That could be why the drone was following us. Championship teams and players obviously tend to get more press attention. There have been multiple occasions where sneaky photographers or drones have been used to leak practice footage leading up to championship games. I’ve caught a few side-eye glances from curious teammates, but I don’t think there’s any reason to worry that the press is on to me and Jesse.
I know he’s here. He texted around midnight that he’d arrived safely and quietly. There weren’t any obvious photographers around my condo when I was dropped off, and if the doorman was aware that Jesse is here, he didn’t breathe a word or give any indication he’d seen him.
I tiptoe inside, not wanting to wake him up if he’s asleep. After stashing my away bag in the laundry room to deal with tomorrow, I sneak down the hall and push open the door to my bedroom. He’s not in my bed, but there is a flickering light coming from the cracked bathroom door.
Quietly, I poke my head in and find Jesse in my oversized tub that rarely sees any use. There are candles everywhere. The glass panes of the shower are fogged with humidity, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.
“Welcome home,” he says huskily, his wet, naked body hidden from view by a layer of bubbles. The candlelight catches on his glistening skin, making him glow like some kind of otherworldly being. A siren, maybe.
The last four days without him melt off me, and in an instant, I’m on my knees at the side of the tub, kissing him. His wet hands grip my biceps before moving to the hem of my hoodie. He pushes the fabric up my torso, splaying his fingers over my abs, and up my chest, until I reach back to help him pull the hoodie and my shirt over my head. His hands move to my hips next, pushing his fingers under the waistband of my athletic pants. Chuckling, I take the hint and stand, stripping out of the rest of my clothes and slipping in behind Jesse. He relaxes back against my chest, and I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him in closer.
“I missed you,” I mumble into his hair that he’s trimmed and re-dyed so his dark roots aren’t showing.
“I can tell,” Jesse chuckles, pushing his ass back against my involuntary reaction to his presence, which is aggressively jabbing him in his lower back.
My shoulders shake. “Sorry.” I’m really not trying to make everything about my dick, in fact we both spent the entirety of last week making a point not to have sex so we could connect on a different level. But he’s here. In my lap. Naked. And wet. There’s not much I can do about my dick other than put space between us. But I don’t want to. “Ignore that. I want to be close to you.”
“The hell I will,” he says, turning his shoulders to look at me. “Luc, I miss you. I need you. Please touch me.”
Barely holding in a growl, I pull him even tighter against my chest. One hand presses him against me, while the other moves over his abs and down to wrap around his hard cock. He hisses and bucks, laying his head back on my shoulder and moaning when I begin to stroke him.
“I’m–ungh– I’m prepped.”
It takes me a moment to process what he’s saying, but my eyes cut to a bottle of silicone-based lube sitting on the edge of the tub. I move my hand lower, feel the base of a plug nestled in his ass, and groan.
My lips trail along the back of his neck. As hard as it is to deny him anything, I’m not sure what the rules are about all this bath shit getting inside him. “I don’t know–"
“You don’t have to fuck me,” he says quickly. “Just let me feel you inside me. Please.”
Does he think I don’t want to fuck him? Does he think I’m rejecting him?
A mixture of emotions, from heartache to lust, settle in my chest and make it hard to breathe, much less speak. Turning his chin towards me, I open my mouth to explain myself, but I can’t get the words out. The look in his eyes and the desperate way he kisses me renders me incapable.
It takes some finagling to get adjusted, but soon we’re both letting out heavy breaths as Jesse sinks down until his ass is flush against my hips, my cock fully engulfed by his tight, hot body. We don’t move for a while, content to be connected like this, as close as humanly possible. Jesse’s body, half out of the water now that he’s on top of me, begs to be touched. My hands caress and massage him everywhere I can reach, roaming over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach and between his thighs. He whimpers and clenches whenever my fingers play over his nipples or trace along the V of his abs. When it almost becomes too much, I take him in hand, wrapping my fingers around his cock and slowly, gently stroking, teasing him until he’s writhing and grinding, wordlessly begging for friction.
The pulsing of his rim around the base of my cock becomes its own kind of slow torture, but I sink into it, hungry for the contact, relishing the closeness of being connected this way. I edge us both until the water cools and it hurts too much to hold off any longer.
Jesse’s cry echoes off the tile, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the tub while he shakes in my arms. Cum shoots up his chest, splattering in the water, and coating my hand as I workevery drop from him. My thighs flex, grinding my cock deeper as he pulses around me, and I spasm almost violently, biting into my bottom lip hard enough to break skin, unloading inside him.
Along with the physical release, the orgasm jostles something inside me loose. I’m thankful his back is to me as I hold him close and tremble. My eyes leak an emotion I’ve never named out loud before this man broke me into pieces and rebuilt me into what I am now.
A while later, when we’ve rinsed and dried off and I’m listening to the sounds of Jesse’s rhythmic breathing next to me in bed, I whisper into the nape of his neck.
“I love you, Jesse Moore.”
Our first loss of the season is my fault. Or, at least, I blame myself for it.
I’m too tired, too distracted, to do much more than stumble around on autopilot. Neither my heart nor my head are in the game. My heart is back at home where Jesse is waiting for me. My head is bogged down by the pressure of the upcoming playoffs and the unrelenting circus Jesse’s life has become.
The press still hasn’t let go of the possibility that I’m the mystery man in Jesse’s leaked videos, and speculation continues to grow even though Jesse has stepped out of the public eye for the time being. I’m trying to be strong. I meant what I told Jesse. I care more about being with him than I do keeping our relationship quiet, but the attention is starting to affect the team as well. Press and paparazzi constantly congregate outside the team’sfacilities, hounding the coaches and staff and other players, yelling intrusive questions about how they feel about me and my private life.
Even worse, it’s following me to the field, where opposing players have made it their mission to shake us any way they know how. Just before the snap, the player opposite me makes a joke about getting shafted by the last flag that was thrown. His teammate next to him says, “At least it wasn’t pierced,” and throws a knowing smirk in my direction.
“Keep it together, Martín,” Treyden calls as the line moves.
I stumble on the snap. My foot falters as I lurch forward, and I find myself at an awkward angle when a linebacker slams into me like a bus. The wind is knocked from my chest, my feet are taken out from under me, and I land hard on my shoulder. Pain ricochets through me so sharply I worry I’ve dislocated it. It’s not, thank God, but it’s bad enough to put me on the bench for the rest of the game. Dallas keeps their momentum and pushes forward through the end zone, landing a 17-24 loss squarely on my swollen shoulder.
After the game, I see the trainers and sit in an ice bath long enough that most of my teammates have cleared out of the locker room by the time I’m done. Coach is waiting for me when I’m dressed and ready to leave. He pulls me into his office and shuts the door behind us.
