Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DIEGO
My head is spinning and I’m feeling reckless as hell, letting my fingertips graze the inside of Callan’s forearm as we leave the club and make our way down the street.
I wish I could blame it on alcohol, but I only had one beer.
Even if I did chug half of it, that’s nowhere near enough to make me feel like this.
It’s all Callan, and I don’t understand why, but I hope the feeling sticks around, at least for a little while.
I can’t remember the last time I felt like this—wild and impulsive and excited. I’m not sure I ever have, actually.
“It’s not far,” he says, his fingers twitching before he stuffs his hand into his pocket, like he was thinking about reaching for me and then realized it was a bad idea. “Just around the corner and down a block.”
“Close to work, that must be nice.” I’m not sure what else to say. I’ve never had a problem with the small talk that comes before a hookup, but everything about Callan throws me off my game.
In a few minutes we’re going to be alone again, in his apartment, tearing each other’s clothes off and doing things that are definitely going to force me to consider that laundry list of sexualities AJ and Slater rattled off.
Maybe finding something that feels normal and safe to talk about until we get there is okay.
“It’s convenient,” he agrees.
“The travel is the worst part of playing hockey.” I stuff my hands into my pockets too so I don’t give in to the urge to touch him again before we get there.
“Not the injuries?” He chuckles.
I can see how he would expect me to say that, considering how nervous I was to even get back on the ice last week when he took me, but I shrug.
“Injuries are just part of the deal. At least I haven’t lost any teeth.” I flash him a wide smile to show off my mouthful of pearly whites.
“Yet,” he teases.
“Fair enough.” I laugh and we slow to a stop in front of a brick building that has a small bike shop on the ground floor with apartments above it, and he leads the way around to the side entrance.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he warns, unlocking the door and leading me up a narrow staircase to the second floor.
“Not really here to judge, dude.” I crowd up behind him as he unlocks the door to his apartment.
Now that we’re alone again, small talk is the last thing on my mind.
I can still feel the ghost of the bass pounding in my chest, the sensation of his body pressed up against mine in the crowded bar, moving against each other like no one could see that we were practically fucking.
There’s a tiny voice in the back of my head that’s still sane enough to worry if anyone might have taken a picture or a video of that, and to wonder what his friends are saying now that I’m sure they’ve noticed we left together.
But it’s much quieter than the parts of me that are focused on the here and now, wondering what exactly is going to happen in a few seconds when we step inside his apartment and the door swings closed behind us, getting off just a little bit on the not knowing.
I slide my hand underneath Callan’s shirt from behind, dragging my fingertips along the hard muscles on either side of his spine, feeling the slightest dampness of sweat from dancing and from the heat outside.
There’s something masculine and primal about it that I never expected would turn me on, but my dick is rock hard and aching to grind against the hard planes of his muscles again, or better yet, the stiff, throbbing length of his cock.
There’s nothing straight about the way I’m feeling right now, and I can’t find any part of me left that wants to pretend there is.
The door swings open and Callan takes a step forward into his dark apartment. I’m right behind him, sliding my hands around to his front, still under his shirt, feeling the trail of hair beneath his belly button and the clench of his abs.
“Then what are you here for, Fergie?” he asks in a gruff, teasing tone, pressing his ass against my cock.
I run my nose along the slope of his neck, and my hand finds its way downward, slipping under his shorts and into his jock so I can wrap my fingers around his hot, stiff shaft.
Callan groans and grinds his ass harder against my dick, tilting his head to give me better access to his throat.
He’s as tall as I am and definitely wider, built sturdy with plenty of muscle, but that doesn’t stop him from melting against me.
I drag my tongue along the same path my nose just took, from the base of his neck all the way up to his earlobe.
“To fuck you,” I murmur, squeezing his cock and drawing another moan from his chest, feeling his hips twitching and his cock throbbing in my grasp. “But first…”
I let go of him and he groans again, but this one is full of disappointment that makes me chuckle and want to beat my chest with a sense of primal pride that he doesn’t want me to stop touching him.
I spin him around and he doesn’t fight me on it, although part of me wishes he would just a little.
Can I ask him for that? Can I tell him that I want us to get just a little bit rough with each other?
I shake my head to regain my focus. One thing at a time. Callan watches me with a mixture of lust and amusement etched on his face, waiting to see what my next move is. He said all I have to do is ask, but I don’t want to ask. I’m tired of talking, I want our bodies to do it for us.
I grab a fistful of his shirt, just like I did while we were dancing, and close the space between us again, crashing our bodies together and demolishing the invisible barrier that’s lived between our mouths for the past few weeks.
There’s nothing gentle or careful about the way our lips meet.
His mouth is hot and I can feel the stubble on his chin against mine.
His fingers tangle in my hair as he parts his lips and growls into my mouth.
My heart thunders and my whole body aches, from my scalp down to my toes and everywhere in between, with an awareness I’ve never felt before.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, too breathless to form any thoughts that aren’t about Callan’s mouth, his body, or getting him naked as quickly as possible.
I shove my tongue between his lips and we both moan, the muffled sound reverberating between us as I stumble forward on impulse and press him up against the nearest wall just so I can feel more of his body against mine.
His hard thighs against mine, our chests moving together with every heavy breath we both drag in between deep, hungry, tongue-heavy kisses.
Even through the layers of our clothes, the feeling of his cock dragging against mine makes my balls tighten and precum drool down my crown.
We pant into each other’s mouths and tug at each other’s clothes.
“Let’s go to my bedroom,” he murmurs, nipping at my bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.
Fuck yeah. Bedroom good. Naked. Condoms. Fucking. Want.
I press my body harder against his though, pinning him to the wall and hoping he’ll understand the challenge without me needing to form the words.
Callan grunts around my tongue and gives my chest an experimental shove.
I smile against his lips and move just enough to encourage him to shove me again.
A muffled laugh vibrates in his chest, and he rises to the challenge, pushing me again.
We break the kiss for just a second and trade a look in the dark hallway, damp lips twisted into playful smirks, daring each other to make a move.
Callan breaks first, lunging at me and slamming me roughly into the opposite wall.
My cock spasms and drools enough precum to make my briefs damp and sticky, and our mouths meet again in an even rougher kiss.
I shove back against him, not afraid to use the full force of my strength, knowing there’s no way it’s going to be too much for him to handle.
He moves, but not without grabbing the front of my shirt and dragging me along with him, making me feel like a rag doll for just a few seconds until I regain my footing and we start to tussle, our bodies and our tongues clashing.
We’re sucking and biting each other’s lips, trading grunts and growls as we stumble our way down the hallway towards his bedroom.
Our touches don’t get any more gentle when we reach our destination and start yanking each other’s clothes off.
I hear the sound of a seam ripping as Callan wrestles my shirt off before our bare chests crash together again.
Shoes, shorts, underwear; we manage to get them all off while we shove and scuffle, panting into each other’s mouths as much as we’re kissing until we tumble onto his bed in nothing but our socks.
Why does it seem sluttier to be wearing our socks than to both be wearing nothing at all? I don’t have the slightest clue and I’m not going to waste any energy questioning it. Not when Callan is already grabbing lube and a condom from his nightstand and tossing them onto the bed between us.
CALLAN
If I weren’t so fucking turned on right now, I might spare a second to think about how un-fucking-fair it is that Diego is so damn perfect, yet completely unattainable in any real way.
My adrenaline is pumping from the playful tussling, and my cock is so hard I’m almost dizzy from the lack of blood flow anywhere else.
He’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had brought to life and dropped right into my lap…
naked, and I still have to find some way to remind myself that this isn’t anything more than a fun distraction for him.
But how can I complain when the distraction he’s looking for tonight involves his dick in my ass?
“Suit up and give me a second to get myself ready.” I wink and toss the condom to him, picking up the bottle of lube for myself.