Bite Me (Extracurricular Activities #6)

Chapter 1

JESSE

“Holy shit, what is that smell?”

I grinned at the sound of Sam’s voice as the front door slammed shut and was followed by what sounded like the collapse of a small building as he started dropping his football gear by the door. I didn’t have to witness it to know how it would play out; I’d seen it enough times by now.

First would be the anvil-like thud of his gear bag onto the floor, then he would start pulling things off: hoodie, t-shirt, shoes, socks. The order would depend on how hot he was.

“Exactly what I say pretty much every time I walk through the door in this godforsaken place,” I called from the kitchen, then chuckled at the whumpf signaling he was taking his shoes off—left always first. It was shortly followed by a second whumpf of his right shoe.

He was tossing his shoes today and not kicking them, which meant practice must have gone well and he wasn’t overheated or anything.

That was a good thing considering I’d learned he wore a size 15 shoe.

On a bad day, those boats practically qualified as weapons if launched.

Ansel had once rounded the corner of the downstairs hallway on a bad day and stepped right into the trajectory of one of Sam’s cleats.

Fortunately, Ansel was also athletically gifted.

I’d been coming down the stairs, and froze in awe when Ansel just put his hands up casually and caught the shoe-turned-missile like he and Sam were playing a friendly game of catch.

If it had been me, I’d have been down for the count.

Quick reflexes were a language I’d never mastered.

“Whoa, sorry, man.” Sam had exhaled sheepishly. “That was Matrix-level shit right there. Damn, maybe you’re in the wrong sport. You’d have been a great receiver.”

Ansel had somehow spun the shoe on the tip of his finger like a basketball. “Nah. Never been much for team sports. Too many people to rely on.” With a little laugh and a shrug, he’d tossed the shoe back to Sam and continued out the front door.

“Interesting dude,” Sam had said once he was gone.

“To say the least, yeah.” I’d shared a house with him for over two years now and still couldn’t fully pin him down.

Sam had been a little more careful after that, though.

“Good smell or bad?” I asked because that was always a pertinent question in this household, even if I suspected I already knew the answer.

Sam didn’t respond immediately, instead treating me to the final step in his wardrobe divestiture: a type of grunt-sigh I’d only ever heard him emit during this specific series of events.

I’d gotten kind of addicted to that little noise lately, and despite all my best efforts when we were filming content for his OnlyFans, it still seemed specially reserved for this post-practice moment.

I made a mental note to try harder to provoke it.

Maybe during the scene we’d planned for tonight.

“Good smell. Very good. Sweet,” Sam said, voice coming closer.

I straightened my posture a little and started to swipe a hand through my hair to fix it, then stopped short, remembering I was balls deep in marshmallow goo. Err, knuckles deep, rather, because balls deep would be gross, right?

I cocked my head, reconsidering. Or would it?

As Sam stepped into the kitchen, I made a quick mental note to broach the idea of doing food stuff with him.

His subscribers would never see that coming, and I didn’t hate the idea of licking any sort of sweet concoction off that man’s body. Or having it licked off mine.

“Ohhhh, rice krispy treats?” Sam’s whole face lit up as he wandered closer to the island, and I stared a beat too long at his smile before coming back to myself and realizing that in my mute, ogling stupor, his giant hand was quickly coming precariously close to the bowl.

“Hey!” I snatched it away protectively just before he could drag a giant finger through the goo, then tried not to think about him sucking his finger—or something else—clean.

I really needed to get ahold of myself. We had hours still before we filmed our next scene, which required all the roommates to be out of the house, and I had a serious amount of shit on my to-do list before then, none of which involved getting dick-stracted by Sam.

“They’re gonna be rice krispy pumpkins, not treats,” I clarified, nudging my chin toward the top of the island where I’d laid out the rest of my supplies. “Dark licorice for stems, orange food coloring…”

Sam picked up a flat sheet of fondant lying next to a pair of kitchen scissors and arched a brow.

“Black fondant so I can cut out little jack-o-lantern shapes for the mouths and eyes,” I explained.

“Wow, really going all-out, huh? Looks… Pin-teresting.” His lips quirked at his own quip as he set the sheet of fondant back on the island.

He did it extra gently too, I noticed, carefully sliding the sheet off his large palm like he was afraid he might mess it up.

The same palm that had caressed up my spine as he’d fucked into me a mere week ago.

My mouth was suddenly too wet. I averted my eyes and swallowed hard, waving a hand. “They’re for trick or treaters, not you gluttons.”

Sam tilted his head. “We get trick-or-treaters here? For real?”

“Yeah. At least, I think so. In theory?” I hedged because he had a point.

He’d only moved in a few months ago. I’d been here longer, but had yet to encounter a single trick-or-treater.

Granted, the entire household had always been out at parties on Halloween, but I still left a candy bowl on the porch.

Said pumpkin-shaped candy bowl was currently sitting on the counter behind me, empty, because I knew better than to put candy in it around these heathens; it would be gone in a second.

“The candy bowl is always empty the next morning. Well, except last year when someone hurled in it at some point.” I wrinkled my nose at the memory.

“My money is on Nate, but he denies it to this day.”

“I think Nate would hurl in bushes, though, not a candy bowl. Bushes are more his style.” Sam nodded with finality.

“Can never be too sure with him.” I shrugged and went back to kneading my rice krispy mix. “Whoever it was really loves candy corn, though.” I shivered again at the recall. I’d bleached the inside of the pumpkin at least three times.

“Oh, fuck.” Sam’s eyes were wide when I glanced up at him. “I think it might’ve been me.”

“What? For real?” I stared at him mercilessly, somewhat mollified to see his cheeks go pink with shame.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned.

“I mean, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I did crash on the couch here last Halloween, remember?

And I have a really fuzzy memory of holding a pumpkin.

I also fucking love candy corn and ate a shit ton of it that night.

I definitely remember that. Sorry, dude. ”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, Samson.” I narrowed my eyes at him critically.

“I’m disappointed in you.” I wasn’t really that disappointed, and I was surprised I sounded so stern, considering how much trouble I’d been having lately getting genuinely irritated at him.

For instance, last week he’d left his towel in a heap on the floor in the bathroom we shared and I hadn’t even bitched about it like I usually would.

I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the mind-blowing orgasms we’d been giving each other and way more to do with our growing friendship. Maybe.

Sam’s face fell, like he’d been properly scolded, and I felt bad for a twist of a second until his eyes lit up again.

“You know what, though? Now that I’m remembering it, the bowl was empty.

So, see, there are trick-or-treaters. Silver lining?

” He beamed and picked up the scissors. “Want me to help cut out fondant shapes? As long as it’s triangles, circles, and crescents, I’ve got it covered. Stars, not so much.”

I could tell it was his peace offering, so I nodded, and he picked up the fondant and began cutting out shapes while I started rolling rice krispy goo into balls. Now and then, he paused, watching my hands as I shaped the balls and set them aside.

Once he had a bunch of crescents and triangles cut out, he set the scissors aside and roamed closer.

A little tingle of awareness zipped up my spine when he drew near, turning into a full-body sizzle when he pressed up against my back and rested his chin on my shoulder. “That looks really satisfying,” he mused, as I scooped up another sticky handful.

“It is.” I swallowed hard, then swallowed again as he reached down, circling my wrist with an enormous paw and guiding my hand toward his mouth.

“Ummm, that’s unsanitary,” I breathed out, but made no move to stop him as the heat of his lips enveloped my finger.

“Mmm,” he rumbled, tongue swirling around the tip before he sucked the digit clean and moved onto the next, leaving my knees wobbly. “Yeah, maybe. But so fucking good.”

It would’ve been a great time to bring up a potential food scene, if my tongue wasn’t frozen and my dick hadn’t gone instantly hard.

Actually, not instantly. I was pretty sure it had been in a standby state of semi-erect the second Sam walked through the door.

But it could for sure crack walnuts now.

“Sam.” I let out a little groan as he moved to my ring finger, and my hips accidentally thrust back against him without my permission. Oops. “I have to get these finished before anyone else gets back,” I thought I said, but honestly wasn’t sure if I spoke at all or just kind of moaned.

“You even smell sweet.” Sam sucked my pinky clean, too, then drew the tip of his nose along the side of my neck, inhaling deeply and making that rumbly-purr of sound that turned my brain to mush all over.

His cock pressed against my ass, intimidatingly thick, and my limbs started to feel much like the rice krispy goo I no longer really cared about. “I’m ready for tonight. You?”