and gripped him harder. He cried out and grabbed the headboard for support and thrust into my mouth, slowly at first, but then with more force as I urged him on. He was so hard. My jaw ached as I worked him, and I couldn’t get enough of the salty fluid leaking onto my tongue. The old me had approached my sexuality like a fucking dictator, taking what I thought I wanted and giving little in return, but this was so much better. Giving Sam pleasure lit a fire in me I knew would burn forever, and if these were my last moments on earth, I’d take them every time over anything that had come before.
Desire careened through me like a wrecking ball. I dug my fingers into Sam’s soft flesh, breathed deep through my nose, losing myself to his scent. It wasn’t long before he growled out my name and shot in my mouth, and I mourned the thrill of it as his shudders eased and faded away. I wanted to do this forever. Every day, every night, every moment he’d let me.
Jesus.If I’d been upright, I might’ve stumbled. I clung to Sam’s thighs as he turned my face to his with a wink. He reached for my aching dick, and realisation hit me like a fucking asteroid.
This was a seismic shift, and there was no going back.
13
Sam
The world had changed. It wasn’t tangible enough for me to say how, but it had. Perhaps it was the arrival of spring. The days were longer and the skies brighter. The dark of the winter was gone, and maybe my black mood had gone with it.
Or, maybe the lift in my spirits had something to do with Micah swallowing my dick at every opportunity he got, and the fact that he seemed delighted with himself for doing it. He was so enthusiastic he often put me into an orgasm coma before I could reciprocate, but that was something I was working on.
“That’s your third Red Bull.” Céleste plucked the can from my hand and tossed it, half-full, into the bin. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
I didn’t have the stones to tell her that if I’d survived a dozen Micah blowjobs, I could handle an extra dose of caffeine, which was odd in itself, because I told her most things, whether she wanted to know them or not. I settled for a scowl and ate more of the chips I’d pinched from the kitchen for my lunch while scrolling through the message thread I shared with Micah. It had become more active in the past week, and though our conversations still centred around buying milk and putting the bins out, subtle clues gave away the shift in our friendship: my sudden interest in his PT schedule, and his daily enquiry as to when I’d be home. Weaker moments had me wondering if he was bored now the weather was better and he was still spending much of his time home alone. Then I’d remember the fire in his gaze every time he touched me, and everything made sense.
My chips ran out. With a heavy sigh, I took my bowl to the kitchen and returned to the bar. It was Wednesday, and the pub was busy with city wankers treating themselves to a hump-day liquid lunch. They were messy bastards, far worse than the working-class boozers I’d served up north. When I wasn’t collecting glasses, I was sweeping up scattered food and gathering discarded newspapers. Most were the poncy broadsheets the yuppie types liked to carry under one arm to look clever, folded and unread. A few were the tabloids they really liked.
I rescued a copy ofThe Sunand spared it an absent glance. My teenage years were littered with memories of me studying the women on page three and trying to figure out why their cheeky smiles and great boobs did nothing for me, but as an adult, the sensationalist headlines did my head in. That, and the harassment of people like Micah just trying to live their lives. Case-in-point, the papped photo of him and Freddie in the gym, along with a stellar caption:Gay Footballer Micah Phillips Cosies Up To Freddie Santos!
Jesus wept. He’s not even gay. Is it so hard to spell bisexual?Disgusted, I flounced out of the pub and dumped the rag in a street bin, resisting the urge to set it on fire. It wasn’t the first time Micah had been caught unawares at work, but I’d never seen him so affectionate with Freddie, leaning into him while Freddie had his arm draped around his shoulders. I knew there was nothing in it, but god, itburnedthat Micah was doing that with Freddie in public and not me.
He doesn’t suck Freddie’s dick, though, does he? And he hugs you all the time. Always has.
Not by choice, though. At least, not in the beginning. I recalled with perfect clarity the first time I’d hugged Micah goodnight. He’d been so adorably surprised I’d done it again and again until it had become an almost regular thing. Until recently, he’d never initiated it, but over time, his response had grown so warm I’d been addicted. Was still addicted, to that and everything else about him.
“What are you scowling about?”
Startled, I whirled around to face the last person on earth I wanted to see.
Freddie Santos smirked back at me. “Take it you’ve seen the paper?”
“Uh-huh. Just now. Has Micah seen it?”
Freddie shrugged. “No idea. Don’t worry about it, though. There’s worse things in the world than being linked to my fine self.”
