“This what you want?” I growl into the kiss because I don’t want to take my lips off him. I haven’t even used tongue yet. I want to… but I want to be sure he isn’t changing his mind.
“Fuck yes,” Noah pants. “And more.”
So then it’s settled. I kiss him harder, and my mouth opens, but his tongue finds mine before I can seek his out. Everything speeds up, my heart, my blood pumping through my veins, my actions. And his. Suddenly, we’re grabbing each other everywhere. Hair, shoulders, hips, ass. By the time we hit the bed, a tangle of limbs, Noah is only in his underwear and I can’t seem to keep my lips off all his newly bared skin.
Noah has his nipples pierced. The first time he got changed in the locker room and I saw the glint of metal, I swear to God I almost shuddered with the urge to touch them. With my tongue. At that point, obviously I thought Noah was as straight as an arrow and so I never thought I would ever touch them. Now that I can, it’s the first thing I do. If this ‘experiment’ is going to end for Noah after just this encounter, I’m taking what I want from it too. So I waste no time dipping my head and sliding my tongue over the metal before sucking the left one into my mouth.
He reacts better than I could have ever imagined, arching his back, swearing as he pants out a breath and grabbing hold of the back of my head, as if he’s scared I’ll stop. No fucking chance of that. Sucking on the little metal barbell is making my dick harder than a god damn rock.
As I move to his right one, he gets antsy. His hands dig into my hair, and his legs move so I fall between them. I rut my cock against the inside of his hip, pushing into him like I would if he was bottoming. Oh my God, how I wish we were there. But we aren’t. And I am sure as hell not starting this man’s bisexual or homosexual journey at the finish line. So I push into him one more selfish time, my cock rubbing against all the damn fabric I’m still wearing, and then I pull back. Kneeling between his spread legs I look down at him. His eyes are hooded, his lips and strong, dimpled chin slightly chafed from my stubble.
“Why are you stopping?” Noah asks, his voice small.
I touch his cheek, running my fingertips over it. “Patience rookie. I’m wearing too many clothes.”
“Oh, yeah,” Noah says, and a smile dances at the edges of his mouth.
I get off the bed and stand beside it, yanking my pants and underwear off in one motion. As I step out of them, I watch Noah watching me. He’s sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. He’s got such a suckable mouth. His lips are full and pouty. The kind of mouth women pay doctors good money to create. He was born with it. It’s the first thing I noticed about him when we met as kids too. I remember thinking I wanted to find a guy who looked like that. Didn’t have a fucking clue I would get this actual set of lips on mine.
His gorgeous eyes are fixated on my cock. I don’t blame him. It’s a nice size and it is what made him question his sexuality to begin with. The root of the problem. And it’s been in his face the last three months in locker rooms and dressing rooms and he hasn’t been able to really look at it. Rule of hockey: don’t stare at your teammate’s dick. So I’m not surprised when he reaches for it, but I move his hand away before he can touch it. “You’re the one wearing too many clothes now.”
He looks down at his underwear and then hooks his thumbs into them. There’s a second of hesitation, just enough for me to notice, but then his eyes close and he pushes them down his wide thighs. His cock bobs a little as it’s freed. It’s long and thicker than I’d have expected it to be from the times curiosity got the better of me and I snuck a glance, or twelve. Noah is a grower not a show-er.
Before his eyes can flicker open, I’m climbing on top of him and fusing my mouth to his, kissing him with all the pent-up sexual frustration I’ve had simmering for him since he was drafted. And he’s kissing back with all the nervous sexual energy he’s been cultivating since he walked in on the blow job seven years ago. My left leg wedges between his thighs and my cock nestles in that spot where his hip and thigh join. And when I give my hips a little pump, the skin-on-skin feel rocks me. So does the way his hands are now cupping my ass. And the way his lips are moving down my throat and over my Adam’s apple.
I feel him pressed into my stomach. When I roll off him, there’s a wet spot just left of my belly button from his pre-cum. He pushes up onto one elbow and leans over me, his fair hair tumbling over his forehead. Noah is so put together that even after a hockey game in a helmet, his hair looks pretty fucking great. Now he’s unkempt and the look in his eyes is undone and I am fucking loving it. He kisses me, tongue finding mine briefly before he pulls back to say, “Let me suck you.”
“Not tonight, rookie,” I reply firmly and cup the side of his face as rejection washes over his handsome features. “I think I might want it more than you do, which is the problem. We need to… work up to it.”
“I know what I want,” Noah tells me, and I try to caress the scowl from his face with gentle fingertips.
“I know you think you do,” I reply, my fingertips moving over his cheekbones and toward that suckable mouth. My cock hates me for not just giving him what he’s asking for without a shred of moral decency about it. “But I’m not about to let you regret your choices with my dick in your mouth. Let’s work up to that, okay?”
My hand has slid lower, and my thumb ghosts across his lips. They were in a flat line as he glared at me, but now he opens them and his lips suck my thumb into his mouth, up to the knuckle, while his tongue swirls around it.
“You fucking whore…” I murmur appreciatively and pull my thumb from his mouth and grab his wrist. “Before you taste it, you touch it.”
His eyes find mine, then move down to watch me move his hand toward my shaft. He doesn’t pull back or hesitate. In fact, he reaches out and boldly fists me near the base. And then Noah gives me a good, strong tug. And I see stars. “Fucking hell,” I hiss.
He does it again, this time lifting his thumb to glide it over the tip and through the pre-cum. And then his hand disappears, and I open my eyes, which I didn’t realize had snapped shut. They land on him just in time to see his tongue lick the pad of his thumb, tasting me. My whole body flushes with white-hot desire. I’m losing all control.
I grab his face in both hands and yank him to my mouth. And now I’m tasting me on his tongue and I whisper something that I think is “Baby” and he groans something that sounds like “Yes” and I take that as permission. Permission to touch him back. So with one hand I reach between us and guide my fingers over his cock, down to his balls, and back to his cock where I fist him the way he did me. He’s on his side but his arm gives out and his head hits the pillow.
“Oh God,” he pants, watching me jerk him off.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” I promise softly.
“Don’t stop,” he replies, his voice solid and thick. “Don’t ever fucking stop.”
And then he reaches out and palms me again. Our rhythms are reckless and chaotic, completely out-of-sync and yet both our bodies are responding like perfectly tuned instruments being led by a gifted maestro. I’m lost in the flush of his cheeks and the way his eyes won’t stop watching my hand on his dick. I’m drowning in the feeling of his hand, a little too eager, as it moves over my shaft. And the way his pre-cum has created the perfect lube, and so has mine. I buck my hips as much as I can from this angle and beg him in a heated whisper to move closer. “I want you to come on me.”
“Oh fuck, Luke… Oh fuck…” he moans and it’s so damn hot.
When he comes, it hits my knuckles and my stomach and my own cock. I see stars and release my own load all over us both too. He lets go of me and I let go of him and then he rolls onto his back. I watch him, like he’s a pot on a stove, waiting for him to boil. Boil over with regret, panic, fear. I count to ten. Twice. And nothing happens. He’s just staring up at the hotel room ceiling, panting. His sticky hands on his sticky belly.
Finally, when his breathing stabilizes, he starts to sit up and without a word, he walks into my bathroom. I hear the water turn on and off and when he emerges he’s clean and he tosses a wet face cloth at me. It hits my hip with a slap. “Now you don’t have to get out of bed to clean up,” he remarks and starts collecting his clothes.
“Thanks,” I say. Maybe this is the panic. Maybe Noah processes shame and regret by being helpful and calm? “You good?”
