by Sarina Bowen
Wes
I drive us a mile farther up the road to the park where the band is playing. Neither of us has ever been to this place before, but it’s nice. A lawn runs all the way down to the water. A band shell has been set up near the shore, and people of all ages are settling down on the grass.
We find a spot easily enough. I sit down, but Jamie doesn’t. “Shit. I didn’t think this through,” he says, eyeing his rather nice pair of khaki shorts.
I look up at him. “And here I thought I was the gay dude.”
He smacks the top of my head. “Tomorrow is Pat’s parents’ weekend. I’m just trying to represent.”
“Fine.” I stand up. “Wait here a second.” I jog to the car and dig an old plaid blanket out of the back. When I rejoin Canning, I give him a cocky smile. “See? It’s a good thing I never clean my car.” I spread it out on the grass and flop down.
Jamie sits beside me. We both lean back at the same time, and my hand comes down on top of his. So I move mine a couple inches to give him space.
But he moves his too, covering mine.
I don’t want him to know how much I like that, so I don’t look him in the eye. Instead, I stare up at the darkening sky over the lake and wonder how I’ve made it to age twenty-two without ever going on a date. I’d teased Jamie about it earlier, too. But here we are. Dinner and live music. Sitting on a fucking blanket in the park. I’ve never dated anyone before, and I’m probably not very good at it.
After a while the band starts up. There are four of them—a singer, a guitar, a double bass and percussion. The first song they play is a weak cover of a Dave Matthews song.
“Huh,” Jamie says.
“What?”
“I’m worried.”
“About the music?” I’m in a mood to be generous. “They’re just warming up, right? Every band covers Dave Matthews. It’s a law, I think.”
Unfortunately, things don’t improve.
“Could that be an old tune by Billy Joel?” Jamie asks.
I listen hard for a second. “God, maybe. It sounds like they’re trying to play ‘New York State of Mind’.”
“Not sure they’ve quite got it.”
I flip my hand over and squeeze his fingers as the sky grows darker.
By the third song, it’s so bad it’s funny. The lead singer looks out into the crowd and announces, “We’re going to play an original tune that my friend Buster wrote.”
Jamie and I both clap, like we know Buster. Go Buster.
“It’s called ‘Captive Rain,’ and we’re giving this song its world debut.”
The drummer counts them in, and the first four bars aren’t so bad. But the lyrics are… awful. I don’t know what the guy is singing about. Captive rain is coming at him like a...train.
“Oh my God,” Jamie whispers. His hand lands on mine again.
As the song progresses, I can feel him start to shake beside me.
“Shh! I’m trying to hear the music,” I say, and he pinches me with his free hand. “Dude, he just rhymed ‘chicken’ with ‘stickin.’”
Jamie snorts and I reach across my body to clamp a hand over his mouth. So he sticks out his tongue and licks my palm. So I wipe that on his shirt. Seeing as we’re seconds away from repeating our experiments with MMA, I make a suggestion. “Time to swim?”
His eyes cut over to mine. “I don’t have a suit.”
“Seriously?”
When the song finally ends, Jamie jumps up and heads for the trees that border the lawn. I wad the blanket under my arm and follow him.
He’s waiting a few yards into the woods. “Look out for poison ivy,” he says, and I freeze, looking down. “Made you look!”
“Jesus, Canning.”
He laughs and picks his way toward the water’s edge.
We can’t see the people on the lawn from here, but we can still hear the band. It’s almost completely dark, which is good for us. There are some rocks at the water’s edge, so I toe out of my shoes and put them in a safe spot. Then I strip off my polo.
Jamie is laying his clothes on the rock almost daintily. He’s even removing his shorts. I’d forgotten he was trying to keep them clean.
“Dare you to skinny-dip.”
“Of course I’m skinny-dipping,” he says.
Well then. Can’t let him do that alone. I drop every thread of my clothing onto the rocks. It’s not a hot night, but when I wade into the water, the temperature isn’t too bad. I turn to watch Jamie step toward the water’s edge, and I like what I see. The dim light makes shadows in the valleys of his abs.
I wade in deeper, and the water caresses my bare skin. This is decadent. The sound of Jamie’s chuckle makes me smile in the dark. When he reaches me, I take his hand, and he lets me. Together we duck under water, swimming out just a little ways. Some of the people on the lawn probably have an oblique sightline of us by now. Then again, it’s awfully dark.
We’re in up to our necks, and the lake is both beautiful and a little creepy if your mind works that way. I wonder if Jamie’s does. “I think I just felt something brush my foot.” I didn’t, but Jamie doesn’t know that.
He twitches a little. “Probably just a sunfish.”
“Uh-huh. You’re right.” I maneuver my foot under the water, finding Jamie’s calf and grazing it with my toe.
He lurches away from me. “You asshole.”
That gets me laughing, and Jamie splashes me. “The bottom’s kind of sludgy here.” And this is true. “I worry about leeches. Did you ever see Stand by Me?”
“Ugh,” he complains. “Way to ruin it.” He moves closer to me. All at once he springs forward, grabbing my shoulders, wrapping strong legs around me. “Now they can only find you.”
He kisses me.
Jesus. So sexy. I open for him and our tongues tangle right away. I moan into his mouth, and it doesn’t matter, because the music is going again, and the darkness gives us plenty of privacy. Jamie’s fingers weave into the hair at the back of my head. He tastes like good beer and sex. I’m standing in a lake with the most beautiful man wrapped around my body, and his dick is hard against my belly already. This must be what heaven is like.
I cup his ass, unable to resist sliding a finger down his crease and teasing his hole. He moans into my mouth. “You are goddamn addictive, Wes.”
That’s what I like to hear. I’ve only fucked him one other time since that first night almost a week ago. Our second time, I took him from behind and had to cover his mouth the entire time to stop him from making noise.
I want him again now, but screwing in the lake isn’t really an option. No condom or lube, a lawnful of people less than a hundred yards away.
I move my hand to his groin and give his erection a soft stroke as our tongues tangle in a hungry kiss. Then I jump, because his hand is on my backside now, his fingers traveling between my ass cheeks.
“Gonna fuck you one of these days,” he whispers.
Yeah, I know he will. I know I’ll let him, too. Maybe one guy soured me on the idea of taking it, but with Canning, I’ll take anything he has to give me. I’ll take it all.
His finger breaches my hole and I hiss out a breath. Jesus. I’d forgotten how sensitive all those nerve endings are.
“You like that, huh?” Droplets cling to his perfect face as he smiles at me. A filthy, beautiful smile.
“Mmm-hmmm.” I jam my tongue in his mouth again, grinding my cock against his as he tentatively plays with my ass.
He kisses me back, just a brief taste, before breaking our mouths apart. He’s in the mood to talk. No, he’s in the mood to torment.
“So tight,” he sighs.
The angle allows just the tip of his finger to penetrate me, but even that is deep enough to make me moan.
“My dick’s gonna like being in you, Wes.” His lips latch onto my neck, dropping greedy kisses on my wet skin. “And you’re going to be begging for it.”
I shiver. I think he’s right.
When
his finger disappears, I bite back a disappointed groan. That fleeting tease had turned me on like nobody’s business.
“But not tonight.” He says it decisively, as if he’s carrying out some conversation in his own head. That dirty smile returns as he leans in to nibble on my jaw. “Tonight, I want you to fuck me. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
I growl. “You need to shut up, Canning. Otherwise I’ll do you right now. Bend you over that log over there and take what’s mine.”
Wet lips place a kiss right under my jaw. “Promises, promises.” Then he disentangles from my body and swims backward as if he has no care in the world.
Swimming with a hard-on is extremely difficult. But maybe I should be thinking of my stiffy as a floatation device. Or an oar, because God knows it’s long and hard enough to single-handedly propel an entire fucking canoe. We swim side by side for a while, then float on our backs and stare up at the inky black sky.
I laugh when I notice both our cocks slicing upward as if to salute the moon. “Should we do something about those?” I crack.
Jamie chuckles. “Yeah, probably. I’m dying over here.”
“Me too.”
In unspoken agreement, we swim back to shore, our naked bodies dripping lake water all over the muddy bank. Jamie stares at his pristine clothes, then says, “Fuck it.” He puts on only his boxer-briefs, and holds on to the rest.
I do the same, and luckily we don’t encounter anyone on the quick walk back to the parking lot. His briefs are black and my boxers are navy-blue, so there’s no peekaboo happening with our dicks, but still, traipsing around in our underwear might be a bit too racy for Lake Placid.
A moment later, we’re in the car. I put it in drive and breeze out of the lot, tensing when Jamie reaches over and strokes my package over my wet skivvies.
“Won’t be able to drive in a straight line if you keep doing that,” I warn him.
“Eyes on the road,” he teases. “Don’t worry, we’re not going far.”
I wrinkle my forehead. I was planning on driving back to the dorm, but Canning apparently has other ideas. We’ve traveled no more than five minutes when he nods to a gravel path to our right. “Turn there.”
A grin tugs on my lips when I realize what he has in mind. It’s the pull-off to one of our old hiking spots. The area is usually deserted even in the daytime, so at night there definitely won’t be anyone around.
I park in the small dirt clearing near the trailhead, and before I can even kill the engine, Jamie is climbing into my lap.
28
Jamie
I wasn’t exaggerating before. I’m addicted to Ryan Wesley. And right now I desperately need a fix. A couple of weeks ago, getting it on with a dude had freaked me out. Now it’s as obvious as breathing that everything about this guy turns me on—his raspy voice, his powerful body, the tattoos inked all over his golden skin. My mouth is on his in a heartbeat, my tongue down his throat as I straddle his muscular thighs.
He sighs against my lips. “You’re such a horndog.”
I totally am. I rock into his lower body, my palms skimming up and down his broad chest. The question now isn’t whether I want to fool around with this man. The question is how I’m ever going to give it up. I push that thought overboard, though, because I’m about to combust.
But I might have been too hasty with my choice of hook-up spots, because the front seat is too small to accommodate two horny-as-fuck hockey players. My legs are already starting to cramp, and when I shift around trying to get more comfortable, my back hits the horn and a blast of sound hits the air.
Wes bursts out laughing. Then laughs harder when I make another attempt to reposition myself. “Backseat?” he chokes out.
Much better idea. He climbs over first, his butt cheek smacking me in the face as he heaves himself into the back. I land on him with a thud, and now we’re both laughing our asses off. It’s just as cramped back here. We can’t lie side by side, so I’m on top of him, and when I bend down to kiss him, my forehead slams into the door handle. And when I grab my head in surprise, I manage to elbow him in the eye socket.
“Holy fuck!” Wes yells. “You trying to kill me, Canning?”
“No, but—”
“Abort!” he says between laughs.
Screw that. All this shifting and maneuvering has succeeded in my rubbing my aching dick all over his body. If I don’t get off soon, I’m going to lose my mind.
“We’ve got this,” I tell him. Then I sit up and bump my head on the car roof.
“Uh-huh,” he says solemnly. “Seems like it.”
“Hockey players like it rough,” I argue, reaching into the front seat for Wes’s shorts. In the back pocket I find his wallet. A second later, I flick a condom at him and order, “Suit up.”
“Yes, Coach.” He still looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but his gray eyes are now glittering with lust. Keeping our gazes locked, he eases his boxers down his hips.
I shuck my briefs as he covers himself, then curl over and take him in my mouth. The medicinal taste of the latex fills my mouth, but I ignore it. This is the first time lube hasn’t entered the equation, so I want to make sure the condom is nice and wet before I dare ride his cock.
God, and that’s something I never imagined I’d be doing. Riding another man’s cock.
“Baby,” his voice is low and husky. “I’m loving that, but you don’t have to do it. Give me my wallet.”
I fumble into the front seat one more time and pass it to him. He removes another packet and tears it open. This one is full of lube. A second later, a deliciously slippery hand slides up my crease, rubs my taint and makes me shiver.
“That’s handy,” I rasp.
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy working me open with his fingers.
When we do this, there’s always one awkward moment when he first breaches me. Before my body gets the joke. But now that I know how this works, it doesn’t even slow me down. I’m eager for it. And it’s only a couple of minutes later when I’m pushing Wes’s hand away and straddling his lap again.
The way I handle him is nothing like the way I’d touch a woman. He’s as big and strong as I am, and I don’t have to worry about hurting him. His broad shoulders make a sturdy place to put my hands. Rising up, I wait for him. He positions himself beneath me, and we both hiss when I slide down over his hard cock.
For a moment I don’t move. We’re nose to nose, blinking into each other’s eyes. Wes’s tongue emerges to slick my lower lip. And I dive onto his mouth, jamming my tongue inside. There isn’t a lot of space for me to move, but it doesn’t matter. I’m riding him in short, fast strokes. The angle is heaven—I can bear down on him just where I need him.
Wes is cupping my ass in strong hands, and with each thrust, he lets out a sexy grunt. Our chests rub together as our mouths lock again. My dick is trapped between our stomachs, slicking us both with pre-come.
My climax takes me by surprise. One second I’m fighting Wes over whose tongue belongs in whose mouth. The next, I’m fighting the urge to explode. And losing. “Fuck. I have to come.”
Wes moans into my mouth, and I jam myself down on him one more time. That’s when I feel it—the whole-body orgasm. My limbs tingle unpredictably as I slump forward, my face landing in Wes’s neck. The world goes fuzzy at the edges, but I feel myself shooting all over him while he bucks beneath me.
He lets loose a growl, and the muscles in his neck tighten all at once. Then he drops his head back and shudders through his release.
Heavy breathing and thudding hearts are all that can be heard in the car afterwards. I’m lazing against his sticky chest, too blissed out to move. His hands trace lazy patterns over my back.
I could get used to this. I really could.
After a bit, Wes slaps me on the ass. “Up, baby. We can’t stay here forever.”
I hate the way that sounds, but it’s hard to argue the truth. So I peel my satisfied body off his, and we begin the rid
iculous process of trying to clean up in a confined space without further injury.
We manage, but just barely.
* * *
Wes and I drag our bleary selves out of bed the next morning and book it over to the rink, where the other coaches already congregate.
The parents are arriving at nine, the first scrimmage is scheduled for ten, and Pat has a prep list that’s a mile long. He begins to bark instructions once Wes and I round out the group, then stops midsentence when he notices Wes’s face.
“What the hell happened to you, Wesley?”
I press my lips together to fight a laugh. Our sexual circus act in the car last night left Wes with a nice shiner on his left eye, courtesy of my wayward elbow. It’s not black, but definitely purplish, and visibly swollen.
“Canning beat me up,” he says gravely.
Pat flicks his gaze to me, then back at Wes. “What’d you do to piss him off?”
Wes mock gasps. “You saying I deserved it, Coach?”
“I’m saying you’ve got a smart mouth and it’s a miracle you don’t get wailed in the face every day of your life.” But Pat’s grinning as he says it. Then he claps his hands and gets back to business. “Maybe you boys can kiss and make up on the trip to the supermarket. You’re on ice duty. Make sure you use some of it on that eye.”
I feel my neck heat up at Pat’s mention of kissing. Coach, if you only knew…
Wes lifts a brow. “Ice?”
“Machine in the cafeteria broke down, so I need you to drive to the market and grab a dozen bags.” He’s already dismissing us, turning to Georgie and Ken. “Check the equipment—we need the extra helmets and pads out of storage for any parents who want to scrimmage with us later.”
Wes and I head out while Pat is still playing drill sergeant. I slide into the passenger seat of his car, grinning at him as I remember last night’s automotive adventures.
He casts a rueful glance over his shoulder. “I can never look at that backseat the same way again.”
“Wait, you’re saying you never hooked up in your car before yesterday?”