His hips bucked up and I let him, relaxing my throat, taking everything he gave me. His other hand joined the first in my hair, not pushing but holding, cradling my head like I was precious even as he fucked my mouth. The contradiction of it—that desperate need paired with that instinctive gentleness—made my chest ache in ways I refused to examine.
“Théo, I’m gonna—” A warning. Even now, even with his control in tatters, he was trying to give me an out.
I didn’t take it.
I sucked harder, reached down to cup his balls, pressed my thumb against that sensitive spot just behind them. His whole body went rigid, a broken sound tearing from his throat, and then he was coming, spilling hot and bitter across my tongue. I swallowed everything, working him through it until he was twitching with oversensitivity, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut.
I pulled off slowly and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
For a moment, I just watched him. Derek Sullivan, undone. Flushed and panting, his perfect body sprawled across the sheets, looking like every fantasy I’d never let myself have.
Then his eyes opened, soft and hazy with afterglow, and he reached for me.
“Come here,” he murmured.
I shouldn’t have. I knew even as I did it that I was making a mistake. But I let him pull me up beside him, let him tuck me against his chest, let his arm wrap around me like this was something we did. Like we were something.
His fingers found my hair, stroking gently. Rhythmically. The same way he’d probably pet Aspen. And it felt—
God, it felt good. It felt safe. It felt like something I could get used to.
That was the problem.
“That was…” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re incredible. Let me—” His hand started to drift down my stomach toward my still hard cock.
I caught his wrist.
“I should go.”
He blinked, confusion clouding his features. “What? Théo, you didn’t even—”
“I have early ice time.” The lie came out smooth and practiced. I was already pulling away, already sitting up, pushing to the edge of the bed.
“It’s eight o’clock at night.”
“I need to stretch. Prep. You know how it is.” My shirt was still in the kitchen. I couldn’t look at him. If I looked at him, I would see that tender expression again and I would crawl back into his arms and I would let myself believe this could be something real.
“Théo.” His hand caught my elbow. Gentle. Always so fucking gentle. “Talk to me. Did I do something wrong?”
Yes. You did everything right. That’s the problem.
“No,” I said. “This was fun. You were great. I… I’ll see you around.”
I pulled free and walked out of the bedroom. My legs were steady. My hands were steady. Everything was steady except for the earthquake happening somewhere behind my ribs.
Aspen lifted his head from his bed in the living room, watching me cross to the kitchen and pull on my shirt. He let out a small whine when I reached the front door.
“Don’t you start too,” I told him as I twisted the doorknob.
The hallway was quiet. Empty. I made it all the way to the elevator, jabbing the call button before leaning against the wall and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
What the fuck was I doing?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t have to look to know it was Derek. I could practically see the message:Are you okay?orDid I push too fast?or something equally earnest and devastating.
I turned the phone off and stepped into the elevator.
21. Derek
