“You son of a bitch. You trained me over the phone.”
He chuckles. “Not at first, baby.” His hand glides down my ribs, seizing my hip again. “When I suspected you were masturbating, I just had to have a little fun with it.”
“If you knew, then why’d it take so long for you to make a move on me?”
“Masturbating’s one thing. I was afraid you’d knock me out if I made a pass.”
“Fuck, just make a move now, asshole.”
The sound of his palm cracking on my skin echoes in my head. “Ow!”
My ass cheek stings.
“You like it,” he says.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Have I distracted you enough to keep you from coming?”
“Not sure, you’re still playing with my dick.”
Irus kisses my neck. His prick’s still holding court at my asshole. The pressure mounts. The first sting of my sphincter stretching makes me gasp. My hair spills over his shoulders as I toss my head back in reflex.
“Easy, Jacks. I got you,” Irus whispers against my cheek.
Once past my inner ring, he buries his entire shaft deep into my core. “Fuck!” I cry out, and he withdraws just until my sphincter collides with his crown. Damn, if he doesn’t bury the needle again… God, he’s stretching me to my limits. I don’t know why I like guys with big dicks.
No matter the size, the first entry hurts, but Irus fucks me torturously slow. So slow it’s good. A rhythmic give and take. Neither one of us can stand this for long.
“Baby, you feel so nice. Squeeze my dick. Yeah, that’s it, Jacks. Fuck.”
Momentum builds as he drives into me. His body, sweat-slicked and hard against my backside, makes me tremble. I gasp with each thrust. The pounding of his dick—damn near through me—drives me to insanity. I feel so full. He fits perfectly. My ass is made for him and his cock is built for me. It’s simple. Unencumbered.
“Fuck. Yes. Fuck me, Irus.”
Again his heady growl vibrates against my skin. His teeth latch on to my neck. I clamp my jaw shut and let the pain wash over me. Every bruise, every bite mark, every laceration is hard-earned as I take his relentless prick deep inside, battling like we do on the field.
Irus is close. So fucking close. I can feel the tension in him coiling, readying for release. His arms tighten around my chest. My skin’s slippery, but he knows how to hold me. His hand finds my dick, grasping hard, tugging until I can’t see straight.
“Come for me,” he whispers, his hot breath in my ear.
My creamy, white spunk splatters all over his knuckles. The second shot spreads across the sheets. I stare at my pink cock in his dark hand. He glides his thumb over the head. I clamp down on his dick, and he cries out, spilling everything he has into me. Long moments of Irus emptying himself into my ass. Part of me wishes there weren’t a condom between us. I can’t risk him. Not yet. Even though the initial testing came back negative after Orlando, I still need to be retested in a few weeks.
We lie in a tangle, breathing heavy, and he kisses me. Somehow, I know he loves me, even though it’s too soon. Irus carries a lot of guilt too. His hit in practice still hangs between us.
My mind spins to other things, looking for an escape from my worry. I need something silly. With a spark of inspiration, it comes to me, and I laugh, thinking about what the guys on the team would say.
Irus nudges me. “What?”
“The cornerback and the wide receiver,” I say with a gasp as he slips from me.
“You’re wider now, bro.”
“It’s all your fault.” I laugh. Of course I mean the sex.
“I know.”
Not how Irus takes the comment. I see the pain.
“Irus—Fuck!” My leg cramps as I roll toward him. I realize too late that I didn’t hydrate well enough this evening, and I forgot to take my potassium.
Irus is on top of me, his magic hands working at the knot, but I’m screaming. It hurts that bad.
“Damn, boy. You got some tight muscles. Almost as tight as your ass.”
Irus gets me to where I can breathe again. I blink away tears. Irus slides off me, pulling me into the crook of his arm. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to break the contact. We lie on our backs, staring at the open-beamed ceiling. The river-rock fireplace my grandfather built dominates the far wall all the way to the top. I can see it past the log railing of my loft.
“Why’d you come back?” I ask.
“I had a feeling you’d do something stupid.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, fool. Whaddya doing workin’ out by yourself?”
“They won’t let me train hard enough.”
“Cuz they’re tryin’ to get you back on the field for the Pirates game. You almost fucked that up, Jacks.”
“It’s just a cramp.”
“I’ve had to rub it out twice.”
“Between fucking?” I say with a sly grin, waggling my eyebrows at him.
“Shut your mouth. You’re not outta trouble. What if Coach finds out? What’re you gonna do then? Huh?”
I can’t wipe the smile from my face. Irus can’t resist it either. He smacks my chest but shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips.
“Boy, you gonna fuck up your career.”
“Do you really see me making it back onto the field?”
He rolls up on his elbow to look into my eyes. “If you’re not stupid.”
He plays with my messy cock, distracting me once more from the hit he gave me in practice.
Will our fucking be enough to keep us going? Even if I never play again? For me? Him?
What if I do make it back?
Will he still want to fuck me then?
All these questions are too much right now. His mouth around my cock is much more interesting.
The heat.
The suction.
Hmmm.
God, he can rally the troops.
Chapter Eleven
Jackson McCoy’s Bedroom
Irus Beaumont
The sound of crackling wakes me. A fire’s burning in a stove in the corner of the room. One of those squat, black stoves like you see in the old movies. I’m alone. The bed’s torn up and I smile. Memories of last night play in my head like a highlight reel. I can still taste Jacks on my lips, in my mouth, and I smell him everywhere. On the sheets. The pillows. My body. I don’t want to shower. I don’t want to wash him away in case it’s the last time I enjoy the scent of him.
I scoot to the edge of the bed. The air’s chilly. The floor is freezing. The heat from the stove feels good. The smell of bacon hits me. Yes. Food. We didn’t eat last night. Well, not food anyway. A loud crash has me running to the railing, and I lean over the log banister to see Jacks stacking a small pile of wood. He throws a log on the fire burning in the main fireplace.
The sight of him leaves me speechless. He’s naked. Golden hair a mess. He squats like a heathen warrior in front of the fire, stoking the flames. Even from here I can see the bruises. I love rough sex. I’m glad he can take it too. Jacks seemed to enjoy himself last night, but I got the feeling part of him was somewhere else. At least until I got his hot ass into bed.
Jacks piles the wood next to the fireplace, closes the lid on the wood box, and heads back to the kitchen. He doesn’t look up. I love watching him move. He’s fluid. Jacks is everything in a pro-athletic body I’ve tried to resist all my life. Rough Trade isn’t buff. He’s not built to sustain hits from guys like me. No wonder he bitched so much. I’ve found someone who can take my aggressive sexual nature and give it right back to me. If I thought I was in love with Jackson McCoy before, now I’ll kill anyone who tries to take him away from me. My feelings are so much stronger.
I move over to the stove to get warm. My clothes are on the floor, but if Jacks is gonna run around nude, so will I. Downstairs, the clatter of plates and silverware tells me breakfast must be pretty close to being ready. Oh man, he cooks for me too. Did I die on the fi
eld last night? Is this heaven? Shit, I can’t stop smiling. My face is gonna hurt.
I’m down the stairs two at a time. Jacks is at the sink with water running, and I don’t think he hears me come into the kitchen. All stealth-like, I slide in behind him, slipping my arms around his hard middle. I startle him. With a jerk he splashes a whole glass of water in my face.
“Damn, boy! You’re jumpy,” I say.
Fucker’s laughing as he hands me a towel. “Sorry, I’m used to living alone. I don’t like people sneaking up behind me.”
“Noted. Won’t do it again.”
“You’re lucky it was a glass of water and not the can of hot bacon grease.”
“Well, thanks for the warning.”
Jacks laughs again.
“You always up this early?”
“I like the dark before the dawn,” he says.
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Egg gravy, bacon, and biscuits.”
“Egg gravy?”
“Trust me, you’ll like it. Sit down.”
A plate waits for me at the breakfast bar. Jacks stands across from me, eating his food with enthusiasm. I stare at the yellowish pile of goo on my plate. Biscuits and bacon are the only things I recognize.
“It might need some salt. Otherwise it’s really good. Turned out great this time,” Jacks says.
“This time?”
“My grandfather’s was the best. Mom’s was good. I cheat. I use two country gravy packets, mix them up until almost thick, and then add in ten eggs.”
“Ten eggs!”
“Oh, and yeah, it’s cooked in the same skillet as the bacon.”
“Right, that sounds healthy,” I say, my sarcasm coming through loud and clear.
Jacks skewers the air between us with his spoon. “I’ve seen some of the shit you eat. Not pretty. Suck it up. Give it a try.”
Dutifully, I dig in to find the strange goop tasty in a weird sort of way. He’s right, it needs salt. After some salt and pepper, I devour the whole concoction. I save the bacon for last. Jacks passes some jam my way.
“It’s homemade from the marionberries out back.”
“You make your own jam? Are you Martha Stewart with a dick?”
“Fuck you. My grandfather taught me to be self-sufficient. It helped a lot after Mom got sick.”
“How’d your momma, um—pass?” I know it was cancer, but I need to hear the story from Jacks. I’m hoping he’ll trust me enough to share. I want to know him.
“Breast cancer. She’d actually struggled with it since I was ten. At first she didn’t know what was making her sick. For a time there, she was always run-down. She worked two jobs. I just thought she was exhausted. She wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, but you were real upset in the hospital.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“I don’t think it is,” I say.
The shine to Jacks’s eyes tells me I’m not off the mark. He’s still torn up about his mother’s death. Shit, don’t make him cry again, Irus. I don’t know how to handle the crying. We’ve fucked now, so is it okay to hug him when he cries?
“The anniversary of her death is coming up. I left school in California to take care of her. She wanted to die here, so I brought her home. When she was first diagnosed, she had a double mastectomy and chemotherapy. We thought it was gone, but when I was in college, they discovered it had spread. The cancer had metastasized in her lungs. The doctors pretty much killed her with the treatment. I left college, came home to take care of her through the worst of it. Set up a bed in the living room.”
Jacks picks up his plate, taking it to the sink to rinse it off. Shit, I’m getting teary. Damn it. I worried about him crying? I want to call my auntie and tell her I love her, but Jacks looks at me funny.
“What?” I ask.
“You’ve got egg gravy in your goatee.”
“Oh.”
Jacks wipes my chin with the dish towel, and we’re stuck in an awkward silence. Jacks takes my plate. He cleans up the kitchen, giving me a chance to watch his gorgeous backside. The muscles in his back glide beneath smooth skin. Boy, I can watch him move around naked all day. Makes me want to play football with him naked, tackling him before fucking his brains out.
“Jacks, how long have you known you were gay?”
“Well, I guess I’ve always known. In college, some of the guys on my team knew about me.”
Jacks sounds evasive, like this is the last conversation he wants to have with me, but I think we need to decide where we stand.
“Last night I told you that I didn’t want just a fuck session.” The revelation still overwhelms me. Even though I’ve had a few hours to come to terms with these emotions, I’m not quite settled. I take a moment to catch my breath and calm my nerves. “That’s huge for me. Huge because that’s all I’ve ever had since I started in the league. When I was drafted, my guy wasn’t prepared to follow me across country. He was afraid he’d hurt my career. Shit, I’ve been hiding so deep in the closet, I couldn’t see any light until I made that first hit on you two years ago.”
“You’ve been carrying a torch for me for two years?” There’s humor in his voice.
“Shut your face, boy.”
He laughs. “Let me guess? The ‘no football player’ rule?”
“Something like that,” I say. “What about you?”
“So, are we trading life stories?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Then let’s go back upstairs. I’m cold.” Jacks leads the way. He throws another log onto the fire in the living room. The crackle and wood smoke smell are unfamiliar to me. It’s nice. Cozy and warm.
“Closest thing I have is a gas fireplace in my house. I push a button, instant fire. Split-second ambience.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m old fashioned.” Jacks trots up the stairs. I follow. When I get to the top, he’s feeding the stove. He grins. “I love my mom’s little potbellied stove. Grandpa didn’t have anything up here because he said heat rises. Mom put it in after he died.”
“Are there other bedrooms?”
“Yeah, downstairs on the other side of the kitchen. There’s a doorway off to the side. It leads to a laundry room and what’s now a guest bedroom. I keep most of my football shit in there. Memorabilia and stuff.”
I take his hand, running my thumb over his championship ring. “How’d you feel about having two of these things?”
“I can live with that,” he says.
I pull him to the bed. The bedding’s askew and I straighten the fabric. When I turn, Jacks appears so vulnerable, I have to drag him into my arms to steal a kiss. His body relaxes and I push him onto the mattress. Jacks props up on the pillows. I kiss him again, hovering over him like a predator. I feel predatory around him.
“Come on, tell me about you, Jackson McCoy.”
“Well,” he says, uneasy with the conversation. “I never had a ‘no football player’ rule. In fact, I pretty much fucked football players exclusively.”
“Really? You mean there’s more than just two gay guys in the league?”
“You can’t be that naive.”
“Oh, yes, I can. I don’t know any but you. Name one.”
“Terry Branson.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.” Jacks looks at me with a no-bullshit expression.
“How do you know?”
“Up until I was traded, we had a thing going on, just sex. Nothing important.”
Immediately jealousy rears its ugly damn head. “So, just recently?”
“Well, right after the championship.”
“No, I mean, when was the last time the two of you fucked?” I don’t mean to let so much hostility into my voice, but Christ, Terry Branson?
“The last time was the night of the foster kid’s football camp. Is that a problem? I fucked him before we hooked up, Irus. Don’t be a queen about this shit.”
Hookup? Is that all I will be to him? �
�I just never thought Terry Branson. Poster boy for clean-cut heterosexuals everywhere.”
“Well, what about you? What’s your story?”
“So you gonna be like that, are you? Turn it around on me?”
“Damn skippy! Tell me about your guy.”
“My guy? His name’s Kane. I met him when I was sixteen. My Auntie Beulah would take me sometimes for the summer to help her out with repairs to the building she owned. You know, fix broken shit, do some remodeling here and there. Kane was working the streets.”
“Your first love worked in rough trade?”
“Naw, Kane’s not like that. He only did what he had to do, you know. What his father forced him to do. I dragged him back to Auntie Beulah, and she fell in love with him. Shit, I fell in love with him. Now he’s married to a hot paramedic dude.”
“Wow. Never had the first love thing. Congratulations.”
“Oh, he wasn’t just my first love. He was my first time.”
“You were still a virgin at sixteen?” He sounds incredulous.
“Isn’t that when most guys lose their V-cards?”
Jacks shrugs. “Never thought about it much.”
“When you lose yours?”
Jacks crawls out of bed to stir up the fire. “I set out towels for you. We should probably get to the center before everyone shows up, so I can get my car.”
“Jacks?”
He starts to head for the stairs. I grab him, pulling his ass back for a kiss. “Shower with me.”
“I already showered. You go ahead.”
“No, I mean, shower with me.”
“I don’t fuck in the shower. I’ll get dressed. Meet you downstairs.”
He’s gone. Off down the stairs.
Shit, what’d I do?
* * * *
We sit in my car. It’s four a.m. The athletic center parking lot’s empty except for Jacks’s Jeep. He starts to get out, but I can’t let him go. Not with how things ended at the house.
“Jackson?”
“Huh?”
I kiss him, pulling him across the console, delving deep into his mouth. He stiffens, so I slow my kiss, tasting him gently, and he relaxes into me. Our tongues twist together in a languid dance. My dick swells with each small parry. I pull back, not wanting to get too hot and bothered.
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