Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(45)

Soon enough, Quinton’s thrusting down my throat and then back up into my hand at a rapid pace. Taking me from both sides as I inch him closer and closer to ecstasy. Using me the way I’m using him without a care in the world.

His cock pulses against my tongue, the telltale sign of release, and I fuck him harder. Faster. Until I’ve got nothing left to give.

I’m the first to go at the gentle scrape of his teeth along the bottom edge of my cock. Cum spurts free, and he swallows it like a champ, all the while rocking between my mouth and hand. Taking what he needs to find his own climax.

Another groan—this one from deep within my chest—breaks free, and it’s enough to send him into his own downward spiral. His ass clamps down on my finger, squeezing it tighter than a vise as he fucks my face like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Going deeper and deeper until my chin brushes along his pelvis.

He’s shoved off the cliff into freefall the moment I peg his prostate, the salty tang of his cum hitting my tongue until it fills my mouth.

“OhfuckingChrist,” he utters, all breathless and airy, as I swallow down his release. I keep rubbing against that button inside him, coaxing him through the orgasm until he’s milked completely dry.

After he’s finished, I lick him clean, my tongue swirling around his softening cock before popping off. But I’m not done with him yet.

When he goes to lift off me, I grab his wrist and drag him until he’s facing the same direction I am. His body now layered to my side, I spear my tongue between his lips, tasting my own cum along with his.

The mixture of our essence is intoxicating. Fucking euphoric.

“Holy fucking shit,” he mutters into my mouth. “That was…”

He doesn’t even have to finish the thought for me to know what he’s trying to say.

“I know,” I whisper back, doing my best to catch my breath as we break the kiss.

Shifting, he curls into my side, his forehead pressing against the side of my throat as we take our time coming down from the orgasm high that launched us straight into the stratosphere.

“I think I’m addicted to the taste of your cum,” he says on a heavy exhale.

I laugh. “Not something I’ve ever been told before.”

“Hmm. Well, all those other guys are either stupid or tasteless. Literally.”

Another chuckle leaves me, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder, holding him against me. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

He yawns then, nestling his entire body against mine as our heart rates return to normal.

My arm slides beneath his pillow, and I’m surprised to find nothing beneath it. No lucky puck, and I realize it’s because we went at each other the second we entered the room. He never had a chance to put it there.

I try to slip out from under him, but the arm he draped over my stomach tightens in protest.

“Where are you going?”

“Your puck,” is all I say.

Bleary eyes meet mine, a softness around the edges, almost childlike, and he releases his hold on me. “My duffle. Inside pocket, on the right.”

I shift out from under him and find his duffle, redressing in my underwear along the way. The puck’s exactly where he said it’d be, and I grab it before bringing it back to where he’s sprawled across the mattress.

Doing my best not to startle him, I shift the pillow until I’m able to slide the puck into place, exactly where it belongs.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice all cracked and graveled from exhaustion, and I must admit, even that’s sexy.

“No problem,” I murmur back, the little knot in my throat keeping me from speaking much louder.

“Are you coming back?”

I know I shouldn’t. Just like I’m positive he knows I shouldn’t either. Post-sex cuddling isn’t something we’ve ever done before. Basking in the glow beside each other, sure. But this is uncharted territory we’re about to cross into.

Yet with every inch of my brain telling me this is a bad idea, I still crawl back into the space beside him.

He nuzzles back into the crook of my shoulder, our bodies plastered to each other from shoulder to our knees. The heat from his forehead radiates against my throat, causing my pulse to race beneath the surface.

Not to mention what this little encounter does to the slab of muscle struggling to beat evenly within my chest cavity.

He falls asleep like that, naked as the day he was born, with an arm draped over my chest. I let him stay there for a while, allowing him to fall into a deeper slumber while I study the patterns in his breathing.

It’s my every intention to move to my own bed once I know he won’t wake again.

But my intentions are damned to hell when the warmth of his body pressed to mine sends me off to sleep too.





Seventeen

Quinton

Break started last week, but the hockey schedule kept us on campus until a couple days before Christmas, per usual. Not that I mind, since going home for the holidays isn’t something I’m ever excited for.

Christmas at the de Haas house is more like another one of Dad’s board meetings. Plenty of business executives present, and there’s usually more talk about work than any fun holiday or vacation plans. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time we had a Christmas with just the three of us, or if it ever happened at all.