Him (Him #1)(48)

“I’m not running,” Shen complains. “Too drunk.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, gripping his shoulder. “Shoulda thought about that earlier. Let’s go.” I clap my hands.

“One, two, three!” Jamie takes off across the gravel. There’s a grassy bit where the hill begins, and he reaches it quickly.

I hang back to make sure the boys follow him. And they do, at a sluggish pace. That’s fine, because we really don’t need any injuries. The moon is up, though. It’s not all that dark, and there are floodlights at the top of the hill.

We’re all breathing hard within minutes. The hill is a real bitch, and I’m glad I’m not wearing my pads. The kids make it up to the top eventually, grumbling all the way. Then the five of us are panting in the parking lot, hands on hips, wishing we had water.

“I don’t feel so good,” Shen mumbles.

“In the bushes if you’re going to yarf,” I say quickly. This parking lot belongs to a golf club. We’re already trespassing.

He lurches off, just making it to a boxwood before there are sounds of retching.

“We’ll walk ’em down slowly,” Jamie says, stroking his chin. “And buy some water.”

“And Advil. I have some in our room.”

“Of course you do.”

I have to bite back a smile. Another silly, ridiculous night in Lake Placid with Jamie. I hope the next four weeks go slowly.

On our way down, I have a little chat with Davies. “So… Why’d you guys have to go and get drunk? You could get kicked out of camp.”

He sticks out his chin. “You told me to.”

“Say what?”

“You said to spend some time with them off the ice. I did that.”

I give this some thought. “Okay. It’s my job to tell you to quit breaking the rules. But I hear where you’re coming from. And I like that you called Coach Canning when Killfeather wouldn’t go home.”

“I wouldn’t just leave him there.”

He gets a friendly slap on the back for that. “Good man. Stay out of trouble and we can keep these shenanigans private, okay?”

“Okay.”

We walk back to the dormitory through the fresh summer air while the moon rises higher over the lake. I can’t wait to get home.





23





Wes





Forty minutes later I have Jamie’s dick in my mouth and I’m stroking his prostate like a champion. He’s writhing and begging. “Give me more,” he pants. “Give me the D. You know you want to.”

I release him with a pop, and practically swallow my own tongue. The casual way he’s asked me to f*ck just blows my mind. “I don’t know,” I stammer.

He opens one heated eye and looks at me. “Christ. Sometimes it feels like you’ve got your whole arm up there, anyway. How is it so different?”

Because it just is.

Don’t get me wrong—I want inside that fine ass of his more than I want my next breath. But I’m also afraid. It’s not a familiar sensation. I never used to care about the consequences of my actions. But if we do this, I won’t just be f*cking Jamie. It will mean something to me. And chances are, it won’t to him.

For him, it’ll be another little experiment he can take with him before he goes off and settles down with some girl.

He’s watching me now, waiting for me to decide. And while he waits he’s gently jacking himself and staring into my eyes.

Holy shit, I’m going to do it.

I’m going to f*ck the only man I’ve ever loved.

I can hardly breathe as I reach for the lube. Then I realize I need a condom too, so I climb off the bed in search of my duffel bag. I stashed a whole box of them in there, though I’m not entirely sure why. When I took the job at camp, it was for the sole purpose of spending time with Jamie, not to go on some kind of sex spree with the gay locals.

I never thought I’d be opening this box. With Jamie. For Jamie.

“Are you sure?” I ask thickly.

He nods. Those brown eyes burn with hunger. They shine with trust. I memorize that expression, the way he looks lying there at my mercy, big and hard and rippling with masculine power.

I take my time with him, more generous than usual with the lube. Fuck, I don’t want to hurt him, and I absolutely don’t want him to hate this. I can’t help but remember my first time, how cheap it made me feel, being used by a guy who didn’t give a shit whether I enjoyed myself or not.

I want this to be so good for Jamie.

“One finger won’t be enough this time.” My voice is so gravelly it stings my throat. “You’ll need to get used to more before I…uh…”

He sounds as raspy-voiced as I do. “You’ll stop if I don’t like it?”

My heart squeezes. “Of course.” I lean over him and plant a reassuring kiss on his lips, then wink at him. “Just say ballsack if you want me to stop.”

A wave of laughter shudders through him. “Oh shit. I totally forgot about that.”

I laugh too as I think about the ridiculous code word we made up when we were fourteen. I’m not sure who came up with it—who am I kidding? It was obviously me—but we’d used it during our wrestling phase. We decided MMA was the coolest shit ever and spent hours in the gym practicing our “moves.” Except half the time when one of us tapped out, the other wouldn’t notice, so we devised a safe word.