Twenty-Three #3
Miles laughed softly. “Yeah. Always has been, always will be. But I’m working on it, so don’t worry. And Cam’s a steal. He was down in Bradenton for a few years, taking time away from the tour after Jack Worthing retired, but he’s ready to—”
“I’m sorry, hold on, how could your parents possibly object to a physio who used to work for Jack Worthing?”
With a frustrated sigh, Miles spread his arms. “Because he’s a Democrat?
Because he’s Choctaw? Because he doesn’t hate queers?
Take your pick. Or maybe because they can’t control him since his name carries its own weight in this business.
Especially when any other player would employ him in a heartbeat, so he doesn’t need their money.
” He let his arms fall, and after a moment of chewing on his own anger, he stepped close again, hands sliding down my back.
“They are awful, but you are a delight and I resent losing a day with you to them. You did promise to make it up to me though.” His hands reached my arse and he squeezed with a suggestive little groan.
He was doing his thing, escaping difficult emotions by pushing toward sex. Had it been more pressing, I might have stopped him, but forcing him to talk more right now wouldn’t solve this particular problem – his parents a hurt I needed to peck at slowly. And in between, I could be his escape.
“So I did,” I said, kissing the underside of his jaw. “And it just so happens that I have an idea. You stay here.” Pulling from his hold, I headed for the bathroom.
Over the last couple of months, I had slowly learned what he liked, sometimes even tucking away little hints for later use. He’d once made horny comments about my clinging tennis whites during Wimbledon, and so I’d taken a risk and shown up all in white. I turned the shower on.
“What are you doing?” Miles called.
“Nothing,” I called back, and stopping only to kick off my shoes and socks, stepped fully-clothed into the shower.
It felt very silly, but it didn’t take long for the fabric to soak through, sticking to my skin.
I shut the water off, squeezed out the hem of both shorts and shirt so they wouldn’t drip, and stepped out.
A glance in the mirror was enough to satisfy me that I’d achieved the desired effect – shirt transparent and clinging, shorts so wet they were riding up, and my dark hair stuck to my forehead like I’d been out in a storm.
I walked out, nerves thrumming, but any fear he would laugh at me faded as his eyes widened and he bit his lower lip. “Holy fuck,” he groaned. “You are something else. I want to frame you.”
While he stared, I lifted a hand to the back of my neck—not deliberately posing but not not deliberately posing—and he almost wailed, “How are you like this? I can’t decide whether I most want someone to realise that this is absolutely the way to photograph you for a horny magazine spread, or for no one else to ever see this.
It’s your tan skin against the white and the way it shows off your waist and your shoulders, and the way your hair—” He broke off, shaking his head.
“I want to fuck you and look at you from here at the same time.”
“Sadly, you have to make a choice,” I said, trying to hide how gratifying this was.
“Take your dick out.”
Happy to obey, I left a lock of wet hair falling over one eye, and hitched my hardening cock out of my shorts to stroke it.
“Oh my god,” Miles said, leaning back against the sideboard. “How are you mine?”
“I wonder that about you every day.”
He crooked his finger, beckoning me close, and I gladly obeyed that too, letting him run his hands over the clinging wet fabric of my shirt. “You’re not allowed to take any of this off.”
“I don’t need to,” I said, and slid my hands beneath the elastic of both his shorts and boxers, pushing them down. “But you do.”
Miles was hard and groaned as I took him in my hand. “Fuck, I want you in me,” he said, gesturing to the sideboard. “Top drawer.”
Because of course he had been prepared, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn down fucking him anywhere he wanted it.
While I slicked up, he pulled off his shirt and perched atop the sideboard, one foot up leaving him invitingly spread as he watched me. “Speaking of horny magazine spreads . . .” I murmured, tracing a finger from his balls to his hole. “This pose would sell out print runs.”
“Ah, but this one is just for you,” he said, tilting his head back against the wall, the jutting ridges of his throat making beautiful lines.
I set the tip of my cock against him. “All mine? I like the sound of that very much.”
“All yours,” he confirmed, ending on a pleased hum as I pressed slowly inside. Even after so many weeks, the first moments of pushing into him were still unbelievable – the heat and the tightness and the sheer unforgettable fact that it was him and he loved it.
“You feel so good,” I whispered against his temple when I was all in and never wanted to move again.
“So do you.” His hands slid down my back, catching slightly on the damp fabric of my shirt. Once he reached my arse, he pulled me hard against him like our closeness hadn’t been quite close enough. “I could stay right here forever.”
“Mmm, except that Tina needs you downstairs at seven and probably without my dick in you.”
Tightening his hold, he groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been without you too many days to care what Tina says.”
“You mean two days.”
“Two days too many!” he laughed, wiggling his arse against me in growing impatience. “God, Mat, I know what you’re doing but this is torture.”
“Torture, huh?” I rocked a few infinitesimal thrusts against him. “I could do that.”
“Damnit, you’re such a rotten tease!” His laugh became a growl and he dug his fingernails into my arse cheeks like that was anything but adorable.
“Yes,” I said, “and?”
“And I take everything back! You look ridiculous. White doesn’t even suit you. Who even does—”
I leaned in, crushing him against the wall, his legs up on my shoulders like he was a folded lawn chair. “You want me to fuck you?” I said, teasing the head of his cock with light touches. “Then beg.”
Miles shivered, his eyelids fluttering in sheer delight at this sudden manhandling. “Please, Mat,” he breathed. “Please, fuck me.”
“With pleasure.”
While he balanced his weight on his arms, I gripped his thighs, lifting him enough to pound into him the way he liked, earning a guttural, “fuck, yes!” After that, he tried to bite his tongue, but with every thrust the sideboard thudded against the wall and he soon gave up trying to be discreet, instead letting out the most delicious moans.
Without a free hand to stroke him, I hadn’t been sure I could get him there this way, but the days waiting or my wet clothes or this particular position had excited him enough that he came fast and hard and fuck it was hot.
He had been on magazine covers and in TV ads and was a massive star of our sport, yet the hottest thing about him were these raw moments where he was wholly unguarded, at one with the visceral desires of his body.
I’d been holding back, thinking I would need to last much longer, and staring at the cum on his stomach with an appreciative, “fuck!” I kept going.
With hitched little moans, Miles encouraged me on like he did when we were training, only instead of ‘one more, you’ve got this’ it was ‘fuck yes, Mat, use me, come in me, do it’. Not a difficult command to obey.
Once I was done, he wrapped his long legs tightly around me so I couldn’t pull out. “That was fucking amazing,” he said. “We should do that more often.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. Although . . .” Miles plucked at my sleeve, peeling it off my skin with a theatrical grimace. “This must be uncomfortable.”
“It’s actually not that bad,” I said, and rubbed my sodden chest against his with a grin. “Better than playing in high humidity and dripping sweat everywhere. I, uh . . . may have to borrow some clothes to make it back to my room though.”
Wrapping his arms around me, he buried his laughter into the side of my neck. “Oh my god, I love you, you idiot.”
My heart swelled. “I love you, too.”