Chapter 17
Dylon
I didn’t picture Lars as a cuddler, but the man held me all night long like I was the most precious thing he’s ever touched. We were up all night and couldn’t keep our hands off each other to sleep. I may never sleep again. How could I when he’s right there—so warm and hard and fucking incredible? A guy could get used to this.
Lars stands naked in the middle of his room, scrolling. He’s a captivating modern-day sculpture: Man On His Phone. “Since we are up, let’s get this date started.”
“Ugh, MSA, noooooo.” I smash my head into the pillow. “Too early.”
His naked weight settles over my back, and I push my butt up. Lars kisses my ear. “None of that. You’re insatiable. We’ll have to experiment to see what it takes to wear you out and dry you up.” I’m nodding at his words.
Sex has been good and achieved the goal in the past, but not this ravenous hunger where I can’t get enough of someone. Maybe I’m lucky for figuring this out or unlucky for how long it took. All my brain power has diverted to planning how we can have quickies on the road.
“What does MSA mean?” His breath fans over the back of my neck, making the little hairs stick up. Every part of my body stands up for him.
“My Swedish Adonis. You’re human perfection.” I shrug and can’t resist a little teasing. “I was going to go for MHHBL, but that’s too many letters. ”
“Hmm.” He weaves our fingers together and pulls our hands over my head. “And what does that mean?”
“My hunka hunka burning love, of course.”
“What am I going to do with you?” His lips move on my shoulder as he speaks into my skin. “Those letters are banned from your lips.” His teeth sink into my shoulder, and I shudder.
“Fine. No cool code nicknames.” I rotate my hips and buck up. “As I said last night, I watched some gay porn so I got lots of ideas.”
“Do you really want to skip date day?” he asks, and I hear his desire to make me happy mixed with a tinge of disappointment.
“No. Give me the full Lars date treatment. Wine and dine me, baby.” I say “baby” as a joke, but the man melts on top of me as if he’s become a pile of goo. I commit that to memory.
“It’s an unusually warm day, and there’s an open-air yoga class in Central Park.” He brings our joined hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.
“That sounds…” Words escape how thoughtful it is. He’ll practice yoga with me, but he’s not flexible. Too uptight, I tell him. But I love that he’s doing it for me.
“We can do something else.” He takes my silence as rejection.
“I love it. Sorry, I was picturing you in downward dog and how hard it’s going to be not to bite your ass.” I chuckle.
He swiftly lifts off me and swats the back of my thigh. “Time to go.”
The sun is high in the sky and the leaves a riot of color, turning Central Park postcard perfect. Many tourists are out snapping pictures so I’ve got my ball cap pulled low. Lars borrowed one of mine since all of his have the team logo on it.
The class has more diversity than I expected, and we aren’t the only men. Lars’s long muscular body struggles to hold the positions, but he’s grinning at me and I’m the one who falls out of pose. Lars does everything with efficiency, and grins are saved for special occasions. I’m his special occasion today, and again, it’s better than any drug-induced high I’ve ever had.
I’m a dumbass for not realizing how much this man means to me. That my gratitude is only a sliver of my feelings .
My body shakes, holding in laughter, as Lars tries to relax into Savasana as we end the class. He’d be more relaxed lying naked in the middle of our ice rink. “You good?”
He tilts his head, and our gazes snap together. Suddenly I’m hyperaware. The cool air brushes my heated skin, and below my mat, a lump of uneven grass digs into my shoulder blades and back. The air smells crisp, as if it will snow soon, and of damp earth.
But most of all, his eyes tell me the story of us. How he’s always good when I’m near him. The immense need to reach out and touch him holds my limbs hostage. The class ends, but we don’t move, staying locked in the bubble of us where no one else exists. A siren blares in the distance, breaking us out of our cocoon. Everyone has left but the instructor.
Lars stands, holding out his hand to help me up. Next time, I’ll be the one helping him up. Giving him the care he’s given me.
After showering, our next stop is a swanky spa in Midtown, and I have to turn away from the reception desk to keep from laughing when Lars gives our fake names. I’m Mr. Caraste, the American version of his pet name for me, and he’s Mr. Puckerton. Points for originality. Everything invokes serenity with earth tones and quiet nature sounds. We’re whisked away to a dressing area and told to remove as much clothing as we feel comfortable with. I strip to my boxer briefs and don the robe, then sneak into Lars’s changing area for a kiss or two or three before someone clears their throat and we exit.
The blush on Lars’s fair skin thrills me, and I can’t wait to find new ways to get him to shed his stiff exterior.
We’re led into a rose-colored room filled with a eucalyptus scent and a TV playing ocean waves. There are two tables next to each other so we’ll be able to talk and touch if we reach out.
Now I understand the fake names and cash payment. No record of two pro hockey players getting a couples massage.
The massage therapist leaves, giving us privacy to slip under the sheets without exposing ourselves.
“Do people do this naked?” I whisper curiously .
“I assume so. But…” He trails off, and it doesn’t need to be said that we won’t be doing it. It’s risky enough without added nudity.
A pair enters and introduces themselves. Lars does the talking, invoking his accent in a way I’ve never heard. According to him, we’re here for a few days on business and their spa came highly recommended.
At first, I keep my face in the cradle, but when she asks me to roll over, Lars and I stare at each other again. His face remains stoic, but his eyes are as deep as the ocean with a million emotions, and today I’m his focus. I see a terrifyingly beautiful life for us. A life I’m determined to make happen against the odds.
“How do you feel?” he asks once we’re left alone after our session.
“Boneless. She really dug into sore muscles.” I sit up and roll my shoulders. His eyes linger on my back, and my heart hitches with excitement.
“The showers here are private, and we’re all oiled up.” I raise my eyebrows.
“You cannot be quiet if your life depended on it. I will shower you at home.” Lars swings his legs off the table and grabs his robe.
I’m fascinated by how he says he’ll shower me, not he’ll shower with me.
By the time we leave, I’m amped up and impatient. In the rideshare, I press my leg into his but can’t look at him. Any glance will cause a situation in my pants unsuitable for being out in public.
Lars leads me into his walk-in shower. There’s plenty of room for us with two shower heads—one fixed to the wall and the other on the ceiling. The sleek black marble matches his personality and makes me smile. My broody Swede could use a little more light in his life.
I’m under the ceiling spray, and he tugs me out to shampoo my hair. His fingers massage my scalp, a new erogenous zone, zinging nerve endings to life everywhere. He sifts through my hair as he rinses, and I lean into his touch.
“You’re hired. Can you do this every time?” I ask, and he kisses the knot at the top of my spine.
“It could get awkward in the team showers when you’re moaning like a porn star. The guys might object. What do you say? TMI?” His voice is light and unbothered.
“Will we tell them?” I ask, my voice cracking .
“It’s our first date. We do not have to decide now.”
His hands cup my head, and the panic recedes, quickly replaced with guilt. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” So many thoughts race through my mind I can’t sort through them all.
“Hey.” His thumbs stroke my cheekbones. “It took Patrik a long time to confirm what we suspected about him and Trevor. It was obvious at Thanksgiving dinner, but they kept it to themselves. We can be us and protect what we have right now. We are allowed to keep this private.”
My body sags into him, and his embrace, along with the water, helps me block out all the ways I’m afraid I’ll let him down. “I want to shout it from the rooftops and also never tell a soul.” I hate being judged by strangers, good or bad. Some people expect Patrik to be a spokesperson for gay athletes and he’s bi. And he’s not exactly the kind of guy who wants that attention.
“I know you here.” His hand rests over my heart. “We decide together about our relationship and if we include others.”
“You’re suggesting we find more people for a poly relationship like Jayce? Did you know gray wolves form monogamous bonds but copulate outside of the pairing?” My arms band around him so he can’t get away from my nonsense.
“I do not share.” His words are firm and hit me, body and soul. “You are mine until you decide you are not.”
I like his declaration so much I’m weightless and happy to return the favor. “I am,” I agree, picking him up and swaying side to side. “You’re mine and I’ll fight anyone who dares to get between us.”
“You are more likely to lick them to death,” he deadpans, referring to my golden retriever energy.
“First, I’ll lick you to death.” I sink to my knees, and his eyes go wide.
“Are you sure?” His fingers knot in my hair, and he tugs my head back, looking me in the eye.
“You can tell me if I suck at it.” I laugh at my joke, nervous but ready to please. We live and work together so it’s not like I can practice deep-throating. Licking my lips, I’m determined to take my time and explore him. Memorize his cock with my tongue and the way it fits in my mouth.
Lars
“I thought we were going to take it slow.” My goal to pamper him stalls as he drops to his knees, admiring my dick like it’s his next meal.
“Okay,” he agrees but remains on the shower floor and sticks out his tongue. He places it lightly on my base above my balls, and I cannot stifle my moan as he licks upward a millimeter at a time. A heavenly torment. I am dripping precum, and the sight of him so eager feels dangerous, an electric shock while in the water.
He’s staring at me from under wet lashes, begging for more.
“I cannot deny you anything.” The truth of my words ignites a storm in his sea-green eyes. I would move mountains and slay dragons for this man.
His tongue licks my full length and dips into my slit. The hum from his throat vibrates through my limbs, and I am a live wire out of control. Dylon’s stare keeps me grounded in the moment, and I relish his enthusiasm. He nudges my balls with his nose and inhales. Sparks fly off my skin and wash down the drain.
I cry out as he sucks my sack into his mouth. There’s no hesitation. No fear of doing this for the first time.
I am in complete awe of him.
He experiments with licks and sucks, using my sounds to guide him. I teased him earlier about not being able to stay quiet, but my guttural moans echo off the walls and I have no desire to stop because he loves it.
One arm flings out to catch myself on the slippery marble wall as my knees buckle when he swallows me into his throat. He coughs and sighs with rapture. It’s the most incredible noise I have ever heard.
“That’s it, k?raste , choke on my cock. You look so good with your lips spread wide, taking me as far down as you can.” The words pour out of me, and he preens under my praise. I rarely talk during sex, but with him it’s natural. The way he responds spurs me on .
I fist his hair to angle his head. “Relax, breathe through your nose.” I angle my hips forward so he takes another inch and gags again.
“You are so good at this. My cocksucker.” His hands grab my ass and pull me in farther. “You love it, don’t you? Being my cocksucker.” His pupils dilate, and his fingers dig into my ass when I say “cocksucker.”
“Are you going to swallow my load? You want to drink my cum?” I ask, and a guttural groan reverberates from his chest straight to mine.
“Fuck.” I am beyond reason, and he hasn’t given me verbal consent. I swell painfully hard. “Pull off, I cannot stop.”
Dylon gently shakes his head with fire lighting his eyes. The inferno sends me over the edge, and ropes of cum shoot into his mouth. When he sputters, I can’t extricate myself because he’s holding me in a vise. I watch his throat work to swallow while tears run down his face.
My effort to lift him off his knees is in vain. “Do not hurt yourself,” I command, panting as stars speckle my vision. I wipe the side of his mouth where my cum drips out.
He makes an angry protest, so I gather it in my fingers. “I am saving it for you.”
When he pops off of me, collapsing back on his heels, I drop, folding him in my arms, feeding him my cum as promised.
“Was it good?” he asks, uncharacteristically shy.
“On a scale of one to ten, you put me in my grave. It was so good.”
“Liar,” Dylon sings with his dimple chiming in.
“I am not capable of lying to you,” I say with sincerity. We don’t care when the water runs cold as we kiss on the shower floor. I swallow his load, feasting on each drop, wishing for an endless supply. Sweets are no longer my obsession—Dylon’s cum is.
After drying him off and bringing him to bed, I’m compelled to ask, “Are you okay?”
“Full of you and sleepy. Ready to hibernate as long as possible. Might turn your bed into a den.” His naked skin skims along my legs, torso, and arms. I drag him on top of me to cover every inch .
Nervously, I clarify. “You liked what we did?”
Dylon props himself up on an elbow and smooths my pinched brow. “I fucking loved it. I loved your dirty talk, the way you were worried about me, the sounds you made when you lost control, and your taste.” His grin turns salacious. “I’ll admit, I was nervous that the hype was a porn thing but I’m obsessed. There’s nothing better than your dick.”
He kisses me, and we don’t stop until the taste of toothpaste is gone and it’s only him.