by Sarina Bowen
A drop of sweat runs down my back. “What did you tell him?” Even though I know Pat hired him, my breath still catches for the Wes on the other end of that phone, waiting for someone to pass judgment on him.
Maybe it takes more balls to be Wes than I’d realized.
“I said that was his business, and I didn’t give a shit as long as he showed up every morning ready to coach. Later I asked him if he wanted to room with you again after all these years. He said, ‘Sure, but I gotta come out to Jamie, too. If he has an issue, you might have to trade things around.’”
An issue. I have one all right. My issue is the giant boner he gave me tonight. God, it’s a struggle not to bury my head in my hands and scream from confusion.
Weirdest night of my life. Right here. Winner!
And Coach Pat is still waiting for me to say something. “Um, I just told him I’m from Northern California.”
Pat laughs. “I see. Didn’t think you’d have a problem. You two were inseparable all those years.”
Inseparable. A while ago my tongue was inseparable from his. And it was all my doing. I mauled my best friend. His taste is still on my lips.
I need to eject from this conversation before I lose my mind. “No problem at all,” I say gruffly. “I think I gotta hit the hay, though.”
“Good night, coach.”
“Good night.”
I climb the stairs and walk down the hall toward our room. None of the doors have light leaking from underneath, but I can hear the sound of voices and male laughter as I pass by. Wes and I had been the same at their age—talking ’til all hours.
Now? I’m not sure we’re talking at all.
I make a stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I catch my face in the mirror, it looks the same as it always does. Same square jaw. Same brown eyes. My skin is a little pale under the fluorescent bathroom lights. There’s nothing to see here, but like an idiot I stare a little while, looking for who knows what. A change. A sign.
What does a guy who’s not as straight as he thought look like, anyway?
“Like you, apparently.” My lips move with these words, and I’m no closer to understanding what happened.
But now I’m talking to myself. Awesome.
I can’t avoid it any longer, so I head into our room. Flipping the lights on only makes me squint, so I shut ’em off again. I strip down to my briefs and climb into bed. I’m sober now, which is a bummer. That’s not going to help me sleep. But at least I’m not shaking like a leaf anymore.
Wes is not here, but I feel his presence. And I’m just lying awake, waiting to hear his rough, cocky voice in the hallway. It’s not an exaggeration to say I’ve always felt a little more alive when he’s around. Life is just a little brighter, a little louder wherever Wes is.
But now it’s tempting to reexamine my impressions of him. I’m mostly sure I’ve always loved him as a friend and that tonight’s impulse was just a new craving born of beer, ordinary jealousy, horniness and some kind of friendly emotional overload. The perfect storm. My desire is a strange creature of the night, brought to life by a strike of lightning in exactly the right place.
Right?
Sigh.
I’m not a navel gazer. I don’t sit around inventing complex theories to explain my behavior. But tonight it’s impossible not to lie here and wonder… All those times I watched him fly down the rink with the puck under his command—was that simple admiration? All those times I watched his flashy skating with a warm feeling in my chest. Or when he’d smile at me from across the table. Was I hiding something from myself? Or was there nothing to suppress?
Fuck, does it even matter?
Desire is chemistry. And in a biochem class I took once, they taught us that all chemistry is just electricity. We’re all just bags of charged atoms walking around bumping into each other.
My electrons went seriously haywire for his tonight, though. Particles collided.
Pushing my hips into the mattress, I wish I could feel it again—the press of his body. The scrape of rough hands on my forearms.
I don’t know why I want it. I don’t know if the craving will disappear with tonight’s rain shower. But right this moment it’s here. And it’s real.
The night now feels endless. And tomorrow will be an awkward eternity.
Yay.
I can’t even begin to imagine what Wes is thinking right now. He wanted me—I felt it. But he stopped because it would ruin our friendship. This man who fucks strangers off an app.
I’m still lying there face down in my pillow when his key finally turns in our lock. I freeze, of course. He tiptoes in. I hear the thud of his hiking boots hitting the floor, and the soft swish of clothing coming off.
My dick hardens against the mattress. I’m actually hard, and all he’s done is walk in and undress. Interesting.
His sheets rustle as he gets into bed. And then there’s silence. A minute passes, then two. I’m not sleeping, and he can probably tell. Which means we’re like two teenage girls after a catfight at a sleepover—ignoring each other.
I roll over to face him. “If you’re trying to avoid me, you might have to do another seventeen laps around town. I’m still awake.”
Wes sighs. “How are you feeling?”
“Horny.”
He snorts. “That’s the beer talking. Did you know you go gay when you’re drunk?”
When I hear the word “gay,” I almost argue. But that’s not really the point. “I’m not drunk, Wes.”
What I am is very, very curious. Wes thinks he did me a favor tonight by heading us off at the pass, but now I have this giant question inside me, and I don’t think it will fade in the morning. But it will make things awkward. I’ll be watching him in the mirror while we both shave, wondering what it would have been like. Wondering whether it’s something I could really get into, or just a weird moment of happenstance.
“I don’t want to fuck with your head,” he whispers. “I wish I hadn’t ever done that.”
But it’s not my head that needs fucking.
“Come over here,” I say. “Please.”
“No fucking way,” he replies.
“I can make you.”
He laughs. “Did you smoke some pot while I was out, Canning?”
I laugh, too, and it’s such a relief. Because it means I haven’t wrecked everything. But then I lift my hips, peel off my briefs, and throw them at his head. He bats them away, smiling in the dark.
Kicking the sheet off, I put my hand on my dick. And he stops laughing.
16
Wes
Fuck me. I’m a strong guy. I’m a tough guy. But I was not built to withstand the sight of Jamie Canning stroking himself.
The shred of moonlight shining through the gap in the curtains shows him reclining on his back, his far knee cocked wide. His body is perfect—strong and lean on the bed. His palm is cupped over his dick, the fingertips just brushing the cockhead. He takes a deep breath and then pushes it out slowly, his back arching a little ways, his hips rolling a few degrees.
And I am dying a quiet death. My mouth actually waters, and I have to swallow hard. He’s right there. In two paces I could have him in my mouth. It’s like Jamie Canning looked into my filthy mind and extracted my fantasies. Well, the opening reel, anyway.
He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, because he doesn’t have to. We both know where my attention lies. He squeezes his shaft once. Twice. Then he opens his hand, letting the fingers drift down. He cups his balls, his thumb skimming the delicate skin.
I hear a hot gasp, and realize it’s come from me.
Then? The fucker smiles.
That wakes me up, at least a little. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I really need to jerk. You mind?”
Holy...! I rue the fucking day that I said those same words to him. I was eighteen, and I thought I was so smooth. But I was only setting in motion some serious pain for everyone. And it’s still happening. T
here’s blood pounding in my ears now.
And other places.
My hand creeps down into my boxers without my approval. Jamie is pumping himself now. Slowly, up and down. He pauses to rub his thumb over the head, and my throat constricts.
“Wes,” he says, his voice like gravel. “I need your help.”
It’s a miracle I’m able to answer in an almost-normal voice. “Looks like you’re doing fine on your own.”
That’s when he finally turns his head to look at me. As he rubs himself, he swallows, and I see his Adam’s apple bob roughly. “I need to know.”
Know what? I almost ask. But he’s studying me now. His eyes are trailing across my chest and down my arm. He’s watching the hand in my shorts. And I get it. He wants to know why he’s feeling this way, if it’s attraction or beer or temporary insanity.
Earlier tonight I was telling him the truth when I said I didn’t want to help him make this discovery. I’m not sure I’d survive it.
This is, of course, all my fault.
We lock eyes. His are heavy-lidded. I’ve always wanted another chance to see his lust-filled face. Now his lips part on the upstroke, and it’s almost enough to get me across the room. But still I hesitate, and not because I’m afraid he’ll regret this tomorrow.
Because I know I will.
“Please,” he says.
That one word is enough to get me off my bed. I’m standing in the center of our room now, hands on the waistband of my boxers. I yank and let them drop to the floor.
And now he’s staring at my cock, stroking his.
“What do you want?” I ask. And I need him to be specific. This is a very dangerous game we’re playing. It will probably end in disaster. But if there’s any way I can prevent that, I will.
He moves further onto the bed, making room for me. Then he beckons. And there isn’t enough money, fame or fortune in the world to keep me from obeying. I’m on that bed a second later. His arms reach for me, pull me in.
We’re side by side, chest to chest. And Jamie Canning is kissing me again.
He doesn’t taste like beer anymore, but toothpaste. There’s no way either of us can blame this on alcohol tomorrow. His tongue is in my mouth and I take greedy pulls on it, loving every second of it.
Our lower bodies grind together, and he lets out a soft moan, rocking harder into me. His cock slides over my belly, lines up with my own aching shaft. That bit of friction brings stars to my eyes.
“Fuck,” I choke out.
His eyes slit open, searching my face as his tongue comes out to lick his bottom lip. “If you stop right now, I’m going to kick your ass.”
Stop? Is that a word? What does it mean? Probably the opposite of what I’m doing when I slide my hand between our bodies and grasp both our cocks in my hand.
Jamie’s spine arches on another husky moan. “Oh shit. That’s good.”
I jack us slowly, squeezing on each upstroke. His mouth finds mine again. His stubble scrapes my cheek as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. That magic tongue slides between my lips again, hungry and eager. I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe he’s letting me do this.
We’re both leaking, making it so fucking easy for my fist to slide over our slick cocks. My balls are heavy, tingling with the need for release. A few more strokes and I’ll probably blow, but Jamie doesn’t let it happen.
He wrenches out of my grip and plants both palms on my chest to shove me onto my back. My dick sails up and slaps my navel, and he groans at the sight before wrapping his fingers around my shaft.
“Can I…” His voice comes out in a rush. “Can I suck you off?”
Holy mother of God. I’m caught in some kind of fever dream. I have to be, because there’s no other explanation for why my best friend is offering to put his mouth on my dick.
I figured this exploratory I-need-to-know-if-I-like-dudes session would involve me doing all the work, ravaging him the way I’ve always fantasized about doing. But one thing about Jamie Canning? He’s full of surprises. Every time he used to accept one of my crazy challenges, my eyebrows would soar, my mind unable to comprehend how this laidback Cali boy who always followed the rules could be so willing to follow me down whatever rabbit hole I was leading him into.
I’m not leading him into anything tonight, though. This is all Jamie. It’s Jamie’s fingers skimming along my hard length. Jamie’s breath hot on the tip of my dick as he slides down and brings his mouth within inches of me.
“Have you ever…” I swallow past the gravel in my throat. “Done this before?”
“No.” His lips are hesitant as they graze my cockhead. “I might suck.”
A laugh chokes out. “Sucking is kind of the point.”
He lifts his head, brown eyes twinkling. “I might be bad at it,” he corrects.
“You won’t be.” Because there’s no way he can be. I’m too close to coming already, just from being in the same bed as him. He doesn’t need skill—he just needs to be here. Him. Here. With me.
I almost lose my mind when his tongue touches me. Every inch of me is hot, tight, prickling with need. He licks a slow circle around my tip, then kisses his way down my shaft. He’s kissing my dick, light, open-mouthed caresses that blow my fucking mind. Holy shit. Jamie Canning is a cocktease. Who woulda thought?
“You trying to drive me crazy?” I growl after he kisses another path up my cock.
His chuckle vibrates through me. “Is it working?”
“Yes.” I slide both hands through his hair, cupping his head. “What about you? Enjoying your first taste of dude?”
He laughs harder now, broad shoulders quaking as he crouches between my thighs. “It’s…” His tongue finds me again, tickling the underside of my shaft. “Different.”
He wraps his hand around my base and closes his mouth around my cockhead, giving a slow, decadent suck. “It’s…”
He sucks again, taking me deeper this time, and my cock pulses uncontrollably. He must feel it on his tongue because he groans, loudly, desperately. He lifts his head, his expression foggy with lust, cloudy with confusion.
Joy surges through me. And apprehension, because I don’t know what to do with his bewilderment. Do I assure him it’s no big deal? That it’s perfectly cool for a straight guy to love blowing another man?
But he doesn’t give me the chance to say anything. He just dips his head and his hot, wet mouth surrounds me again.
My hips shift on the mattress, pure lust sizzling in my cock and balls as my best friend works me over. I keep one hand tangled in his hair. The other claws at the sheet, bunching it tight between my fingers. My heart is pounding. It’s all I can hear, a frantic thump-thump rattling my ribcage. That and the sounds Jamie is making. Husky groans, wet pops, a deep growl as he takes me almost all the way to the back of his throat.
Jesus Christ. This man is wrecking me. I’m wrecked. I’m—
“Going to come,” I ground out.
The climax seizes my balls and shoots up my shaft, hot jets spurting out of my cock just as Jamie’s mouth releases me. He strokes me through the release, his breathing heavy and eyes gleaming as he watches my come land on my abs, my chest.
I can’t breathe. I’m a gasping, shuddering mess, and he just keeps watching. And then the fucker does it again—he smiles. He fucking smiles as he lowers his head and licks one pearly drop off my stomach.
“That was so hot,” he tells me.
Hot? Try scorching. Blistering. A goddamn inferno.
I’m unable to do anything but lie there like a sack of potatoes. Struggling to breathe. Blinking like an owl as I watch the most beautiful man grab my discarded shirt from the floor and clean me up. Once he’s done, he tosses the shirt away and bends down to kiss my collarbone. Then my shoulder. My other shoulder.
He keeps kissing my feverish flesh, licking, nibbling, and I just let him explore, offering myself up as his sexual guinea pig. He’s tasting every inch of me, his mouth moving tentat
ively over the ripples of my abs, my hips, my pecs. I moan when he licks one of my nipples, and he peeks up at me, his lips curving.
“You like that.”
I manage a nod.
He does it again, this time closing his lips around the tiny nub and sucking on it. I can feel his erection against my thigh, leaving streaks of moisture against my skin. Drawing a breath, I reach down and grasp him, and now I’m smiling, because his tongue freezes on my nipple as his entire body tenses.
He thrusts into my hand, and it’s all the invitation I need. “On your back,” I mutter.
Jamie rolls over so fast it makes me laugh. He props his arms behind his head, one brow cocked as he nudges his hips up, all but taunting me with his perfect dick.
“Let’s see if you’ve still got it,” he teases.
My laughter is muffled against his stomach. “You know, you’re a cocky bastard when you’re gay.”
“Guess I am.”
I slowly crawl up his body, propping my elbows on either side of his head. Our gazes lock. He parts his lips, peering up at me with hazy eyes. Swallowing, I lower my mouth to his in a soft kiss. Fuck, I taste myself on his tongue, and it’s enough to send my mind spinning. This guy…goddamn it, this guy. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Canning. The way I crave Canning.
Four years’ worth of meaningless sexual encounters flash through my head as I break the kiss and slide down his body again. All those guys I hooked up with in the past…they’re a blur. They’re faceless. Sometimes they were faceless even when I was with them. I got off, they got off, but I wasn’t fully present. I always held something back from them.
Not with Jamie. I can’t hold back with him, and never could.
“Trust me, I’ve still got it,” I whisper as my mouth descends toward his cock. And I’m going to prove it to him. Show him how much I fucking love him, because I sure as shit can’t tell him.
I take a breath. His erection is millimeters away and it’s mine. Tonight, he’s mine. I grip his shaft and give it a light squeeze. He shudders in response, watching me. Waiting.