The Fly-Half (Lincoln Knights #2)

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Jonny

The club was dark, smoke pouring off the stage and colourful lights swirling in the gloom as the bass pounded through my body, reverberating up through my trainers and shaking me down to my bones. I couldn’t remember which club it was or how I’d gotten there, but I had the vague feeling I’d been here before.

I knew where the bar was at least because I was leaning against it with a glass in hand. It looked like a short cocktail or something with whisky in. Probably a cocktail because there was a bright red cherry floating in it, bobbing against the enormous ice cube in the middle that seemed to take up most of the bloody glass. Whatever drink I’d paid for wasn’t anything more than half a shot.

But there was another glass on the bar in front of me, this one empty, which suggested I’d already had at least one.

I probably needed it given the amount of fucking alcohol I was paying for versus what I needed to get drunk.

There was a pleasant buzz warming my skin and making my muscles hum, and I felt my head nodding slightly in time with the racing beat. I’d never been much of a dancer except for when I was with Devon, because he loved dancing and I’d never been able to tell him no. It didn’t matter how bad I looked or how out of time I was—Devon never seemed to care.

He just kept on smiling at me like I’d hung the fucking moon.

Devon…

He should be here.

We never went out without each other, not since he’d moved back anyway.

I turned my head and scanned the crowd, looking across the sea of sweaty, half-naked men taking up the dance floor. We’d ended up in a gay bar then, which wasn’t totally surprising. I’d been to gay clubs with Devon before, especially when we’d just turned eighteen, right before he moved to France. This wasn’t The Court, though, and I didn’t think Lincoln had another gay club. But it must have done because how else would we have ended up here?

My thoughts crumbled away as my eyes landed on two figures pressed together, hands roaming over each other’s bodies as their mouths met in a series of desperate kisses. It was wild and indecent but I couldn’t stop staring as heat curdled in my gut. I knew who they were, even in the haze of the smoke and the flashing lights, and my fingers tightened around the drink in my hand until it squeaked and groaned, the cheap glass threatening to shatter in my hand.

Peaches was wearing a see-through crop top and leather trousers, his body sparkling with a comical amount of body glitter as his fingers grasped Devon’s ass, sliding under the waistband of the tiny shorts and teasing the band of his underwear. Devon was shirtless, his soft, muscled form shining with sweat and glitter he’d clearly picked up from Peaches, and I swallowed because how had I never really noticed how he looked?

Devon was fucking gorgeous—softness over hard muscle, sculpted thighs and perfect calves from hours and hours of training, and a chest I just wanted to squeeze and play with, even though I’d never noticed anyone’s chest before. He wasn’t as big as a lot of the guys on the team, but he didn’t need to be. He was perfect just the way he was.

The heat in my gut felt sour and leaden, resentment building under my skin.

I hated the way Peaches was touching him, hated the way his mouth moved down Devon’s neck, hated the way he ground against Devon, holding his body close.

If anyone was going to do that to Devon, it should be me.

The glass shattered in my hand.

And I sat up in bed with a jolt.

“What the fuck?” I muttered as I screwed up my eyes and blinked slowly, trying to shake the spots dancing behind my eyes. I was drenched in sweat, even though the room was cold, and I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in the darkness.

I flopped back onto the mattress, my head landing between my pillows, making it feel like I’d been completely enveloped as I stared at the ceiling. I was wide awake but could still feel the tug of sleep deep in my bones trying to pull me back under. But I didn’t want to go back to that dream.

In all the years I’d known Devon, I’d always known he was attractive but that was an objective statement of fact. Even playing rugby, the sport known for broken noses, lost teeth, cauliflower ears, and split lips, hadn’t changed how handsome his features were. His dark eyes with long lashes, the ever-so-slightly crooked nose where he’d broken it at sixteen and it hadn’t quite set straight, the tiny scar on his bottom lip where he’d taken a boot stud to the face, the gentle curve of his jaw, and the thick, dark eyebrows that were always perfectly shaped because he plucked them in front of a mirror.

And that wasn’t even considering his body.

He was shorter than me by about seven inches because he’d topped out at five foot nine and stayed there while I’d kept growing until I was twenty-one and finally hit six four. But I’d always liked the height difference between us even if I couldn’t explain why. There was just something about being able to throw my arm comfortably around his shoulders or the way he looked up at me when he smiled.

But none of that meant I was attracted to him.

Even if the idea of watching him make out with Peaches made me want to rip the pillows apart with my bare hands until they exploded all over the bed.

“It was just a dream,” I said into the stillness, rolling over onto my side and tugging the duvet up over my head. It was a dream, nothing more. It wasn’t real and neither were the emotions I was feeling. It was like the time I’d dreamt about playing in the Premiership final at Wembley and realised I’d forgotten my boots and then jogged out onto the pitch naked—just my brain playing tricks on me with things it had dredged up from my subconscious.

“It’s not real,” I said stubbornly into the duvet. “None of it is real.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that, but I wasn’t going to let myself dwell on it. Not now.

Nothing good happened at this time of night—whatever time it was—and getting lost in thoughts about Devon, or my emotions, or anything that wasn’t going back to sleep wasn’t going to help. We had a match today and being tired would mean I played like shit, and I didn’t want to be the reason we lost.

Sleep first. Then rugby. Everything else could come later.

Even so it took me a long time to get back to sleep, and it wasn’t long before I was disturbed again, this time by the feeling of the bed dipping and a hand sliding around my waist.

I frowned and rolled over, wondering who the hell was climbing into my bed in the middle of the night. But when I saw Devon’s head resting on the pillow, a pretty, sleepy smile on his face, I somehow wasn’t surprised at all. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’re fine,” I said, wrapping my arm around him and pulling him flush against my chest, his head tucked under mine and his hands resting against my chest. He smelt the same way he always did, like French lavender and vanilla, and I took a deep breath as I buried my nose in his fluffy dark hair. “Go back to sleep.”

Devon nodded slightly and sighed. “I missed you.”

“You went to the toilet. It’s not like you went far.”

“I know, but I always miss you when we’re apart.” He snuggled deeper into me and tilted his head back, his breath ghosting over my skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of my throat, right at the bottom just above my collarbone. My breath caught awkwardly, my body suddenly as taut as a bowstring.

Devon kissed my neck again and again, moving his mouth slightly higher with every touch until his lips found the bottom of my ear. I gasped, my arms tightening around him as fire crackled under my skin like magma under the surface of a volcano. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“No,” I said, running my hands down his back. I’d never heard myself sound so certain. Sex had always been something I’d done but never really desired. Like, it was fine, but I could take it or leave it. I’d never needed it in the same way that so many of my friends and teammates obviously did. But the feeling of Devon’s mouth on my neck and the press of his open hands against my pecs had ignited a spark inside my chest. I didn’t know whether to be shocked or confused or just fucking weirded out. But I wanted to roll with it, follow the rabbit and see where it led.

I trusted Devon.

More than I even trusted myself.

“You can tell me to stop at any time,” he said, his fingers drawing circles across my bare chest.

“I know, but I don’t want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I leant my head back slightly so I could look down at him, and even in the darkness his face was still visible. He was so beautiful. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

Everything inside me was so tight, like I was nothing more than an elastic band stretched to breaking point. I brought one hand around to his face and gently traced my fingers along it, feeling the prickle of stubble against my skin where he hadn’t shaved for a day or two.

How had I ever let anyone else kiss him? He was too perfect to be anyone else’s but mine.

Slowly I lowered my mouth and brought our lips together in a kiss that felt too familiar for it to be the first time we’d done this.

And just like that, the band inside me snapped.

Devon groaned, making the fire inside me burst into a raging inferno. I grasped his face, my other hand pressed to his back as I kissed him again, pushing my tongue into his mouth and claiming him. I wanted to remind him who he belonged to. Possession burned inside my chest as Devon melted against me, his lips so sweet I couldn’t stop tasting them.

I rolled him over, pinning him underneath me and smirking as he moaned and squirmed, bucking his hips up as he desperately sought some sort of relief. His hard cock rubbed against my hip and I was dimly aware that we were both naked, but we always slept naked, even in the middle of winter, so it wasn’t a surprise.

“J-Jonny,” Devon said with a gasp as his hands wrapped around me, nails digging into my spine. “Please. I need…”

“Tell me,” I said, my voice a low rumble as I nipped his lip and shifted my body so I could grind against him. “Need me to get you off so you can sleep again?” I chuckled darkly as I teased him, grinding our cocks together in a way I knew would drive Devon wild but wouldn’t be anywhere near enough stimulation to make him come. “We’ve gotta play tomorrow, angel. Thought you wanted to be nice and wound up?”

“No!” Devon shook his head. “Won’t be able to focus.” He slammed his mouth into mine, kissing me hard. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Would never do that to you, doll,” I said as I kissed him again. “Gonna give you everything you need, I promise.”

“Yes! Fuck yes.” Devon threw his head back, his body arching beautifully as I thrust against him, precum slicking the skin. Need coursed through me as we rutted together, his moans and gasps like fucking petrol on an open flame. I never wanted anyone else to see him like this, needed to hoard those sounds like a dragon. Because Devon was my treasure and I was going to keep him forever.

“Jonny,” he said in a beautifully strangled whisper. “I’m… fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me then, doll. Make a fucking mess of me.”

Devon cried out, hot cum spilling across our skin as his nails dug into me.

I woke just as I came, my own cum splattering the sheets as I rutted against the mattress, my head spinning and sweat dripping down my face as I fought to control my breath, my eyes reeling at the darkness as I crash-landed back to reality.

Devon’s face was fading, the imagined sounds of his orgasm drifting away, smothered by my panting.

I clutched at the pillows so tightly it made my fingers ache as my cock began to soften beneath me, the evidence of my dream clinging to my skin in the least pleasant way possible. I knew I needed to turn the lamp on and clean up, but all I could do was stare at the empty space on the bed underneath me, my mind still reeling from everything that had just happened.

And all I could do was mutter three words into the stillness of the night.

“What the fuck?”