I kiss both sides of his cock before moving to his inner thighs, deciding to tease him for a bit. He flinches at the unexpected detour, then relaxes beneath my hands. “Maybe I’ve never done this to another man,” I say with a laugh, “but I’ve had plenty of experience jacking myself off.” Shit, I’m a guy, and masturbating takes up a good portion of my time. I’m horny. That’s life.
My kissing draws up near his cock, but I skirt around it, denying Austin what he really wants. My nose skims the line of hair trailing down his torso. I’m enjoying the process of torturing Austin, but honestly, I’m nervous. I’ve never put another man’s dick in my mouth. I’m not sure how I feel about it right now. It’s not that I don’t want to do it, because I do. But there’s a mental block there. A part of my brain, the one molded by our society, tells me I shouldn’t want this.
It’s almost like Austin senses that, because he grips my arms and hauls me up. “Come here.”
We stare into each other’s eyes. His are a leaf green, dark from arousal. I see too many things when I look at him. Vulnerability. That twinkle of affection. And, always, kindness.
We keep our eyes open as our mouths touch. This is familiar.
They’re slow, easy kisses. Our hands wander. Mine linger around his chest. His go to my lower back and ass. I feel the scrape of calluses along the backs of my thighs, and my hips tilt toward him of their own accord.
It’s only after a few minutes have passed that I realize what Austin’s doing. Calming me. Reassuring me, in his own way. He’s never been one for words. For him, actions speak. It touches me, knowing he places my comfort before his own.
Cupping my face, he tugs my chin down with one hand to open my mouth wider. He does this thing with his tongue where the tip skims the roof of my mouth, heightening my arousal. Another moan sounds. It’s mine. Heat pools in my blood as the need starts to build. Austin grips my hair and pulls me closer, his erection bumping up against my stomach, my fingers digging into his thighs. It’s nice that I don’t have to check my own strength when touching him. I can be rough and not worry about bruising.
Eventually, I grow antsy. My previous hesitation is gone, having been replaced with simmering heat and a bit of a drunk-buzz. Scooting back, I duck my head. Before he realizes what’s happening, I guide his dick into my mouth.
Austin’s groan cracks against the tile. He swears, his hands going to my head. His breaths are choked, and a shudder rolls through him. I know the feeling. Like he’s dying and being brought back to life.
I smile as I suck him harder, curling my tongue around the large girth. It’s definitely different than eating out a girl, that’s for sure, but it’s not bad. He’s both soft in the skin but hard underneath, and I pull back to give more attention to the head, where he’s more sensitive. I keep my strokes soft. Austin’s grip tightens in my hair.
Then I release him, saying conversationally, “How badly do you want this orgasm?”
He lets out a confused gasp. “What?”
I smile devilishly. “Maybe I should make you wait. I’m pretty sure you were working me over for ten minutes in that closet before I came.” When I look up, his green eyes bore into mine, sparking with something that’s not entirely in control. I’m pinned by the force of it. Austin is always calm. But right now, that’s not calm in his eyes. That’s a wildness I’ve never seen before.
“What’ll it be?” I ask again, trying to keep my voice from wavering. “Ten minutes?” I give him a slow pump, loving the way his hips roll with my hand to prolong the contact. “Fifteen?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares. My mouth returns to his cock. Using the flat of my tongue, I increase the suction as I work him over. My tongue is one weapon, my hand another. Together, with the slickness of my saliva, I begin to pump him at a steady rhythm, paying attention to how his body reacts so I know what he prefers. It seems he likes it slow first, but as I increase the pace, his hips move in more earnest. Then I hear a low, “Fuck.”
I smile against him and increase the speed. There’s no talking now. There’s just the sound of his pleasure, the wet slick of my mouth on him, the drip of the water from the faucet.
Suddenly, he goes stiff. “Don’t stop.” The words are guttural. His cock swells under my hand. His legs start to twitch—the first sign of his imminent release.
He chokes off another curse, and then a soft moan starts, which rolls into a second moan, this one louder, and then a third, each one louder than the last. He’s gripping my hair so hard it feels like he’s pulling it out by the roots, but it only turns me on more. I’m so damn hard right now, but it’s not about me. It’s about Austin. Giving pleasure to my friend.
“Fuck, Logan. I’m coming.”
His stomach muscles contract, and I pull away as he shoots all over my chest, pumping my hand to draw out his pleasure. Austin’s mouth is parted, the muscles of his face tight. Beads of water drip from his hairline down his neck and chest. I lick one up for good measure.
Austin slumps backward. I catch his arm before he can fall off the lip of the tub, pulling him forward. His forehead rests on my shoulder, and his breathing evens out. Then he groans. “Logan.”
I fight a smile as I run my fingers through his hair. “Yeah?”
“You’re a crazy motherfucker, you know that?”
With a laugh, I push him away, staring up at him. A sleepy smile takes up his face. “How was it?”
“Why? Are you looking for a reason to gloat?”
I give him an innocent look. “Maybe.”
He shrugs. “It was okay, I guess.”
“Just okay? Hm.”
He caves, drawing me closer. “It fucking blew my mind. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Well, yeah. “Was I as good as your past hookups?”
“You were better.” Then he notices my own erection. “Need help?”
Before I can respond, he wraps his hand around me. It’s pathetic, but I’m so riled up that it only takes two strokes before I’m shooting all over his hand, moaning into his chest. My body shudders, then stills.
I laugh in embarrassment. “Shortest foreplay ever.”
He laughs as well. The deepness resonates in my eardrum. “At least you tried.”
“I can’t help it if you have magic hands.”
“Magic hands, huh? I could get used to that.” He pulls away, and though there’s uncertainty about what we did to each other, it feels mostly natural to smile at my friend. “We should rinse off,” Austin says.
“Yeah.” I stare at him. “Sounds good.”
Once we rinse and dry off, we head into the bedroom. Austin goes to his bed, but I stand in the doorway, watching him change into boxer briefs. His skin is pale in the lamplight, his body taut and fit from the many years of soccer. When he catches me watching, he turns his head. “What?”
I shrug and go to my own bed. “Just never thought I’d put a man’s cock in my mouth and enjoy it.” I slip beneath the covers.
He does the same. “You did, huh?” Questioning. He watches me closely for my reaction.
I keep it casual, though when he looks at me like that, I feel my dick stir. “Enough to do it again.”
Austin shakes his head and turns off the light. “Like I said. You’re a crazy motherfucker.”
Maybe. Or maybe I’m just crazy for Austin.
As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold.
Chapter 13
Austin
When I wake the next morning, it’s dark out. Quiet. I check the alarm. Barely six. Beyond the window, the sky takes on the faintest blush beyond the tops of the buildings, a faint golden light streaming through the curtains. I’m wide awake.
Logan’s deep breathing fills the room. The sound I fell asleep to. Carefully, I shift onto my side, not wanting to wake him. It’s light enough that I can make out h
is form without squinting.
His face is smooth and unlined in sleep. One arm is tucked under his pillow, the other curled against his chest. The comforter’s tangled around his legs, displaying his bare chest, the lean musculature of his form. He wears dark boxer briefs. It’s probably wrong of me to ogle my friend unaware, but I can’t help it. Tanned skin, brown-black hair trailing between his pecs and down his abs, the dip above his ass, the column of his spine. My mouth goes dry the longer I look at him.
Last night was... I blow out a breath, sinking deeper into the mattress. I thought that kiss in Rome would cure me of my feelings. I was wrong. Last night blew that kiss out of the water. I was stripped down raw, to nerves and need. It was everything I’d always wanted, but nothing I could ever have, not permanently. And I’ll most likely never have it again.
I wasn’t strong enough to deny Logan the experience of sorting out the why and how of his attraction to me. He walked into the bathroom, and I never had a chance. I was weak. And selfish. Because even though he wanted it, I wanted it more. And—God. The sight of his bowed head between my thighs will forever be etched in my memory.
As my eyes slip shut, I force the thought away. Whatever this is, it’s not real. Strange things happen in the summer months. Flings. Adventure. Whirlwind romance. This is a summer spent in Paris, the most romantic city in Europe, if not the world. No one is unaffected by its magic.
At the end of the summer, Logan leaves for LA, and while I haven’t made my decision as to what team I’ll sign on for, chances are it won’t be LA Galaxy. A part of me wants to imagine what it would be like to play for the same team. To return to a time where we see one another every day and never grow tired of it. But like I said, I’m a realist. Happy endings don’t happen for people like me. I came from nothing, and I’ll always be that little boy watching others get things handed to them. I’ll never be enough for someone like Logan. I’ll always be holding him back.
My stomach growls. Breakfast sounds good right about now, if only to distance myself from Logan and my tumultuous thoughts.
This early in the morning, the cafeteria is practically deserted. Soccer players are not early risers by nature. But I think we can all agree that if there wasn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet, we wouldn’t be waking up at all.
Two other players grab food from the buffet line. I recognize one as Greg, Logan’s roommate from back home. He nods in my direction. “How was your weekend?”
For a moment, I scramble for an answer.
It was great. Your friend had my dick in his mouth. How was yours?
Logan would not appreciate that.
“It was good.” Vague is the safest road to take here. “Logan and I went to Rome on Saturday. How was yours?”
“Oh, wow. Rome? How was the city? I’m thinking of surprising my girlfriend with a trip when she visits in a few weeks.”
“It was really nice. Logan told me you’re going to pop the question. How do you feel?”
We stand by the cereal section. He bobs his head. “Nervous, for sure. But Teresa and I have talked about marriage. She just doesn’t know when I’m going to ask.” His smile is blinding, by which I mean, it’s too early in the morning for this level of liveliness. “I’m just ready to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Well, good luck with everything.” Even though I’ve only known Greg for a few weeks, I know he’s a kind and compassionate guy who no doubt treats Teresa like she’s the world.
I load up my plate, which I then eat at one of the empty tables. Once I’m done, I return to the line with a new plate and get food for Logan, since there’s a high chance he’ll sleep through breakfast.
When I return to our room, he’s still asleep. Relief rushes through me. The fact is, I’m not ready to talk about last night. I don’t want to face Logan telling me it was just a casual hookup, that he tried it but it’s not for him. I knew that going in. But I couldn’t help myself.
I set the tray on his bedside table so he’ll see it when he wakes up, then head for the door. I need to take a walk.
There’s a park located less than a mile from our dorms, so I wander in that direction, needing time to clear my head. Practice starts up again tomorrow. We have a game next Saturday, our first of the summer. Coach Romero says the team we’re playing is quite good, but extremely aggressive. I need to practice my goal kicks. Also my throws. One of my shoulders has a twinge, so I haven’t been able to throw as far. At least practice will allow me to blow off some steam.
Once I find a park bench, I sit down and people-watch. It’s mindless and it calms me. A few children chase one another around the playground, running up and down the slide. There’s a paved trail winding through the trees, currently occupied by mothers pushing strollers, couples jogging, people walking their dogs. Everyone is at ease. It makes me wonder what their stories are.
Since I have time to kill, I check my text messages. My sister sent me one telling me to check my email. That was two days ago.
I check the email. It’s brief, just her telling me that she loves me. She’s excited to visit in a few weeks. Also, can I please tell Casey that he’s a douche and no one wants to go out with an asshole? Hm. Not surprising, but I’m curious as to why she and Casey would be hanging out. I know they don’t actually hate each other. I’m just wondering when they’ll admit their attraction to one another.
People assume that because I’m quiet, I don’t see what everyone else sees. But it’s the opposite. Stop talking, and you’ll find you hear a lot more that way. I’ve been Casey’s friend long enough to know he’s had a crush on Lydia for years. I remember the first time they met. It was a Christmas party with an ugly sweater theme. He basically stated that her sweater was the most hideous of the bunch.
“What, did a cat cough a hairball all over the front?” he’d asked, chuckling to himself.
Of course, Lydia, being the perfectionist that she is, took offense, forgetting that the point was to have an ugly sweater. She tossed her drink in his face and stormed away.
She couldn’t know it then, but that was Casey’s backward way of showing interest.
Over time, his attraction to Lydia has only intensified It’s like watching a landslide pick up speed, gaining momentum, hurtling toward a small, sleeping village at the mountain’s base. Casey hasn’t been with a girl in a year, and I know it’s because he’s holding out for Lydia. But Casey needs to clean up his act first.
I check my voice mail. There’s a message from a North Carolina area code, but I don’t recognize the number. It was from yesterday.
“Hello, Mr. Rhodes.” It’s a man’s deep voice. “This is Dr. Johnson from Duke University Hospital. It’s Saturday, June twenty-third. Your mother was admitted this morning for alcohol poisoning. Please call me back as soon as possible. My number is—”
As soon as the message ends, I take a breath. Nausea sloshes in my gut. Only a couple weeks have passed since I left the US, and she’s back in the hospital. According to Lydia, she was doing fine the last two weeks. She went to her AA meetings. Went grocery shopping. Even spent some time cleaning her apartment. All it takes is one drink, and all that progress goes down the drain.
My head falls forward into my hands, and I scrub my face. I’m not looking forward to speaking with the doctor. Every time I receive one of these calls, I’m afraid it’s to inform me that my mother’s dead. The fear never goes away. My heart’s already racing as I dial the number.
The receptionist picks up on the second ring. “Hi, I’m returning a call for Dr. Johnson,” I tell the woman.
“Please hold while I connect you.”
It rings another eight times before the doctor picks up. “Hello, Austin. Thank you for returning my call. Your mother was checked in this morning. She’s stable, but tomorrow she will be checked out. We were wondering if there was anyone to come pick her up once she’s discharged. She t
old us to call you.”
I’m guessing my mom forgot I’m in Europe for the summer. “Unfortunately, I’m out of the country, but my sister lives in the area. I’ll give you her number.” I rattle it off, my mood darkening. I don’t want to know details, but I still ask, “What condition was she in when she arrived?”
Papers rustle in the background. I clutch the phone and wait.
“Your mother was unconscious. A woman was jogging early in the morning when she came across her in a park. The ambulance brought her in. She was extremely dehydrated, but we gave her fluids to help flush out her system.”
I’m not even fazed. This whole process is so familiar to me now that I’m numb to it all. I ask, “Was there any permanent damage?”
“It’s unlikely there was any brain damage, but as you know, it’s taking a toll on her liver. It could cause permanent damage down the line if changes aren’t made.”
I nod, even though the doctor can’t see me. It’s nothing new, her hospitalizations, but every time is like the first time: a kick to the stomach. A fresh reminder that the issue isn’t getting better. At this point, I’m at a loss.
My sigh is long and full of exhaustion. I wonder if that couple laughing and walking their dog struggles. Their life seems so free of worries. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.” His voice is sympathetic. This is his job—having to see the worst of people day in and day out. “You can only help someone to the best of your ability. And sometimes, even that’s not enough.”
He’s right. Sometimes it will never be enough.
“I’ll call your sister to see if she’ll pick your mother up tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Dr. Johnson.”
After hanging up, I sit there as the morning comes and goes, thinking about the last year and a half. My mom had been doing well for about eight months. Completely sober. She’d even managed to land herself a part-time job working at an office within walking distance from her apartment. But then her most recent ex-boyfriend showed up out of the blue, and all of her hard work was derailed. He’s a piece of shit. Just like all her other ex-boyfriends. She stopped attending her AA meetings. Slipped back into drinking to cope.
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