Him (Him #1)(61)

“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 ridiculous 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?”

“Nope. I had a single at Northern Mass, so I usually brought hook-ups home. Or I went to their place.” He pauses. “That was the better option. Means I didn’t have to kick ’em out when they wanted to spend the night.”

I furrow my brow. “You’ve never spent the night with anyone?” He and I have been sleeping together regularly.

“Nope,” he says again.

“Why not?” I’m suddenly curious to know about his love life. Not the sex—the idea of him with anyone else bugs the shit out of me—but the relationship stuff. For as long as I’ve known him, Wes has been single. Now, knowing he’s gay, it makes sense why he never had a girlfriend. But has he had a boyfriend?