Chapter 20
TWENTY
Afew weeks later, finals over, grades posted, and texts from my parents sat unread on my phone, I found myself in my favorite place on earth—sprawled across Slone’s chest. Today he half-lay, half-sat, slouched back into the corner of the enormous sectional sitting in front of his massive television.
The screen flickered as The Last of Us played.
Neither of us seemed to be really paying attention to the show.
Slone’s breathing had evened out to where he was moments from dropping off to sleep.
And I, well, this spot put me in a tranquil place that allowed me to think about my future without spiraling.
I had one year left before the Warden’s rights to me ended.
It was fucking scary to get this close to my goal and not get there, but the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t know if I wanted them to extend a contract.
They’d jerked me around for three goddamn years.
If they didn’t sign me before then, I’d be a free agent.
That brought with it several worries, but also a smidgen of control over where I ended up.
Sighing, I pushed the thoughts of the Wardens and the NHL away and settled further into Slone’s embrace.
“Why didn’t you call?” he asked in a soft whisper that spoke volumes.
What? Oh, shit. The conversation we should’ve had that first day in this loft, that with every moment I spent here felt like home.
“I didn’t have your number,” I said with a rueful sigh.
“Trey, it was on the note I left for you.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. Written at the bottom under my name.”
I tried picturing it, but it wouldn’t come. “All I carried out of the loft in Nashville was my phone.” All my other possessions had been at the hotel I was supposed to stay in with the boys.
“Shit. I hadn’t considered that,” he said, his voice doing that trailing-off thing that spoke volumes about how much more he wanted or had to say.
I feared what might come next. I could have easily found his number.
I could’ve texted Aiden or Coach Storm, but I hadn’t.
Instead of waiting for him to point out all the ways I could’ve gotten the number, I realized we needed to be honest and open with one another if we wanted to make our dynamic work.
“I was scared.” The words broke free before the thought had fully formed.
Even though it sat in the back of my mind like a living, breathing thing every single day.
Every hour. Every minute. Every second. It sat there.
Lived there. From the moment I lost sight of him at the airport to when I saw him downstairs.
“Of me?” The inflection and tone in his words startled me. As did the shock that painted his face when I looked up at him. “You thought I would hurt you?”
“No,” I said quickly to assure him. “No, Slone. I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, I was afraid, but not…not physically. And not of you. More like…”
The air grew still. Tense. It stretched and pulled until it snapped. “Like what?”
“I wasn’t scared of you. More like of myself? Of letting someone in? You said that if we did…if we did…this…what you proposed, it would be exclusive. It would be real.”
He nodded. “I’m too old to play games, Trey. I’ve played all I want to play. I want something real. Besides that, I respect myself and you too much to use you that way.”
We were a nodding pair, given my head bobbed in response.
“I know that now, but I was still in some weird situationship with a couple of teammates who thought we were moving toward something more. Something they both thought I knew they wanted and something they thought I wanted as well.”
“At the time…so…”
“Over. I’ve not had sex with either or both of them since before Nashville.”
“Before?”
“Since before our last game. Something about the way you looked at me when I came out of the box…”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Slone. I am.”
“What are you sorry for, Trey?”
I sighed. I didn’t really know. I just knew I was.
“I’m sorry I deflected this conversation the day I showed up here. I’m sorry if you worried there was a reason for my silence.”
He pulled me to him, our lips meeting in a soft kiss. I loved the feral, sexy Daddy Dom—not that I called him that yet—but I loved this sweet, loving side of him, too. Our lips parted, and he rested his forehead against mine.
“We agreed to respect each other and have conversations about the things that bother us the day we worked out the rules. Communication is key, especially while we’re getting to know each other and learning what works for us and our dynamic.
And now that we’ve gotten tested and ditched the condoms. Hiding, either by not maintaining eye contact or not contacting or avoiding the other person or topic, can be detrimental and create distrust.”
“But…” I pressed, since the thought felt unfinished.
“But sometimes waiting to have a conversation until you feel comfortable and safe and settled is better than rushing into it too soon.”
“You are so smart.” I meant for the word Daddy to come after those words, but it got stuck in my throat.
“So are you, baby boy.”
I slipped off his lap onto the floor, pushing his legs apart. “I want you in my mouth,” I whispered, pulling at the waist of his joggers.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes. I just need you.”
“Ah! My bratty, little cockwarmer wants to edge himself before he gets fucked.”
“Yes!” I gasped.
“I’m so fucking lucky to have such a smart, little slut. Daddy wants his boy, too,” he muttered, lifting his hips to push the pants off his knees while moving out of the corner of the sofa so his legs bracketed me.
I folded his pants and placed them on the sofa within easy reach instead of throwing them over my shoulder.
Slone’s preference. I didn’t give a fuck, but I enjoyed pleasing him.
He held out the cushion he presented me with the first time he put me on my ass, never my knees, to warm his cock.
That cushion now lives in the corner of the sofa.
I placed it under my ass, folding my legs in front of me so they rested against the front of the sofa.
“Comfortable?” he asked as he pulled off the shirt he wore and slipped it under his thighs to catch the mess I would definitely make.
“Yes, sir,” I murmured.
His big hand wrapped around his semi-hard shaft, and I leaned forward, wetting my lips slightly.
Slone liked the way his cock rasped against the barely moist flesh when he entered me.
I did as well. As he fed his cock into my mouth, I inhaled.
The magnetic, salty scent filled my nose, drew me in, and redirected my blood, what wasn’t already heading toward my cock, south.
Lightheaded giddiness filled me. I always got so fucking hard whenever we did this, but especially when the endgame was him railing my ass until I begged him to stop.
Not that I really wanted him to stop. I just enjoyed saying it—a lot.
Sometimes I’d come just sitting here with his dick in my mouth.
I always got fucked good then. It happened more often than not.
A Pavlovian response? Probably. If he read to me while he lay on my tongue unmoving, coming hands-free was a given.
“You’re so perfect for Daddy, baby boy. You take me beautifully,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone.
I hummed in the back of my throat, looking up at him as I did so. He hissed, his hand gripping my hair. “Brats who tease Daddy do not get rewards,” he said.
A deep breath entered through my nose at the possibility that Slone would deny me.
That was the worst. When this was over, I wanted his cock, so I needed to behave.
The breath slipped free of my hold, and my eyes closed in a couple of slow blinks.
Slone guided my head to rest on his thigh.
A moment later, his voice rumbled as he read to me from a book he had on his eReader: erotic stories about boys and their Daddies and all the things they could do together.
Words from the story floated around me. Reality fell away, receding like the tide, only to return. Sometimes softly. Sometimes in a rush. Through it all, the low, deep, raspy rumble of Slone’s voice blanketed me, comforting me.
Until it didn’t.
The peace of holding him in my mouth disappeared not suddenly but like a slow, foggy mist rolling back to reveal everything hidden by it only moments before.
Slone’s voice grew more and more prominent.
And the more aware of him and the words he spoke I became, the harder my cock got.
The more it throbbed. Then my hole spasmed and joined the torture Trey party.
I gasped.
“Breathe, baby, you’re okay. Daddy’s here.”
I whined. I needed more; I needed him.
He pulled me off his now rock-hard, throbbing dick, using the shirt under him to clean the drool I only just noticed from my face and his legs.
“Such a good, little cockwarmer. You deserve a treat. Do you want to ride me?” I shook my head, and he smiled, “Or do you want me to pin you down and fuck your tight, little ass?”
I nodded. “That. Please, that.”
He stood me up, stripped me, then positioned me on the couch on my back.
“No, please…” I preferred head down, ass up when I felt this needy and clingy.
“Are you safe wording, or is Daddy’s little slut just complaining?”
“No!” I gasped, knowing he was going to ask if wanted to use the safe word even though I hadn’t said it.
“No! Not safe wording.” I didn’t want that.
I really, really didn’t. I wanted him to fuck me.
Turning into a tear-stained, begging mess with snot running down my face was humiliating, but I secretly loved that he tore away all the filters.
“I didn’t think so. Daddy prefers looking at his little slut when he begs and cries for him. It’s the best present ever,” he said. “Now grab your knees.”
I pulled them to my chest, and he rolled me onto my shoulders, sliding his thighs under my lower back to hold me in place—my ass resting against his torso. So out of it, I jumped when he cleared his throat and a long string of spit leaked from his mouth onto my exposed hole.
“Holy shit! That’s…” A gasp cut off my words.
His fingers—first one, then immediately he added another—twirled through the spit and breached me.
They spread and fucked and rubbed as he fucked my hole, pegging me perfectly to send electric shocks arcing through me.
He added a third finger and a twisting motion to the fucking, spreading, rubbing, and pegging.
His knuckles scraped over the nerves buried inside me.
One pass, then another of his knuckles, then he curled his fingers, tickling and dragging his fingers over the perfect spot, relentless.
My brain went offline. “Slone!” I screamed.
“Don’t fucking come,” he commanded.
I gripped my cock, squeezing it tight at the base. Tears ran down my face as I sobbed, “Please. Please. Oh, fucking God, please. I need your cock. I need to come.”
“You beg so fucking pretty. How can I deny you?”
A bottle of lube appeared, upended in his hand as if by magic. The drizzle pouring from the tip ran down his hand and into my hole where he held me spread open. The cool liquid did nothing to cool the lust and need inside me.
“FUCK!” I screamed, the word forcing its way up my throat from my soul and out through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. It echoed off the walls.
Slone moved back, my ass dropping into his lap before he raised onto his knees, my legs pushed up onto his shoulders.
The head of his cock pressed and pressed and pressed.
I arched my back as he entered me; the motion tilting my hips.
The first thrust nailed my prostate, and not coming was no longer an option.
Cum shot from my tip as another scream ripped from my throat.
“Motherfuck!” he grunted, his hips setting up a relentless pace, pegging me over and over.
The orgasm tearing me apart went on and on even after cum quit spurting from my tip. Too sensitive. Too, too sensitive. My cum-sticky hand fell from my soft flesh to push at his straining abs, trying—albeit half-heartedly—to lessen the brutal pounding.
“Look how beautiful you are spread out under Daddy with my cock splitting you open.”
“Fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. It hurts. Oh fuck. Jesus fuck, it hurts.”
He paused and asked, “You okay?”
“Too good. It’s so good.”
His hand grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. “Color, baby boy.”
Oh God, he couldn’t stop. “Green!”
“Thank fucking God,” he groaned, his hands falling to my shoulders to hold me in place.
He fucked into me, this new position setting me on fire. My vision pulsed with my heartbeat. Air whooshed in and out, burning my lungs, clawing at my throat. My cock, lying soft on my belly, twitched, and everything seized. “Fuck!”
“Yo Abraham! You home?”
“What the…” Abraham?
“Shit!” Slone grunted, his rhythm gone as he thrust into me in short, hard bursts. His cock pulsed inside me, and he fell over me.
A giggled “Oops” sounded from the kitchen.
“Is that…”
“Ewen, what the hell are you doing in my fucking loft?”