“Who?” Bennett rasped, sounding genuinely confused.
“Goddamn right,” Sandro muttered. And without any warning, he took Bennett in his mouth.
“Shit, Ro. Shit.” There was a thump, no doubt the back of Bennett’s head hitting the door. “Ungh, yes.”
Sandro groaned around him, which had Bennett sucking in air through his teeth.
Bennett was hard and leaking in Sandro’s mouth, and his breathing stuttered when Sandro massaged his balls to add to his pleasure.
Sandro remembered the first time he’d ever sucked Bennett off. August, sophomore year of college. Classes hadn’t been scheduled to start for another week or so, but Sandro and Bennett—as well as the rest of their college hockey team—had arrived on campus early to begin practice. Of course, day one of practice had started out with the guys catching up on their summers in the locker room, where Bennett had loudly told one of their teammates that he was single while side-eyeing Sandro.
Sandro had responded that he, too, was single after the relationship with his girlfriend had fizzled and died over the summer.
Three hours later, they’d been naked in Bennett’s dorm room with a sock on the door.
Three hours after that, Bennett’s roommate—a fellow hockey player—had taken Sandro’s spot in his dorm room, and Sandro had moved in with Bennett.
Three hours after that, Sandro had asked Bennett to be his boyfriend while his dick was in Bennett’s mouth. Bennett had given him a very imperious “obviously, you jackass” eyebrow.
And that had been that.
Now, as Bennett got impossibly harder in Sandro’s mouth, Sandro closed his eyes when Bennett carded his fingers through his hair.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Bennett panted. “Ro. If you still hate to swallow . . .”
Surging to his feet, Sandro kissed him while Bennett finished himself off and ejaculated into the space between them.
“Jesus, fuck,” Bennett groaned against Sandro’s mouth.
Synapses firing at lightning speed, Sandro grinned and was about to gloat about his mouth being better than a damn model’s when Bennett undid his jeans and grasped his erection in one tight fist.
“Christ with a hockey stick, B.” Sandro tucked his face in Bennett’s neck, those firing synapses zinging up and down his spine. “Warn a guy next time.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Bennett said in his ear, his voice a sinful caress.
He used his come-slick hand to jerk Sandro off, and in an embarrassingly short time, Sandro was coming all over them both with a drawn-out groan that left his throat aching. Panting, he leaned his weight against Bennett, trusting Bennett to hold him up. “We’re a mess.”
Bennett chuckled. “Whose fault is that?”
“Yours. Just like that D on my marketing project.”
“I’m sorry, who wanted to go to that frat party the night before he had to hand it in?”
Sandro smiled against Bennett’s neck. “Also you.”
“That is not how I remember it.” Bennett patted his butt. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up. We should probably Windex this door too, otherwise my ass print is going to be permanently engraved on it.”
Lifting his head, Sandro peered around him, and sure enough, there was a butt print steaming up the glass. Unable to help himself, he dissolved into laughter and pressed a quick kiss to Bennett’s lips. “I’m hungry.”
“Seriously? We just ate so much cheese.”
“I want beef Wellington.”
“I can offer you bagels.”
Sandro thought about that for a second and nodded. “I’ll take it.” He looked down at himself, at where Bennett still held his softened dick. “And a wet cloth.”
Several minutes later, cleaned up and sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter in his underwear and one of Bennett’s hoodies, Sandro watched Bennett—also dressed in underwear and a hoodie—pop a bagel into the toaster. Sandro had peered into the freezer when Bennett had opened it to grab the bag of bagels and found that Bennett really did only have bagels.
