I want to try.
I wanted to choke on him. I wanted to feel him hit the back of my throat. I wanted to see if I could take what that girl couldn’t take from me. I wanted to know what he tasted like. The realization made me lightheaded. I stood there, hand trembling, picturing myself gagging, eyes watering, forcing him down my throat just to prove I could handle him.
“Hey.”
The voice came from right behind my ear.
I jumped, fumbling the phone, barely catching it before shoving it into my pocket. I spun around, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Cal was there. Showered. Dressed in a hoodie and jeans. Duffel bag over his shoulder.
He looked cool. Composed. Like he hadn’t just sent me a picture of his dick with a caption that made me want to crawl out of my own skin.
“You…” I stammered. My voice was an octave too high. My face felt like it was radiating heat like a furnace. “You can’t just, we’re at work! There are people right there!”
I gestured wildly to the room, praying the refs weren’t watching my meltdown.
Cal stepped into my space, blocking me from the view of the others. He was grinning. He loved this. He loved seeing me flustered, seeing me falling apart because of a text message.
“I was thinking about you,” he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “About how purple that bruise was. About how much I want to put another one right next to it.”
I made a strangled noise in the back of my throat, my hands balling into fists at my sides to keep from grabbing him. My brain was still stuck on the photo. On the mechanics of it. On the size of him.
“Callum…”
“What’s the matter, Si?” he whispered back.
He pulled away, winking at me, a sharp, devastating thing, and patted my shoulder.
“Come on,” he said loudly, his voice casual, perfect for the audience of the locker room. “Let’s hit the road. I’m starving.”
He turned to walk away, whistling low, his hips swaying with that confident stride that drove me insane.
I watched him go. The heat in my blood spiked, mixing with the adrenaline, twisting into something reckless. Something bold. Something I couldn’t take back.
I stepped forward, closing the distance before I could think about the consequences.
“I bet I wouldn’t choke,” I whispered, my voice rough, pitched low so only he could hear.
Cal froze. His whistle cut off. He turned his head slowly, confusion knitting his brow. “What?”
I leaned in, my lips inches from his ear, trembling with adrenaline, my voice dropping to a sinful promise.
“That picture,” I breathed out, the words feeling dangerous on my tongue. “I bet I wouldn’t gag. I bet I could take every inch of it.”
For a second, Cal just stared at me. He blinked, the words processing.
Then, it hit him.
The confusion vanished. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide as a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. He didn’t look shocked anymore. He looked ready to drag me back into that stall right then and there.
“Careful, Reed,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly low, thick with intent. “Keep talking like that, and I might just let you try.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I didn’t wait for another word. I grabbed my bag, pushed past him, and walked out the door, leaving him standing there in the middle of the locker room, looking like I’d just hit him with a steel chair.
8
APRIL - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
