“Fuck,” I whispered. “Yes.”
Slowly, he sucked me into his mouth until he had taken all of me. Then he set up a leisurely rhythm, up and down my shaft, unhurried and deliberate, until my knees grew weak. He lifted his gaze to me and raised his eyebrows.
“Please, don’t stop.”
He doubled down and kept working me with the perfect amount of suction. He swirled his tongue around the head of my dick until whimpers escaped me.
“I’m so close.” My voice was low and husky. “Touch yourself. Let’s come together.” I wanted to share the experience as much as possible.
He wrapped his hand around his hard cock and shuttled it along its length, matching his cadence to mine.
“That’s it… I’m… so close. Pull off… if you… need to.”
He only hummed and sucked harder.
My vision sheeted white, my legs trembled, and I exploded into his mouth with a shout. I just barely kept my hips from jerking and driving my cock down his throat.
He quickly pulled off my dick, gave himself a few more quick tugs, and moaned as he came.
I ran my fingers through his silky, short hair. “Okay?”
“Never better,” he panted, his voice hoarse.
I raised him to his feet and drew him to me, needing him close. I cupped his face as I kissed him—slow and deep and reverent, tasting myself but not caring. I poured everything I wasn’t saying into the kiss: gratitude, awe at his generosity, the terrifying depth of feeling that had taken root in my chest.Thank you. You’re incredible. I’m falling for you.All the words I couldn’t yet speak translated into the press of my mouth against his, the careful way I held him like he was precious, the tremor in my breath when we finally parted.Wesley’s eyes were soft when they opened, understanding written across his face like he’d heard every unspoken word.
After we gently cleaned each other up, we lay under the covers with our legs woven together, the celebratory energy fading into satisfied exhaustion. Wesley’s head rested on my shoulder, and I felt more content than I had in months. Maybe years.
“Tonight was perfect,” I murmured. I ran my hand down Wesley’s arm, which was wrapped around my waist. “Being here with you is perfect. The win was perfect. Everything I hoped it would be.”
“It was pretty spectacular.” His voice was warm, pleased. “First of many wins. I can feel it.”
The comment sparked something in my mind—a realization that landed with an uncomfortable weight. I was quiet for a moment, processing, then said, “You realize what this means, don’t you? I could never come out during my career, even if I wanted to.”
Wesley stilled against me. “What? Why?”
“Tonight proved it. The team is working. The chemistry is building. We’re winning.” I stared at the ceiling, articulating the conflict that was building in my gut. “If I come out now—or even in a few years while I’m still playing—it risks everything. Team chemistry, media focus, sponsor relationships. I can’t disrupt this when it’s finally working.”
“Griffin—” He sat up and looked down at me.
“Tonight—seeing the team succeed, the fans celebrating, the media praising my leadership—made me realize how much I have to lose if I come out.”
“Or how much you have to gain.” Wesley’s voice was gentle but firm. “Griffin, I’m not going to pressure you. Your timeline is your timeline. But don’t let one perfect night convince you that hiding is the only option. That’s fear talking, not wisdom.”
“Maybe fear is wisdom.” I sat up too, facing him. “Maybe recognizing that coming out would jeopardize everything I’ve worked for is actually being smart, not cowardly.”
Wesley was quiet for a long moment, his brown eyes searching mine. Finally, he said, “I can’t tell you what to do. This is your life, your career, your choice.”
“I can’t jeopardize everything tonight represented. The team, the fans, the success. I’ve worked my entire life for this. Tonight underscores why I have to hide.” My gut churned. The risk had never been clearer.
“I know.” Wesley’s expression was pained but understanding. “And I’m not suggesting you sacrifice your career. But I’m just suggesting you don’t sacrifice yourself. There’s a difference.”
We sat in tense silence, the post-orgasm glow having completely dissipated, replaced by the harsh reality of my impossible situation. Tonight had been perfect—the goal, the win, the celebration. But perfection came with a price: the realization that I couldn’t risk disrupting it. That success made authenticity more dangerous, not less.
“Let’s not figure this out tonight,” Wesley said finally, standing and gathering his clothes. “Tonight was incredible. Let’s end it on that note and deal with the complicated stuff later.”
“Okay.” Relief flooded through me—grateful for the reprieve, for permission to avoid the hard conversation a little longer.
Wesley dressed, and I walked him to the door. In that threshold between private and public, between who we were together and who we had to be for the world, we paused.
