Chapter 18
AUSTIN
—Run to You
by Ocie Elliot
Coach Thompson catches Bayero and me just as we reach the tunnel leading out of the arena.
“Hold up a second,” he says, motioning for us to stop as a couple of sports reporters approach with microphones and cameras already raised.
The bright light from the field spills into the hallway behind us, and the noise from the crowd carries through the concrete and refuses to die down.
Sweat is cooling on my skin now that the game is over, and my jersey is clinging to my back in that uncomfortable way that makes me crave a hot shower.
A microphone appears in front of my face, and someone asks about the final minutes of the game.
My mouth moves and words come out as I answer.
The questions blur together while I nod and say something about teamwork and staying focused.
I have done this enough times to know what they want to hear, but I couldn’t repeat a single answer if someone asks me to, what with my mind already planning how to get Johnson alone.
Eventually, Coach thanks the reporters and gives us a quick pat on the shoulder before sending us on our way.
We’re halfway down the hall when we see Akintola coming towards us.
He stops when he sees us, two bags hanging from his hands, and he still looks exactly like he did on the pitch, which lets me know he hasn’t showered.
“Johnson is taking us to dinner,” he explains, handing one of the bags to Bayero, “so we all agreed to shower and get ready at the hotel.”
“I should go grab my bag then,” I say as they leave.
The locker room is empty when I walk in, the noise from earlier is gone, replaced by the low thrum of the lights overhead and the faint drip of a shower somewhere down the row.
My footsteps echo a little as I make my way down the room, my legs sluggish now that the adrenaline has finally worn off.
The abandoned towels on the benches make the room smell like sweat.
I can’t wait to get out. I reach my locker and pull it open, the metal door creaking on its hinges.
I lift my arms, ready to peel off my jersey, when a warm hand slides across my waist, fingers spreading against my stomach as Johnson’s familiar woodsy scent—that I’ve become obsessed with—fills my nose.
“I’m drenched and smelly,” I feel obliged to point out even as I’m leaning back into him.
His chest presses against my back, and both of his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him. “I don’t care,” he whispers in my ears. His breath brushes against my skin before his tongue flicks over my earlobe. “I’ve missed you.”
It’s such a small thing to say, but he has no idea how much those words mean to me. How something as simple as his arms around me in an empty locker room can make my whole chest feel lighter.
I turn in his hold so I can face him properly. Up close, he’s even more handsome than I remember, and there’s something soft in his expression when his eyes meet mine. All that fear I had about disappointing him melts away, and the look on his face makes my stomach do an annoying little somersault.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I tell him.
I grab the front of his jersey and because he’s taller than me, I have to tiptoe to reach his mouth.
I manage it just fine, my fingers bunching the fabric in my fist as I pull him down and kiss him.
He grunts into my mouth; I swallow the sound like it belongs to me.
Like everything he gives me belongs to me.
The kiss starts slow and that throws me off because every other time we’ve kissed, it was hungry and desperate.
But this one is gentler and full of so much emotion.
I feel like I might choke and say something silly .
. . like marry me or I love you. On a normal day, that would scare the shit out of me, but right now, I really don’t mind.
I really would marry him if that were an option.
Wait.
Hold the fuck on.
Fuck me! I actually love him. In fact, I’ve been in love him for a very long time, all the while pretending it was something inane like a crush, or simple admiration.
Deciding that this kiss is messing with my head, I fix the problem the only way I know how.
I turn us around until his back bumps against my locker, the metal rattling behind him as I press closer.
My hand leaves his jersey and slides up to the side of his neck, my finger curling there as I pull him back into another kiss. This time I don’t keep it gentle.
I kiss him deeper, pouring every confusing thought and feeling into it, dialling up the heat. The kiss becomes teeth scraping and tongue sliding together and everything I cannot say with words.
“Fuck,” he rasps against my mouth. “I want you so badly.”
“We don’t have supplies,” I rasp back.
The words barely make it out before I stop the hottest kiss of my life, my chest rising and falling while I look at him, my brain spinning fast until an idea forms.
I hold out my hand to him; he takes it without hesitation.
His fingers close around mine, and I tug him along behind me to the showers at the end of the locker room.
I start pulling my jersey off as soon as we’re there, and then I reach for his too.
I lift it up his chest until he raises his arms and bends down so I can drag it over his head too.
“We have to be fast,” I tell him, “so we’re not late to that dinner you’re taking the team to. I can’t wait to see the wine you’ll pick.”
“You’ve heard about that?” he asks as he reaches past me to turn on the shower. Water sputters for a second before a steady stream starts pouring down. “I, uh—” he starts, then cuts himself off.
I step into him and wrap a hand around his half-hard cock, leaning in to suck at the side of his neck, his skin warm and tasting faintly of salt.
“You what? Don’t leave me hanging.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a curse. He bends down a little until his forehead is resting against mine. “I came up with it because I wanted to take you out before we leave,” he admits, his voice dropping lower; the longing in it impossible to miss.
I just stare at him, my brain stalling completely.
He planned a team dinner so he could take me out?
Yeah, words are not happening right now.
So instead, I drop to my knees. I wrap my hand around his cock and lean forward to lick across the tip before taking him in my mouth.
The taste of him spreads across my tongue and he exhales audibly above me.
It doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard in my mouth. I don’t bother teasing him tonight because we don’t have the luxury of time. I just get to it, bobbing my head and taking as much of him as I can, while the water from the shower begins to warm the air around us.
I enjoy the sounds he makes, the groans he tries to swallow down, and the way his breathing becomes more uneven the longer I keep sucking him off.
Because I know what he likes by now, I move one of my hands lower and cup his balls, squeezing it gently while my other hand trails to his hole, circling his rim the way I know drives him crazy.
His body jerks slightly above me, and he reaches down and pulls the tie from my hair, freeing my afro from the bun I always tie it in for games.
My curls fall loose around my shoulders, and his hand grips it as I keep working him with my mouth.
His moans travel straight to my groin, propelling me to keep going.
When I press one finger into his hole, his body tightens and he clenches around me, a broken groan leaving his throat at the same time his cum starts hitting my tongue.
His grip in my hair crosses into painful as he empties his load down my throat, but I don’t pull away.
I stay right there and swallow everything he gives me.
When his breathing finally starts to steady again, his grip loosens.
I pull back and make sure he’s finished before I stand up from the floor, my legs wobbling when I stand.
Before he can say anything, I turn him around so his back is facing me.
He stiffens when I step closer to him and drag my cock along the line of his arse, so I massage his lower back.
“I’m not fucking you without any prep,” I say, chuckling.
“Can you hold your thighs together though?”
He glances at me over his shoulder, then nods and shifts his stance, bringing his thighs together the way I asked.
I slide my cock between his thighs, nudging forward until I’m snug there, pleasure surging through my body at the contact.
Just like the blowjob I gave him, I don’t waste time dragging this out.
I thrust between his tight thighs while holding onto his hips to balance myself.
The friction is perfect, and my mind does the rest of the work, imagining it’s his hole until my orgasm crashes through me.
I groan as I come, spilling my cum across his thighs and the tiled wall in front of him.
For a moment neither of us move, then he turns around to face me. “That’s so hot,” he says.
I grin at him, still catching my breath. “You can do that to me later,” I finally reply.
He gives me a small smile that I would probably overanalyse, but my brain is still pleasantly foggy from my orgasm, so I let it slide. “Are you always the one to, uhm,” he gestures between us.
It takes me a few seconds to figure out what he’s trying to ask and when it clicks, I huff out a laugh.
“I’ve never bottomed,” I tell him honestly, reaching for the bath gel. “But I can for you if you want.”
His smile turns shy in a way that looks strange on someone like him, and he shakes his head. “I think one of the reasons I wasn’t good at sex with women,” he says slowly, “is because I don’t want to do too much. I’ve realised I prefer to be on the receiving end, if you get what I mean.”
“You are a born bottom,” I tease and slap his arse.