Him (Him #1)(85)

We’re joined in every way possible. My cock inside him, our tongues fused together, his powerful body straining against mine.

I reach around him and grip his erection, slowing the movement of my hips. I jerk him in long, lazy strokes that match the languid thrusts of my cock.

“I don’t come until you do,” I whisper. Then I slip my tongue in his mouth and suck on his tongue ring, and that’s all it takes for him to shoot all over my hand.

Wes gasps for air. His ass ripples around my cock, squeezing me so hard it triggers an orgasm I feel in the tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet. I give in to it, my arms wrapped around my boyfriend’s strong chest as I come inside him.

We’re both unsteady on our feet, so I pull out and tug him onto the couch. He collapses beside me, his dark hair tickling my chin as we lie there recovering from yet another round of spectacular sex. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how good the sex is.

Wes suddenly laughs. “Thank God for the couch condom.”

“Wha…” I grin when I realize what he means. “The bareback thing is kinda messy, huh?”

“Messy’s fun.” His breath heats my shoulder. “But once the plastic comes off, we should probably lay down a towel or something if we’re going to f*ck on this couch.”

“If?” The way we go at it, there won’t be a single surface in this apartment we haven’t f*cked on.

He chuckles again, then releases a contented sigh and nestles even closer.





* * *



As it happens, snuggling on a plastic-wrapped couch is not that comfortable.

So we have a quick shower together, then lie down on the bed. We’re wet, of course, and our hair is dripping.

“I’m beginning to see your point about towels,” Wes says as I kiss a drop of water off his shoulder.

“Now he gets it,” I sigh, and then hunt for more drops on his taut skin. I lick the barbell in his eyebrow, and the slightly metallic taste makes me shiver. I love having my own personal bad boy in bed with me.

Wes strokes a lazy hand up and down my back, and it’s divine. “We need towels, and a plug for you. So you can walk a mile in my horny shoes.”

“That was so hot, though,” I concede. “Damn.”

He runs a hand through my wet hair. “Glad you liked it. I wanted to make it easier for you.”

“What?” There’s something serious in his tone, so I stop kissing him everywhere to look him in the eye. “Easier?”

But he looks away. “You know. Easier. When you were with women, it didn’t take them half a f*cking hour to prepare for sex.”

A chuckle rises in my throat, but I choke it back because his expression is so serious. “How many women have you f*cked, Wes?”

Sheepish, he holds up one finger.

I’m startled for a second, until I remember the summer we were sixteen, when Wes had shown up at camp and admitted to losing his virginity. Getting the dirty details out of him, however, had been like pulling teeth. Now I know why.

“Right, one. And you were both too inexperienced to know what you were doing.” I shrug. “Plenty of women need a lot of warm-up time. So I have to call a technical foul here just on rules alone. But also—that’s just not the point. We have a lot of quick and dirty times. That’s what blowjobs are for.”

He gives me a weak grin. “Sure. But…”

“But what?”

“Well, I’ll never be able give you everything you like.”

Ah. “Dude, stop. I’m not pining for *.” That sounded much funnier coming out of my mouth than I’d expected it to, so we both laugh. “I’m serious, though. I enjoyed women, but I was never in love with one.” Every time I say it, it seems more obvious. And every time I say it, Wes’s face goes soft. “Can you promise me you won’t worry about this? Because there’s no way I can prove it to you, except by having lots of sex with you.”

“That works.” His cocky smile is back, and I’m happy to see it.

“Good.” I roll over and fit myself against him. “In a little while I have to check my Facebook page.”

“Why?”

My stomach tightens just thinking about it. “Tomorrow is Sunday dinner, right? So I outed myself to them today.”

“On Facebook?” he yelps.

I reach back and give his ass a pinch. “Give me a little credit? My family has a private group. It’s just the kids, their spouses and my parents. I didn’t even tell them your last name.”

He goes very quiet behind me, but his hand traces lazy circles on my back. “Are you worried?” he finally asks.

That’s a fair question. “Not really. They won’t freak about the fact that you’re a dude. But they might be like, ‘Why didn’t you tell us? Is this why you quit the NHL? And why did you leave the country?’ I don’t like to be grilled.”

“When did you post it?”

“This morning before we went out for breakfast. So, like, five hours ago. It’s one o’clock in Cali right now. They’ve probably seen it.”

“Go get your phone,” he whispers.





41





Wes