Brody makes quick work of my pants and underwear, kissing and running his tongue over every crevice of my lower body except where I need him most. I whine and almost move my hands, fisting the fabric of the t-shirt to keep from following the instinct.
When Brody finally takes me in his mouth, I groan so loudly it reverberates off the walls. I clamp my lips shut hard, worried that the guys in the rooms around us might hear me. Brody smiles around my cock, taking me far into the back of his throat and pulling more breathy gasps from me. He brings me to the edge and backs off again, redirecting my pleasure with a sharp bite to the inside of my thigh that makes me yelp. I glare at him, and he laughs.
I hate him. I’m glad he’s feeling better, but mostly, I just hate him.
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” I hiss. My moment of tenderness and patience has passed in a haze of edging and barely maintained restraint.
Chuckling, Brody pulls away for a moment to retrieve lube and a condom from his duffle, stripping his clothes on his way back to me. He settles between my thighs again and pushes my knees to my chest. When I don’t automatically hold them, he looks up, rolling his eyes at my snarky wordless reminder that he told me to keep my hands up.
“Hold your knees, baby girl. I’ve got to loosen up this pretty pussy.”
I wrap my bound wrists around my knees, sputtering and reeling over what he just said. Not just what he said, but the way it sent ajolt through me, like I might come on the electric impulses of his words alone.Again.
Brody opens me up slowly and gently, taking his time but not wasting it. He works with purpose, keeping me pliable with words that stroke my brain the same way his fingers stroke my prostate. And then finally, finally, he’s wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, hiking one thigh up to wrap my leg around him, and pushing inside me.
I take him even easier than last time, understanding how to bear down and breathe to relax my body.
“Just like that,” Brody moans against my mouth. “That’s my good girl.”
He fucks me slowly, and so sweetly it feels like something far more intense. So intense I don’t have the capacity to worry or freak out over how much I’m feeling, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally.
I come on a breathy, open-mouthed silent cry that has Brody cursing and following me over the edge. We fall, breathless and sweaty, into an exhausted pile of satiated limbs. Eventually, Brody gets up to dispose of the condom and bring me a warm washcloth to clean up with, then pulls me into his clean bed.
I fall asleep in his arms, wondering if I’ve ever felt this content before in my life.
The next day at the meet, Brody greets his old teammates with easy familiarity. He shakes hands and bro-hugs nearly everyone he comes in contact with, laughing and prattling on like hewasn’t super nervous just before we left the hotel room this morning. I watch from the side, half warmed by it, half saddened now that I know why he had to come home.
Then someone else approaches, and I forget to be anything other than morbidly curious and more than a little seethingly jealous.
I don’t think this guy is another wrestler, considering he’s not wearing a uniform or even University of Nebraska team colors. He’s wearing dark blue skinny jeans and a soft cream-colored sweater that matches his canvas shoes. He comes forward with a wide smile and watery eyes. When he hugs Brody, it isn’t anything like the friendly bro-hugs he gave the others. It lingers. Long enough to make me uncomfortable.
When I see Brody’s fingers brush through the nape of the guy’s sandy-colored hair, I tense. My jaw clenches when I see how he looks up at Brody almost adoringly, his light brown eyes hiding obvious sadness and longing behind his smile.
Is that guy… Were they…
Is this the kind of guy Brody is normally into?When he isn’t stuck at a hostile school with a closed-off guy who has made it his personal mission to make his life miserable? I mean, I’m done with all that, but it hasn’t been long enough for Brody to trust that I’m not going to stay on my bullshit.
This guy is nothing like me. He’s almost the complete opposite of me. He’s small, several inches shorter than Brody and slim. He’s not athletic-looking at all. He’s soft and pretty, with a stylish haircut that has his longer-in-front hair swept back casually. There are freckles dusted across his nose.
He’s…cute.
I am not cute. I’m tall, taller than Brody, and broad although not as muscular. I have dark hair and features, and not one freckle can be found on my skin anywhere that I’m aware of.
On top of all that, he carries himself with the confidence of someone who isn’t worried that anyone in this gym could be watching and judging him for openly looking at Brody with reverence and longing. I can’t even admit I like it when Brody touches me unless I’m under duress.
I hate how my stomach drops when Brodyboopsthe pretty boy on the nose and grins.
He doesn’t grin at me that way.
“Holy shit,” Pierce Jamison says loudly behind me.
I jolt and immediately pretend to study the match-up sheet in my hands.
“Knowing a thing and seeing it are two different animals, am I right? Thank fuck he’s not this obvious back at home, right. It’s embarrassing for the team.”
He nudges me, expecting me to laugh along or talk shit, like I might have weeks ago, if only to throw him off my trail. But ever since Thanksgiving break, everything has changed. I can’t bring myself to hate Brody. I can’t even fake it. Not when he’s the one person who has seen me vulnerable and stuck around anyway.
Still, fear spikes in my chest. Fear that if I defend Brody too strongly, Pierce will notice something. Noticeme.
