“One sec,” he says, standing upright, arching his back for a second, and then he uncaps his water bottle and takes a long drink. “That’s better,” he adds, his voice completely normal, and I can feel my brow furrowed tight. Did he seriously just go from wrecked to ready to rumble in thirty seconds? I wonder. And then like he’s reading my mind, he answers.
“What? I’m quick on the recovery,” he says with a smirk that makes my cock take notice.
Then he spills water over his face and sweeps it up and into his hair, slicking back the slightly longer waves and highlighting his bright blue eyes, and I can’t help but watch the way his Adam’s apple moves up and down, throat glistening with sweat and water, probably salty and delicious.
Nope. What the fuck are you thinking? I turn away before he might pick up my totally inappropriate thoughts next, and I make a start toward the path that leads to my usual trail run.
“See you at the rink Monday,” I call without looking back.
When I push through the door at home, Luka is still on my mind, and I carry the images of him into the shower with me.
I tried to shove the thoughts away the entire run along the river trail, but they just wouldn’t quit tormenting me. Finally, I had to cut the run short and just head home. Running with a semi isn’t exactly comfortable.
Hot water rolls down my back, and I rest my head on my forearm against the cool tile as the other hand finds my cock and works it in slow, even strokes.
This time, I let the images of Luka spilling water over himself fill my thoughts. I let out a low rumble as I picture the dimples in his lightly freckled cheeks and his lips picked up in that devilish grin, almost daring me to make a move. Rookie Reid probably would have. But that’s not me anymore. I can’t afford to be reckless. Not that he would even want me.
This doesn’t mean I want him either. This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just about getting off. A face, a body, a fantasy to get me to release. It’s a one-time thing, I tell myself.
Working my cock faster, I can feel the tension inside circling like a building storm. My pulse is racing, my whole body trembling.
Like a movie stuck in a replay glitch, I watch Luka soak himself over and over, his shirt clinging to his muscled chest, taunting me with his smirk and then my orgasm hits so hard I’m sure I black out for a second, because when I can finally focus on where I am, the water is starting to run cold and someone is thumping on the bathroom door.
“What?” I call, shutting off the shower and climbing out to wrap a towel around my waist.
“Can I eat the leftover chili?” David calls back in an exasperated tone, like he’s asking for the millionth time. For all I know, he could be.
“Sure,” I reply, and his heavy steps thud down the stairs a few seconds later. “You’re welcome.”
I swipe a hand over the fogged-up mirror and I’m taken aback at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed a soft pink, and instead of the usual exhaustion in my eyes, I look wide awake. Rejuvenated, almost like a whole new man. Maybe I am. Because the old me never would have fantasized about a teammate to get off, let alone one a decade younger who is infuriatingly persistent in pissing me off. My cock twitches like that thought was some deep-seated call to action.
“Nope. We will not be doing that again,” I tell my dick, and I’m at least sixty percent sure I mean it.
Chapter thirteen
Luka
“Thanksformeetingme,”I tell White as he slides into the seat opposite. I texted him after my race with Reid this morning, and he suggested we meet at a cafe near his place in town.
“No problem, rook. So, how is the condo hunt going?”
“It’s not. I looked at a few places last week, but nothing feels like home.”
“What does home feel like?”
I shrug. “I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”
The waitress comes over and takes our order, and I hand over my card before White can get his wallet out.
“It’ll take more than a coffee to get me over to your side of whatever battle it is you have going on with our captain, kid,” he says, and I laugh.
“I didn’t bring you here to bribe you.”
“Is this a date, then?” he asks, leaning forward and pumping his brows suggestively.
“What? No. Did my text make you think this was a date?” I ask, my heart racing as I pull out my phone to check the message, but before I even unlock the screen, he’s laughing.
“Relax, kid. You’re not my type. So, what can I help you with?” he asks, as the waitress brings over my coffee, his hot chocolate, and a croissant. He rips off the end and dips it into the steaming hot liquid, then pops it into his mouth, the chocolate dripping down his fingers for a second before he licks them clean. “Go on, then.”
