Chapter 20 Théo #2
Figure skaters fucked like it was an Olympic sport.
Lean, flexible bodies pressed together in hotel rooms, adrenaline and proximity doing most of the work.
Hookups were as routine as warm ups. Quick, uncomplicated, forgotten by the next event.
Nico had been the exception. The only one who’d meant something.
During our off periods, I hadn’t exactly been waiting around.
Everyone else was just bodies and heat, no strings, no expectations.
But Derek wasn’t built like the men I was used to.
He was taller, broader, all that hockey muscle filling out his frame in ways that made my mouth water.
Solid where skaters were lithe. Powerful where we were precise.
His body was designed for impact, for endurance—not the delicate architecture of a figure skater built to defy gravity.
And he’d only ever been with one person.
It should have scared me off. Too much weight. Too much responsibility. The kind of thing that came with expectations and feelings and all the complications I’d spent years avoiding.
Instead, the thought of being his first—of teaching him what his body could do with a man—sent a dark thrill straight through me.
“Well, Saint Sully,” I murmured against his jaw, “let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
I pushed him onto his back and he went willingly, letting me straddle him, his hands settling on my hips like they belonged there.
I pressed kisses along his throat, feeling his pulse jump beneath my lips.
His chest smelled warm and citrusy and I wanted to bury my face there and just breathe him in.
But the delicious friction of our erections was calling me. Even through the layers of fabric still between us, I could feel him hard and hot against me. It had been too long since I had touched and been touched. Too long since I’d let anyone this close.
I kissed my way down his chest, scraping my teeth lightly over one nipple just to hear him gasp. Then lower, over the ridges of his abs, following the trail of dark hair that led beneath his waistband.
I settled between his legs and tugged at his shorts and boxer briefs. He lifted his hips to help me work the fabric down his thighs and then he was bare before me.
He had a lovely cock.
Thick and straight, with a ridge of veins along its length. The head was flushed an angry purple, already leaking, glistening at the tip. It curved slightly toward his stomach, twitching under my gaze like it knew it was being admired.
I wrapped my hand around the base and he sucked in a breath.
Then I leaned forward and laved at the head with my tongue.
The noise he made was strangled, desperate, his hips bucking up involuntarily before he caught himself.
His hand flew to my hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed to anchor himself to something.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Théo—”
I took him deeper, savouring the weight of him on my tongue, the salt of his precum, the way his thighs trembled on either side of my head. This I could understand. This made sense. The physical. The carnal. The simple transaction of pleasure given and received.
The gentle looks. The soft kisses. The tender smiles. Those made me want to close my eyes and run.
But this—his cock in my mouth, his moans filling the room, his body arching beneath me—this I knew how to do. This I was good at.
I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, setting a rhythm designed to destroy him. His hand tightened in my hair and I moaned around him, letting him feel the vibration.
“Théo, fuck, I—” His voice was wrecked. Shattered. “I’m not going to last if you keep—”
I pulled off just long enough to look up at him through my lashes. “Then don’t.”
Something in him snapped as I guided him back into my mouth.
His hips bucked up and I let him, relaxing my throat, taking everything he gave me.
His other hand joined the first in my hair, not pushing but holding, cradling my head like I was precious even as he fucked my mouth.
The contradiction of it—that desperate need paired with that instinctive gentleness—made my chest ache in ways I refused to examine.
“Théo, I’m gonna—” A warning. Even now, even with his control in tatters, he was trying to give me an out.
I didn’t take it.
I sucked harder, reached down to cup his balls, pressed my thumb against that sensitive spot just behind them.
His whole body went rigid, a broken sound tearing from his throat, and then he was coming, spilling hot and bitter across my tongue.
I swallowed everything, working him through it until he was twitching with oversensitivity, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut.
I pulled off slowly and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
For a moment, I just watched him. Derek Sullivan, undone. Flushed and panting, his perfect body sprawled across the sheets, looking like every fantasy I’d never let myself have.
Then his eyes opened, soft and hazy with afterglow, and he reached for me.
“Come here,” he murmured.
I shouldn’t have. I knew even as I did it that I was making a mistake. But I let him pull me up beside him, let him tuck me against his chest, let his arm wrap around me like this was something we did. Like we were something.
His fingers found my hair, stroking gently. Rhythmically. The same way he’d probably pet Aspen. And it felt—
God, it felt good. It felt safe. It felt like something I could get used to.
That was the problem.
“That was…” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re incredible. Let me—” His hand started to drift down my stomach toward my still hard cock.
I caught his wrist.
“I should go.”
He blinked, confusion clouding his features. “What? Théo, you didn’t even—”
“I have early ice time.” The lie came out smooth and practiced. I was already pulling away, already sitting up, pushing to the edge of the bed.
“It’s eight o’clock at night.”
“I need to stretch. Prep. You know how it is.” My shirt was still in the kitchen. I couldn’t look at him. If I looked at him, I would see that tender expression again and I would crawl back into his arms and I would let myself believe this could be something real.
“Théo.” His hand caught my elbow. Gentle. Always so fucking gentle. “Talk to me. Did I do something wrong?”
Yes. You did everything right. That’s the problem.
“No,” I said. “This was fun. You were great. I… I’ll see you around.”
I pulled free and walked out of the bedroom. My legs were steady. My hands were steady. Everything was steady except for the earthquake happening somewhere behind my ribs.
Aspen lifted his head from his bed in the living room, watching me cross to the kitchen and pull on my shirt. He let out a small whine when I reached the front door.
“Don’t you start too,” I told him as I twisted the doorknob.
The hallway was quiet. Empty. I made it all the way to the elevator, jabbing the call button before leaning against the wall and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
What the fuck was I doing?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t have to look to know it was Derek. I could practically see the message: Are you okay? or Did I push too fast? or something equally earnest and devastating.
I turned the phone off and stepped into the elevator.