Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
Ethan was already up and out of bed when I cracked my eyes open. I stretched my arms over my head with a yawn, a slight twinge in my ass bringing memories of the night before rushing to the surface.
The spooked look on Ethan’s face on the plane when Chet had called me a fairy. The way he’d looked about two seconds away from hyperventilating. The silence on the drive home from the airport. The way he’d shut completely down. And then how I connected with him the best way I knew how.
But now, I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. I wouldn’t pretend. We were already doing enough of that.
Here, where there were no prying eyes, I wanted the truth.
I scratched my chest and forced myself out of bed, hitting the shower for a quick, thorough rinse before tugging on some clothes.
I found Ethan in the kitchen, standing in front of the sink. He was shirtless in a pair of low-slung black joggers, his focus fixed on the phone in his hand. Crisp autumn light cut through the window to illuminate the scar on his side—the thin, pale one that curved just under his ribs. I’d always wanted to ask about it, but never had.
“Hey.” I strolled into the room, stopping next to him to reach into the cabinet where he kept the coffee mugs, pulled one down, and filled it from the pot. My arm brushed against his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the cotton of my Aces t-shirt.
He glanced at me, then back down at his phone, his thumb brushing over the screen. “Hey.”
“You sleep okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Like a baby, but you probably know that,” I said, giving him the perfect opening to talk about why he’d needed to lose himself in my body so forcefully last night.
When he didn’t take the bait, I leaned against the counter opposite him and sipped my coffee, counting the seconds to see how long he would continue ignoring me.
He finally abandoned his phone, setting it screen-side down on the counter, but his expression remained closed off, guarded. This was clearly not a man who was about to open up and talk about his feelings.
I’d tried easing us into it, giving him the space he needed, but it was time to take a different, more direct approach. “You gonna tell me what last night was all about?”
“I was hoping not to.”
“Are you serious?” I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes, earning me a flicker of a smirk that twitched his lips to the side.
Fucker.
“So we’re just going to ignore whatever your reaction was when Chet called me a fairy?”
As far as slurs went, it wasn’t a great one, but not terrible, either. Pretty basic and uncreative, honestly, but that was Chet for you. I’d been called infinitely worse.
“Listen, can we not do this? I’m fine now.” His jaw tightened.
“Yeah, because I let you fuck it out of your system. And as much as I love a good orgasm, that’s not healthy.”
“Neither is needing to be all up in everyone’s business.”
I huffed out a disbelieving laugh. This guy. He’d rather pick a fight and insult me than open up to me. He really was the most closed-off motherfucker I’d ever met.
“You couldn’t breathe, E, and you didn’t say a single word to me all the way home.”
Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, his lips pressing into a thin, obstinate line. His shoulders hunched forward defensively, and a flash of childish petulance darkened his eyes as he tilted his chin slightly upward in defiance. “Is that what this is about? You wanted to chat, and I wasn’t in the mood?”
Goddamn it.
I wanted to snap at him. To tell him he didn’t get to shut down like that, fuck me into oblivion, and then come at me sideways when I asked a basic question. But, I reminded myself, he wasn’t being needlessly cruel. He was scared, fighting demons I couldn’t even guess at.
Yeah, because he won’t talk to you , my subconscious unhelpfully injected.
I shook my head against the intrusive thought. I didn’t need any reminders—even from my own mind—about how hard Ethan worked to keep me out.
Asking him to share with me wasn’t really getting me anywhere, but unfortunately for Ethan, there was something I knew about him that could help me break past his defenses.
Touch.
Whether he’d admit it or not, that man needed my hands on him. Craved it like his next damn breath. I hated that I had to resort to this sort of manipulation, but not as much as I hated him retreating behind his walls.
I closed the gap between us and reached out, gently wrapping my hand around his wrist. “I’m not trying to be all up in your business, Ethan. I’m trying to be in your life .”
His eyes flicked to mine in surprise, and he opened his mouth, likely to tell me he didn’t want me there, either, but I raised my hand, cutting him off.
“I know what we’re doing doesn’t mean anything, but you’re my teammate, and hopefully something like a friend, and I care about your well-being.” I softened my grip, letting my thumb brush a soft path on the inside of his wrist. His pulse jumped beneath my touch, and his brow furrowed.
My voice softened. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” Though god knew I wanted one more than anything. “But I need you to know that when shit like that happens, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
He didn’t speak, but something in his posture shifted. Just barely—a loosening of his jaw, a relaxation of his spine.
That slight relaxation was all the invitation I needed. “Whatever made that word hit you like a freight train, that’s your private business. I get that. But don’t pretend like it didn’t mess with you, either. I was there, E. I saw you. You were two seconds away from losing your shit completely.”
That earned me a sharp inhale, like he’d been punched in the gut. He glanced down at where my hand was wrapped loosely around his wrist, and I loosened my grip, letting my hand slide away.
His eyes bounced up to meet mine for a few long seconds. He blew out a breath with a slow shake of his head, braced his palms on the counter’s edge, his fingers curling over the lip like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“It’s just old shit from when I was a kid. Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“But it does,” I said gently. “It’s clearly a trigger.”
“Not really. Just baggage. High school stuff. You know what rural towns are like, how words like that are tossed around to humiliate boys. You hear it enough times, it sticks.”
I nodded slowly. There was truth in what he said about rural towns—I’d seen it firsthand growing up in Ohio, even with Cleveland nearby. But I’d heard some real horror stories while at Thackeray from kids who’d grown up nearby, so I could easily imagine the shit Ethan must have heard.
“So it’s about more than Chet?” I clarified.
He huffed out a quiet, cynical-sounding laugh. “It’s not about that asshole at all, actually.”
“Okay, I get that,” I said, finishing the last dregs of my coffee and setting my mug off to the side. “I mean, obviously I do. You know what my childhood was like.”
“Yeah, but this was just the usual crap. Locker room jokes, the occasional prank.” He gave a faint shrug, not meant to diminish my experience, but rather his. “I let it get to me more than I should.” His gaze skated past me to somewhere just over my shoulder as he spoke, giving me the impression he couldn’t bear to look me in the eye while he fed me what was obviously a lie.
Even though I didn’t fully believe him, I wasn’t about to call him out on it, either. Not when he’d offered something of himself, even if it was only a sliver of the truth.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for telling me that.”
He blinked in apparent surprise at my easy acceptance.
But I hadn’t accepted it. Not really. I’d just tucked it away to revisit later.
I pressed my palm to his chest. His skin was warm, his heartbeat slightly erratic beneath my hand. He exhaled, tension visibly draining from his shoulders at my touch.
“Just know that if you’re ever ready to talk, I’m here. I want to know you, Ethan.”
His eyes fluttered shut, just for a second—absorbing my words, maybe. Trying them on for size. Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he whispered, “You already do.”
As he pulled away, something twisted in my chest, a feeling I wasn’t ready to name but couldn’t ignore.
* * *
The dryer buzzed as I folded the last dish towel. Between winning hockey games, we’d fallen into a rhythm of these small domestic moments—cooking, cleaning, existing in this undefined space between roommates and something more.
“I’ll get the next load,” Ethan said, setting aside his iPad and pushing up from the couch.
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I called out with a grin, basket balanced on my hip.
By the time I put everything away, Ethan was back, sitting in my vacated seat, methodically separating our clothes into two piles.
“Remind me again how I let you talk me into washing our clothes together.” His voice was the beleaguered, put-upon one he used out whenever I got on his nerves, but his eyes crinkled at the corners with a suppressed smile as he tossed one of my shirts on top of the rest of my stuff.
I squeezed the back of his neck gently as I passed behind the couch on my way to grab a couple of beers. “We’re conserving water. It makes good ecological sense.”
We’d spent the last few hours sorting the recycling, mowing the lawn, cleaning out the fridge, making sure to toss that weird container in the back that had started growing its own mold colony, and getting caught up on our laundry.
It was quiet.
Domestic. Comfortable.
It was everything I hadn’t known to want, and the realization hit me harder than any check into the boards ever had.
“Should I start the game?” he asked, picking up the remote as I came back into the room.
“Only if you promise not to yell at the screen like a maniac.” I passed him his preferred IPA and dropped onto the couch next to him.
As Ethan queued up the Patriots game, I smiled at the irony. A kid from Ohio watching New England football willingly. I’d chosen the Steelers growing up purely to spite my Browns-loving father—nothing triggered the old man’s vein-popping rage like me in black and gold. Now here I was, converted to Patriots fandom during my years at Thackeray, though less about the team and more about hanging out at the local bar to soak in the atmosphere. Watching with Ethan now, though? Infinitely better.
“No promises,” he said, flicking through the menu to bring up the recording. We’d been on the road—in Boston, no less—so we already knew they’d lost, but Ethan was ride or die and insisted on watching anyhow.
As the broadcast kicked off, I let my leg press against his—casual, easy contact. Nothing sexual.
He didn’t pull away.
A few minutes passed.
I leaned in, just a little more, my shoulder resting against his. Testing the waters.
A few beats passed, and then Ethan lifted his arm and slid it behind me, his hand curling around my shoulder. He tugged gently until I tipped into his side, tucked up against him like this was something we’d done a thousand times before.
To be clear, it was not.
I swallowed down my surprise.
“This okay?” he asked.
I turned my head slightly to see his face, but his eyes were fixed on the television, his jaw was clenched, his mouth drawn into a tense line. His fingers curled then relaxed against my shoulder, poised for a quick retreat should I reject him.
God, this man. How could he not know how much I craved his touch, especially ones like this?
“E,” I murmured, grinning as I tilted my head against his shoulder. “You can touch me however you want. Anytime you want.”
He turned just enough to catch my eyes, and I saw the flush rise in his cheeks before he looked quickly back at the screen. His arm stayed where it was, but he was holding me a little bit tighter now.
After a few minutes, he shifted and pulled me closer, his hand sliding down to rest on my waist.
“If you wanted a hug,” I said, smirking into his T-shirt, “all you had to do was ask.”
“Shut up and watch the game,” he muttered, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I can’t,” I said honestly, letting my hand drift to his stomach. “All I want to do is climb into your lap and kiss you.”
My fingers trailed downward, teasing the edge of the waistband before sliding back up, across the firm planes of his abs. His muscles tensed beneath my touch.
“Bell,” he warned, his voice strained.
I glanced up, my lips hovering near his jaw. “Yeah?”
“I’m trying to watch this.”
“No, you’re not.” I pressed a kiss just under his ear. “You’re trying really hard to pretend you care about the Patriots’ offensive line, when all you want is to?—”
He growled and grabbed me, twisting until I was flat on my back and he was braced above me.
“Do that,” I finished breathlessly, just before he kissed me, hot and dirty and exactly how I wanted.
His hands slid under my shirt, his fingers scraping over my pecs. I hooked my leg around his waist, grinding up against him with a groan.
We kissed until we were both panting, until I could feel him hard against my thigh and knew he could feel me the same.
He pulled back long enough to strip his shirt off and toss it somewhere behind the couch. I was already pushing at the waistband of his pants.
“Fuck,” he muttered, biting at my neck as he pulled my shorts down. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”
We didn’t even make it to the bedroom.
Ethan’s broad shoulders nudged my thighs apart, and he settled between them. He glanced up at me, his eyes dark and hungry, and then he wrapped a hand around the base of my cock, licking a long, slow stripe from root to tip. When he sucked me into his mouth, I let out a curse and fisted the cushion at my side.
His mouth was hot, his tongue doing devastating things just under the head. He worked me over like an expert. Slow at first, teasing, then deeper, wetter, filthier. His free hand pressed into my hips to keep me from thrusting up too hard.
After a few dizzying moments, I nudged at his shoulder. “Hey. As much as I love this view, it’d be way hotter if you were naked, too.”
He paused, his lips still locked around the head of my cock, and raised his eyebrow.
“Come on, E. Lemme see that fine ass.”
He fell off my cock with a pop, stood, and kicked his joggers off to land next to the pile of my discarded clothes.
Before he could settle back down, I stilled him with a hand on his hip. “You up for something different?”
“Sure. You know I’m down for pretty much anything.”
“Yeah you are,” I said, my voice laced with so much affection that it should have been sickening but somehow wasn’t.
I liked sex—a lot. And I especially liked partners who were willing to let me get my freak on, those who enjoyed getting their freak on, too. Ethan may have only ever fucked one person before me, but his limited experience wasn’t a deterrent. He was game for anything I threw out there, and I fucking adored it. I’d hit the jackpot with this sexy, gruff man.
“I want you to suck me while I’m choking on your thick, juicy cock.”
His gaze skated up my body and then back down, as if he was figuring out the logistics of how that would work and not liking what he saw. His eyebrows arched. “I'm pretty sure one of us is gonna pull something trying that up here,” he said. “We’re heading to Buffalo tomorrow. You wanna explain to Coach why neither of us can walk?”
“Floor it is,” I said, pulling him down to the floor with me. We tumbled to the rug in a mess of eager limbs, my hip knocking the coffee table.
“You okay?” he asked, eyeing the red mark that was already blooming on my skin.
I pulled him into a deep, messy kiss. “I’m fine.” I flopped down onto my back. “Now come up here, and feed me your cock.”
Ethan rose up onto his knees and positioned himself above me, his thick thighs framing my face. His cock hovered tantalizingly close, flushed and heavy.
I gripped the globes of his ass, my fingers sinking into muscle, as I eased him open to admire his hole.
“Mmm,” I hummed, lifting up to taste him with eager swirls of my tongue.
He growled. “Keep that up, and I’m gonna blow my load all over your abs instead of in your mouth.”
I withdrew, giving him one final teasing lick. “Spoilsport.”
He glanced back, his expression fondly exasperated. “Look, if you want to eat my ass, be my guest. But you’re the one who said you want to choke on my dick, so make up your mind.”
“Definitely choking.” I gave his ass a playful smack, urging him to drop forward.
“That’s what I thought,” he mumbled before wrapping his fingers around me, his tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of my crown before he began to bob up and down along my shaft in earnest.
I took a second to simply enjoy the sensation before lapping at the pre-cum dripping just inches from my mouth. He tasted like sweat and skin and salt as I sucked him in, inch by thick, glorious inch.
God, this was heaven.
When Ethan’s moan vibrated around me, sending electric pulses racing through my entire body, I responded in kind, communicating wordlessly how incredible he felt. How I felt.
My appreciation spurred him on, driving him to take me deeper, suck me harder.
And yet, while he worked my dick over like a champ, he seemed to be holding himself back, the movement of his hips restrained.
I released him with a wet pop and gave his ass a firm slap. “Come on, E. Fuck my face, already.”
He pulled away with a groan, bracing himself against the floor as he glanced back, his cheeks flushed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I assured him.
“You sure?”
“Hell, yes,” I said, right before wrapping my mouth around him again.
His eyes darkened, and his hips drove forward until the thick crown bumped against the back of my throat. I choked slightly at the sudden invasion, gagging around him—exactly like I wanted.
I looped my arms around him, relaxed my throat, and held him flush against my face until I couldn’t breathe.
“Jesus, Bell.”
With a gasp, I pulled off him. “You like that, E?”
He mumbled something unintelligible before going back to work. He was grunting now, needy noises rumbling from his chest as he fucked my face with raw, desperate thrusts. I could feel the tension building in his legs as his movements grew erratic.
My eyes watered, and everything blurred until we were just sound, heat, and friction, mouths full, bodies in motion.
He tongued my slit the way I liked, and I exploded, spurting into the slick warmth of his mouth with a garbled roar. I barely had enough presence of mind to keep my mouth locked around him as my orgasm rocked through me.
With one final, faltering thrust, Ethan followed me over the edge, a shudder rippling through him while we swallowed each other’s loads.
Ethan rolled away, crumpling onto the rug beside me. My breath came in quick, shallow gasps, while next to me, he draped one arm across his eyes, legs splayed wide in boneless satisfaction.
“Dead,” he muttered. “I’m actually dead. This is what death feels like.”
I let out a laugh, wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, and sat up. “I always knew cum would flow freely in heaven.”
Ethan huffed a groan that sounded suspiciously like laughter, his arm falling from his face down to rest at his side. “You’re a sick fucker.”
“But I’m your sick fucker,” I teased, then froze, realizing what I’d just said. I knew the moment the words left my mouth that I’d gone too far.
The silence that followed stretched awkwardly between us.
Ethan pushed up onto his elbows, his abs flexing, and scanned the floor. He spotted my shirt, grabbed it, and tossed it at me without looking, then stood and gathered his own clothes.
We dressed in silence, our earlier laughter and the ease we’d experienced all afternoon feeling like they’d been boxed up and placed far out of reach.
By the time I dropped back onto the couch, Ethan had already claimed the far end, his expression unreadable. I sank into the cushions, tugged a throw blanket over my lap, and stared at the TV, pretending to care about o-line stats. I chewed my thumbnail, wondering if I should get up and go to my room.
This was weird.
Awkward.
Supremely uncomfortable.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take the silence anymore, Ethan cleared his throat and said, “Come here.”
I turned to look at him, surprised to see he’d lifted his arm, opening up a space beside him for me to settle into like it was the most natural thing in the world to cuddle together after getting each other off.
That was something boyfriends did. People who had feelings for each other.
I didn’t hesitate.
I tucked myself into his side, resting my head on his chest as he pulled the blanket over us.
His fingers found my arm, and he drew lazy circles over my exposed skin.
Neither of us spoke, but his heart was beating steadily—not frantically for once—beneath my cheek, and that felt like enough.
This wasn’t love.
Not yet.
But it felt dangerously close to something like it.