Chapter 22 Connor
Connor
The entire time I was checking into this hotel, part of me still believed I wouldn’t go through with it, but as soon as I heard the stairwell door open, watching through the door’s peephole as Vox emerged, everything changed.
I knew I was willing to risk it all.
Getting Vox off first had been non-negotiable. Selfishly, if he changed his mind about all of this, I wanted one taste of him that I could remember forever.
But here he is, stark naked in front of me with miles of tan skin in the middle of winter, his cock, already fighting its way back to life, and a look on his gorgeous face that has me concerned I may black out from pleasure before he does.
“You’re staring,” Vox says in a gruff, low voice, his back to the bed behind him.
“Yeah, well, you’re damn near irresistible when you’re in clothes,” I say, stepping directly in front of him. “Out of them, you’re melting my fucking brain,” I admit, wrapping my hand around his cock once more.
God, I just want to touch him everywhere.
Vox looks at me with nothing but heat and desire in his eyes as I pump him. He’s already hard again. Ah, to be twenty-five.
“Your turn,” he says, tugging at my shirt. As soon as we’re skin to skin, I’m confident I’ll lose my fucking mind, but you know what? Vox can have it.
I rip my shirt over my head as he palms me through my pants.
“Faster,” he demands. Apparently, I’m not getting naked quickly enough for him. The thought that I’m driving him crazy, even a fraction as much as he’s making me, makes my cock leak.
Ignoring his demand, I run my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and back down his sides, marveling at the goosebumps left in the wake of my fingers.
“Let me take my time. This might be the only chance I get to admire you like this.”
“You can take your time after you give me what I want,” he argues.
Trailing my lips up his neck, I ask in a whisper, “And what is it that you want?”
“Everything,” he answers without hesitation.
With that admission, it gets about thirty degrees hotter in this hotel room, and suddenly, I can’t get my clothes off fast enough.
Shoving my pants and boxers to the floor, I kick my shoes off, step out of the clothes now around my ankles, and lean down to peel my socks off. I don’t want anything between us. As soon as I’m naked, Vox’s hands are on me, squeezing my pecs, digging into my ass, cupping my balls.
I know exactly how he feels, but it doesn’t stop me from fucking with him just a little.
“Can’t decide where to start?” I tease.
He takes it as a challenge, grabs my shoulders, spins us around, and shoves me onto the bed. Climbing up after me, he lays his naked body along mine, laces our fingers, and pins my hands above my head on the mattress.
The first roll of his hips has me seeing stars.
The second leaves me gasping for breath.
“Doesn’t matter where I start,” he finally says. “I’m focused on the finish. Just like always.”
I wheeze out a strained laugh. “Spoken like the professional athlete you are.”
“Speaking of,”—Vox rolls his hips again, his cock sliding along mine, spreading our precum along our shafts—“how am I doing with that hip-rolling thing you taught me?”
“You’ll probably have a winning finish if you keep it up,” I pant, squeezing his hands for leverage as I grind my hips into his, seeking more friction.
He picks up his pace, but must decide it’s not enough, because he sits back on his heels, straddles my thighs, and takes both of our dicks in his hand. I watch in awe as a trail of spit leaves his mouth and gets added to the moisture already slicking our cocks.
Using a vise grip, he shuttles his fist over both of us while my fingers dig into his thighs as I watch his abs flex every time he thrusts into his hand.
“So fucking hot,” Vox groans. “I’m gonna blow soon, so I need to know…how long do you want to stay in this hotel room?”
I never really took Vox for a planner, but I’m dying to see what he has in mind. I know he’s supposed to meet friends. I know I’m the one who told him to agree to meet them. I was trying to give myself a safeguard, a reason to return him to his real life.
But being in this moment with him, tucked away in a random hotel room, shutting out the rest of the team, the other coaches, the media, his fans, my guilt, and all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this…I want to stay forever.
“As long as you want,” I hear myself say.
Vox flashes his straight white teeth at me and says, “Good answer.”
Then he climbs off the bed.
My dick jerks in protest.
“Uh, Vox? What the hell are you doing?”
He disappears into the bathroom, and a second later, I hear the shower running. Another second after that, Vox reappears, holding out a hand, requesting that I join him.
“There’s no point in beating around the bush. I want to taste every fucking inch of you, and it’s only fair that you have access to all of me as well. And if you recall, I was pulled from an intense practice earlier today with instructions to change, and no time to shower.”
Holy shit.
He’s offering me access to his ass. His perfect, tight, muscular ass.
I’d convinced myself to believe this adventure would consist of blowjobs, a lot of groping, and maybe some wandering fingers, but I wasn’t about to get my hopes up for more, because I wouldn’t have survived the disappointment if more didn’t come.
Yet, here Vox is, in all his god-like, naked glory, offering me the thing I can now finally admit I’ve wanted since I stepped into that bar my first night here: him.
I place my hand in his, and he pulls me from the bed roughly, as if I don’t weigh more than him. I slam into his chest with a harsh exhale.
“I’m beginning to think you like it rough,” I say, leaning forward to bite his shoulder. His groan goes straight to my still-hard dick.
“Surprised?” he asks.
“Not in the slightest,” I answer, filing that information away.
We shower quickly, keeping our hands mostly to ourselves because there isn’t enough room to do more than bathe in here. But as soon as Vox shuts the water off, he drags me back to bed.
“Once I get started, I won’t stop,” Vox informs me. “Is there anything in particular you don’t care for?”
“Yeah, being edged,” I say jokingly, reaching for him, pleading for him to get on with it.
One corner of his mouth turns up in that wicked grin of his. “Sometimes the anticipation is the best part.”
“I’ll remember you said that,” I reply, my fingers tracing the lines at his hips as we face each other on our sides.
Vox stills my hands and looks me dead in the eye.
“I meant, do you prefer doing the fucking or getting fucked, Connor?”
Jesus Christ.
Holding his gaze as best I can, I give him an answer I’ve never given anyone.
“Both.”
When I was at the top of my game as an athlete, my ego wouldn’t let me submit to anyone enough to let them inside me.
I was hellbent on staying on top in every sense of the word, much like Vox’s ritual.
But ever since the accident, my desire to be intimate with someone has been nonexistent, and when the mood does strike, I’m too broken to be on top.
Being a top…a good top…requires a level of care and concern for your partner that I just can’t seem to find anymore. Sex hasn’t been something I’ve enjoyed for quite a while now.
I took on the role of bottoming as a self-inflicted punishment—fucked up, I know.
I’d never say a word or cry mercy if my partner was being too rough or if I wasn’t ready for him.
The more it hurt, the more it relieved my guilt.
I was happy to trade my psychological pain for physical pain every now and then, even if it was only temporary.
But being with Vox makes me crave more, makes me want to be better, makes me want to take Sam’s advice and forgive myself. And those desires have created a pocket of air large enough for me to finally draw a breath.
“I want both,” I repeat with more confidence this time.
“Then, both it is,” Vox says.
Not that I want to interrupt the mood, but before I lose my sanity entirely, I ask, “What about condoms? Lube?” I don’t think I could stand to become more turned on than I am right now and not sink into him, but we’re already risking our careers, so we probably shouldn’t risk our health, too.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” Vox asks, sliding from the bed.
Propping myself up on my elbow, I watch him walk to his discarded jacket on the floor next to his sweater.
“Mad at what?” I ask, bracing for some news that will halt this moment in its tracks.
Vox holds up a sleeve of condoms in one hand and packets of lube in the other.
My brow arches as I bark out a laugh. It’s equal parts relief and anger. Does he always carry condoms ‘just in case’?
“Hey,” he says, walking back toward the bed. “I told you not to be mad.”
“No,” I correct. “You asked if I promised not to get mad. And for the record, I didn’t answer.
” I should just stop there and let him explain why he has all this, but I feel him slipping through my fingers already, and I fucking hate it.
“So, what? You just carry this around in case any ol’ opportunity to fuck someone comes your way?
I mean, it’s not like there’s a shortage.
Being attracted to guys and girls means your options are pretty fucking endless, and it’s clear from the night of the time trials that you’ll capitalize on all of them. ”
I wish I would shut the fuck up. I also wish I could keep the hurt out of my voice.
Vox and I aren’t together, for fuck’s sake. I have no claim over him. He’s twenty-five, which is basically his sexual prime, and I know what a heady combination being beautiful, talented, and sought-after is.
Maybe that’s why I’m so mad. He’s everything I was, and a reminder of everything I’ll never be again.
In a steady voice I envy more than anything, Vox asks, “Are you done?”
I nod my head once, too embarrassed to meet his eyes now that my rant is over.
He throws all the foil packets on the nightstand, grabs my arm, so I’m sitting upright, my legs hanging over the edge of the bed, and my feet planted on the floor. Standing between my knees, he forces my face up and holds me in place.
“I’ll give you one pass for being an asshole because you shared something important with me tonight, and I can only imagine it’s left you feeling a little raw.
But you just used it. Next time, you fucking talk to me before you lash out and say stupid shit you’ll regret later,” he says, claiming all the authority in this interaction.
Vox is the one with all the power here, and he fucking knows it.
He lets go of my chin and grips me by the roots of my hair instead, tilting my head back even further as he presses in closer.
“We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, Connor.
The tension between us is higher than a jet’s cruising altitude.
The looks we share could melt Ricochet. When you pulled me from practice but wouldn’t tell me where we were going, I simply wanted to be prepared in case we ended up here.
” He waves a hand between our naked bodies, letting go of my hair.
Then, he plants his hands on either side of my hips as he leans down, getting in my face.
“The only opportunity I want is this one, right here with you. Those packets are for us. And for the record, I didn’t sleep with anyone the night of the time trials because I was too busy trying to make you jealous so you’d get your head out of your ass and give in to this. ”
Oh.
Well, fuck.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. The response is severely lacking, but it’s where I need to start. “I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for how I acted at practice this afternoon. I’m sorry for ruining this time together with my insecurity and jealousy.”
Vox’s eyes turn darker than a moonless night.
“Do you want to make it up to me?” he asks.
“More than anything,” I breathe, running my hands up his sides.
“Then put your head on the pillow, get comfortable, and lose the words ‘no’ and ‘stop’ from your vocabulary.”
Finally, I smile as I throw Vox’s own words back in his face.
“Yes, sir.”