Chapter 2 Cory
It’s the last day of development camp in Montreal and I still can’t believe I’m here, training my childhood dream team.
It should have registered by now. I mean, I’m almost twenty-one, and I was drafted just before I turned eighteen.
But nope. My future with the Mounties is as unbelievable to me as it was the day they called my name and slid that red and white that jersey over my head.
Since I head home tomorrow, I’ve arrived at the stadium a little early, and am just chilling in my stall, soaking it all in.
Oh, and sneaking around, taking photos for my sister, Cherry.
As many twins are, we’re super close—when we’re not fighting or trying to humiliate the other and have both loved the Mounties since the first game we watched together, huddled up on our living room floor in Boston—AKA Mounties Enemy Territory.
Scrolling through my phone, I send her a shot of the hockey sticks lining the property manager walls, and wait for the reply.
I don’t have to wait long.
*Holy shit! Just think how much money is sitting in that room. How many do you think you can fit in your bag?
Smiling like a fool, I’m typing my reply, when my fellow rookies begin piling in.
“Hey, Cubby. Who’s got you grinning like that? Got a hot girl waiting for you back home?”
Cubby? For the love of Mary Jane.
I thought I made it. After two blissful weeks of no jeering, minimal patronizing ‘little guy’ quips, and pretty much nothing but hockey, someone’s blabbed. I ignore the hot-girl mention, and go straight to the nickname.
“Who told you!” I demand, pointing toward Dylan Prescott, the Cubby-caller. After laughing for a solid minute, he and the rest of the Montreal rookie brains trust—White, Coleman and McKinney—unfold themselves and regain enough motor-control to speak.
“My buddy Jax has a girlfriend who hooked up with some guy who knows your sister. She told him, he told her and she … no he … wait.”
Fucking, Cherry.
Sighing, I rub my hand over my face to hide my blush. “Not sure I needed that detail, but thanks.”
“I still like Mr. Ripley,” Coleman, a hulking redhead from Georgia chimes in with the name he christened me with on day one.
“You really do look like baby Matt Damon.” He considers me, then holds out his hand and with his thumb and index finger an inch apart.
“But then again, Cubby suits ‘cause you’re so tiny.”
I should just ignore this, too. After all, feeding a beast only serves to make it hungrier. But I can’t.
“I’m not tiny, I’m five feet, eight and a bit inches.” Of course, this sees their laughter become hysteria. Way to go, Dickhead.
“See,” Coleman wheezes. “Like I said, tiny.”
“Kind of cute, too.” That’s McKinney. NOT checking him out has been the hardest thing about camp. Cute from him is intriguing. Cute from him has me preening. “And hairy,” he adds.
Hairy? Silently, I look down to the three hairs on my chest.
“On your head.” He sweetly taps his own to demonstrate. “Your hair. It’s lush, and all soft and fluffy looking.”
Lush? Hmm. Maybe I’m not the only one NOT checking teammates out.
No one else seems to notice the way he’s licking his lip as he studies my locks, then mouth. And that’s a good thing. I’m a baby gay, and I haven’t known these guys long enough to ascertain how safe a space this is. Still, I know what I want, and it’s all about the D.
And I don’t mean defense.
All in high spirits for our last session, the boys wrap up their taunting, kit up, and leave the room en masse. But it’s Nate McKinney who waits for me. Nate who looks over his shoulder and shoots me a wink that has my dick twitching uncomfortably in my cup.
Yeah. I know what I want.
“Why did I wait ‘til the last night? And where have you been hiding those glasses?” McKinney’s voice cracks as I lick the pre-cum from his glistening pink tip.
Conversation is not what I’m here for, so I shrug, then splay one hand over his toned abs. With the other, I grip his ass and pull until his dark, mass of curly hair tickles my face, and his dick hits the back of my throat.
Fuck I love this.
The smell. The feel. The taste.
I work him over, bobbing up and down on my knees for as long as I can before I relent to the need for air. “Probably for the best though,” I pant, nuzzling into his balls. “You’re so hot, had we hooked up on day one, my constant boner may have hindered my performance.”
His dick swells before my eyes. “You think I’m hot?”
“What do you think?” I lean back, palming my erection that thickens with the widening of his eyes. “You’re so big and brawny. Those arms and hands are huge. Bet you could toss me around if you wanted.”
“Reckon I could.” He nods. “Pity, we don’t have time to find out.”
“Real pity.”
“Guess we’ll just have to make up for–” Out in the hall, a door slams, and we both jump then still, listening for any further noises.
No one should walk in on us. After flirting all day at practice, playing footsies under the table at lunch, and dinner at the hotel, we waited for the guys to get to bed, then crept into a storage closet.
But still. That door is a reminder of the risk we’re taking, and fuck it if that doesn’t make this a whole lot hotter.
I palm myself a little rougher. Man I need to come.
Impatient to get this done, I fist McKinney’s dick, and look up at him with a sly smile. “You still good to go?”
“So good.” He smiles, taps his dick against my cheek a few times, and that’s all I need.
Wetting my lips, I open up and take him deep again, using my tongue to massage the delicious velvety underside. He grumbles, weaves his hand through my hair and begins to thrust.
Guess I’m not the only one in a hurry.
I keep my eyes on him as I work him over, soaking up the quiver in his lip, the rush I get from reducing a big guy like this to a bubbling mess. Make no mistake, I may be the one on my knees with a dick in my mouth, but I am Superman. I hold all the power.
Proving just that, I hollow out my cheeks and suck. He spasms, leaking onto my tongue and shit, he really does taste amazing. “Close,” he grunts. “Take it out, please, I wanna watch you.”
He hasn’t said it in so many words, but I know what he wants, and thank fuck. I release my grip on his ass, push my glasses back up my nose, then drop my hand back down, tugging at my sweats until my cock pops free. “Knew it,” he chuckles. “So big for such a little, glasses wearing, cutie. So hot.”
Christ, I better get this over with before he proposes.
Being so new to this, I’m far from an expert, but the few bumbled bj’s I’ve given and received have taught me a few tricks. As has OF.
My dick throbs in my hand as I slide my free hand back between his cheeks.
He realizes my intended target, and spreads his shaking legs a little wider, just enough for me to breach his sweet little hole.
Should it be an iPad security lock, I don’t think it would even have had time to register my fingerprint, but it does the job.
Instantly he stiffens, convulses, and unloads streams of sweet, hot cum in my mouth.
“Fuck, those fucking glasses,” he mumbles, running his thumb down my cheekbone, tugging my bottom lip. I’m so close, still swallowing his load, still jacking myself off when I turn my head and suck it into my mouth. His still hard dick, his thumb fucking over my tongue, is too much.
“Fuck.” I cough and come so hard I fall forward and end up head-butting against his stomach.
While I’m busy painting floor and fist with my release, McKinney’s muttering sweet praise and affectionately sweeping his hand through my hair.
As soon as I’m with it enough to register what he’s doing, I freak out, pull back, and tuck myself and my mess back into my sweats.
“Do you have to go straight away?” He pouts, tugging me to him with a fist in my shirt the second I’m on my feet.
Staying for round two is tempting. Like I said, he’s big, we had fun hanging out today, and that secret sexual tension feels close to the high I get scoring a goal.
I could easily see myself exploring a little more with him.
And that’s exactly why I can’t.
“You know I do. Don’t make this more than it is, man.”
There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes that I pretend I don’t recognize.
He’s new to this too, he told me as much when he first dragged me in here.
But he reeks of clingy, and that tells me to cut my losses and run.
Just like I have all my other hook-ups this summer.
“Well, maybe we can hang out when our teams play in October.”
“Yeah, sure, maybe.” Sated by that, he leans down to give me a kiss, but I turn my head and slap my palm into his chest. “See ya round, McKinney.”
I feel like a dick, but I have to protect myself. As my hero Spider-Man says, ‘someone’s got to look out for the little guy.’
Who better than the little guy himself.