Chapter 15
AUSTIN
—Fade into You
by Mazzy Star
My cock is buried in Roland Johnson’s arse.
Holy fuck! This is real. My cock is really inside him right now, and he looks wrecked beneath me.
His chest is heaving, his lips swollen from our kiss—I still can’t believe I just fucked his brains out, that I made him come apart on my cock.
Not like my own brain is anywhere in the vicinity, but that’s not the point.
I had messy, filthy, dirty sex with him and he loved it. That’s the part that keeps looping in my head.
Why is there no Bluetooth for dick and arse? Because I’d love to be paired with Johnson’s arse for as long as I live. Maybe I should get innovative, I’m sure a lot of gay and bi men would eat it up and make me a fortune.
Not to sound like an ungrateful dingus for achieving my dream of playing professional football, but if someone burst into this room right now and asks me to choose between my career and staying exactly where I am, I wouldn’t even pretend to hesitate.
I would gladly give football the middle finger just to be glued to this arse.
Jesus Christ. I sound unhinged even in my thoughts.
“Are you asleep?” Johnson chuckles beneath me.
I press my forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in. “I’m in heaven,” I mutter, “and I don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave either, but we need sustenance.” He lifts his head to look at me properly. “And I want to suck your dick.”
He’s trying to kill me, I swear to God.
“You should have led with that,” I say immediately, because honestly, priorities.
We both groan when I pull out, and my body already misses the way he was clenched around me. I’m already looking forward to being inside him again. But for now, the promise of his posh mouth around my cock is enough to tide me over.
We make our way to the bathroom, bare feet against the cool floor.
He splashes water on his face, drops of it clinging to his lashes.
I deal with the condom, glance at myself in the mirror, and nearly laugh at how wild my hair looks.
I run a comb through it. We dress without talking much, but the silence isn’t awkward.
By the time we step out and head towards the restaurant, my brain is fully back online, which means my stomach has also decided to let me know how many calories I burned.
As we walk down the corridor, I feel tempted to grab his hand and lay a claim on him out in the open, which is an insane thing to want.
I’ve always been content with one-night stands and sex without strings. But now . . . ugh.
I settle for moving closer to him, letting my knuckles brush against his.
He looks over at me and gives me a shy smile.
His cheeks lift, eyes bright, like he’s trying to pretend he isn’t absurdly pleased by something as small as our hands touching.
I’ve never seen him this bashful before; his soft, unguarded expression has me wishing I could spend the rest of my life protecting that smile, that I could be the reason it keeps showing up.
In the hotel restaurant, we find only Akintola and Bayero sitting at a table in front of the window.
I consider grabbing my food and dragging Johnson back upstairs so we can pick up right where we left off.
But we decide, after sharing one silent look with each other, to join the guys.
I load my plate with enough pasta to feed a small village.
What can I say? Fucking Johnson took all my energy.
My legs feeling springy and weak at the same time.
“Do you know if the others have eaten?” Johnson asks as we sit.
“Nah,” Bayero shrugs. “We didn’t see anybody when we came in.”
We fall into an easy conversation about the quarter-finals, and how tough we anticipate our match against Croatia might be.
I nod at the right moments and contribute where necessary, pretending I’m not hyperaware of the man sitting next to me.
Every time our knees brush under the table, it’s like there’s a private spark between us; when he leans closer to say something only I can hear, I forget whether I’m a footballer or hockey player.
The guys finish their meal first and announce they’re heading out for a walk.
We finish our meal quickly, and as we’re going back upstairs, I feel an actual bounce in my step.
By the time we step out of the elevator, Johnson suddenly, but lightly, shoves me behind him and bolts down the hallway, cackling without a single care who hears or sees him.
“What are you—” I start, but I’m already jogging after him, laughing because I can’t help it. He looks happy and free.
He gets to the door first, fumbles for the keycard and throws it open just as I catch up. The second the door shuts behind us, he turns, grabs my shirt, shoves me back against it, and fuses our mouth together.
The kiss is messy, our hands reaching for each other, bodies pressing close. My legs turn to jelly as he ravages my mouth. Fucking him must have loosened something in him because this isn’t the man I entered this room with earlier today.
“Do you remember when I had you pinned to the door in Abuja?” he whispers against my lips, not even giving me time to respond. “After you left, I jerked off so hard,” he confesses, his teeth grazing my lower lip. “I’ve been thinking of your cock in my mouth ever since.”
Whoa! That’s some new information right there.
I tuck it somewhere to be brought up later.
His hand slides beneath my shorts, wrapping around my semi and stroking my cock until I’m fully hard.
I suck in a breath as he fondles the tip roughly, knowing exactly how I like it.
His hand works my shaft faster, up and down in rapid succession.
“Your mouth,” I manage, my voice rougher than I expected it be. “Now.”
He pauses, eyes lifting to mine, something akin to amusement is glittering there.
As much as I enjoy ordering him around, I have a feeling he likes following them just as much, regardless that he’s ten years older than me.
Without breaking eye contact, he sinks to his knees in front of me, tugging down my shorts as he goes; it’s easy work since I am going commando.
He exhales audibly when my cock springs free and almost pokes his eyes. His lips part before he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Damn!” he mutters, wrapping one hand around my length and giving it a slow, testing stroke. “How is your dick this big?”
He adds his second hand and starts moving them together in an easy tempo that has me bracing one palm against the door. Fuck! It feels so good.
“And you want me to be humble?” I try to tease before it dissolves into a moan.
He rolls his eyes faintly, but I see curiosity there. He swipes his tongue on the precum at my slit, his eyes hooded as he looks up at me. “Erm,” he says, and he sounds unsure. “I might not be as good as you.”
The vulnerability in his voice softens and wrecks me at the same time. “I know it’s your first time, big guy,” I tell him, threading my fingers into his short hair even though I can’t quite hold on to it. “You’re already off to a good start.”
That earns me a bright, open, and heart-stopping smile. “So,” he says, squeezing my cock slightly. “You’ll tell me what to do?”
“You want me to teach you how to suck a cock?”
He doesn’t even blink. “I want you to teach me how to suck your cock.”
His words make me want to bless his handsome face with my cum.
The whole thing has me close to tipping over the edge.
Him on his knees, begging to be taught how to suck my cock.
There’s no greater turn on than this. And I already know this can’t be just a World Cup fling.
There’s no way I’ll survive going back to normal after this.
I have to find a way to keep seeing him if I don’t want to suffer a bad case of withdrawal.
I’ll cross that bridge when I get there because, right now, he’s watching me like he wants to impress me.
“Do whatever makes you feel good, okay?”
I haven’t even finished speaking when he dives in on my cock.
Jesus. Does he not have a gag reflex? I expect him to choke, to come back up for air, but it seems he’s decided to keep going.
He holds my thighs with one hand and uses the other to brace the base of my cock while he slurps on it.
God, this is beyond compare. I’ve had my share of hookups and meaningless sex, and this, without a doubt, is different.
This feels like it could rearrange my entire life if I let it, it makes me want to wake up next to this man for the rest of my fucking life.
The thought is still ringing in my head when the graze of his teeth yanks me back to the present. It actually makes it better at first, but when he keeps doing it, I start wondering if my skin will survive his enthusiasm. I tap his shoulder and rasp, “Teeth.”
He stops immediately and pulls back, wiping at his mouth. “Sorry, I got carried away.”
There’s something disarming about the way he looks up at me, like he genuinely wants to get it right.
“You’re doing so good. Carry on.”
He grins and then my cock is back in his mouth, his head bobbing slowly up and down, and when I take over, my hips rocking forward as I thrust into his mouth, he doesn’t resist. He just stays there on his knees and takes it.
He lets me use his mouth until my balls draws up tight.
I pull out of his mouth and wrap my hand around my cock, stroking myself.
He looks at me, his eyes slightly unfocused.
“I’m about to come,” I grit out.
“Then come in my mouth,” he says.
I let out a strained laugh. “You may not be able to take it.”
The next thing he does hurries my orgasm along. He reaches down and starts stroking his cock, opens his mouth and pushes his tongue out, looking at me with anticipation. “This way I can control how much of you I take,” he pants.
I come with a long, helpless groan, spurt upon spurt of cum pulsing out of me.
He keeps his mouth open, watching me as he takes what he can, swallowing when he needs to, the rest spilling messily down onto his shirt.
It’s raw and unpolished and imprinted into my mind forever.
A second later he grunts, his own release catching up to him, shoulders tensing before he stills.
I don’t give either of us time to recover.
I grab him and haul him to his feet, still breathless and riding the high.
I swipe the cum dangling at the tip of his cock with my finger.
I hold his gaze when I bring it to my mouth and lick it.
The look that flashes across his face is enough to make me want to start this all over again.
I pull him into me and crash our mouths together. This kiss is filthy in the best way. It is messy, hungry, and tastes like sweat and our cum—I don’t want it to end. I change our position, moving him so his back is against the door. Even through the haze, I hear the faint wince he tries to swallow.
“Did I push you too hard?” I ask breathlessly. He shakes his head and tries to kiss me again, but something clicks. “Are you sore?” I press.
He shrugs, but the answer is written all over his face. There’s a tightness around his eyes and a stiffness in the way he’s standing that tells me more than words would. Why didn’t he say anything?
I lean in and kiss him lightly on the lips. “Come on,” I say, and take his hand, leading us to the bathroom.
While the tub fills, I rummage through the cabinet and, by some miracle, find bath salts.
I pour some in, watching the steam rise, trying not to think about how easily he would have just endured the soreness without a word.
When I turn around, he’s leaning against the wall, watching me intently.
I walk back to him and help him out of his clothes.
Then I strip out of mine and guide him into the tub with me.
The moment we sit, I pull him against my chest. The water laps around us, heat seeping into our tired muscles.
I slide my hands down to massage his arse.
I’m not exactly a professional so it’s awkward and clumsy, but he doesn’t complain.
Afterwards, we dry off and head back into the room. He stops short at the sight of the bed and pouts. “Well, I’m not sleeping there.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “You didn’t call dibs this time, though.”
He rolls his eyes. “We’ll just use that as the sex bed, and sleep on the other one.”
A very logical guy, this one. We change into our pjs and climb into the clean bed.
This time I turn so my back is to his chest, and he immediately moulds himself around me.
His leg hooks over mine, his arm slides around my waist, hand splayed flat against my stomach.
The room is silent and my body is loose from the bath, but it’s the steady warmth of him behind me that makes my eyes finally drift shut.
It’s the best sleep I’ve had in years.