Chapter 9
Logan
The facade of the Royal Hotel glittered with glass and polished marble, outlined by the array of floodlights scattered through the landscaping. I hesitated as Miles parked, not reaching for my door handle.
“We don’t have to,” Miles said.
“Yeah, we fucking do.” I reached over and ran my fingers up Miles’s inseam. I was not going to chicken out again.
“Okay, so one more question. King size or two queens?”
My brain ground to a halt on that one. I knew what I should say. “You don’t fit in a queen bed.”
“I’ve slept in a single.” Miles peered at me. “I want to be with you. I don’t want you freaking out.”
I cleared my throat. “Surprise me.” I hated that I was too chickenshit to say, “Get a king.” Maybe once we were inside.
“Sure. You know, you don’t have to come up to the desk with me. You can wander round the lobby and join me at the elevator.”
“Fuck.” I rolled my head back and peered at the dark sunroof. “I hate that I’m such a coward. You must be so sick of me.”
“I’m not.” Miles set his hand over mine on his thigh. “I’m mad, but not at you. Or not mostly. Some, because yeah, you fucked up and I’m probably going to bitch about it a bunch more times. But mostly, I’m mad at the rest of them.”
“Them?”
“Your fucking team, for not doing everything they could to make the locker room a good place for Dolan, where you’d feel safe too.
The league, for their tepid support of Edison that didn’t make you hope for better.
The entire world, really. If I was a girl, you could take me out to a club and we’d dance, and the worst we’d get would be, ‘Boy, Vally’s date is one fuckin’ homely woman. ’”
I snorted a laugh.
“But if you’re seen out with a guy, you have to worry about what will the team say, and will being visibly queer affect your career, and will some fan throw a brick at you in the parking lot, and will the media blame every fuck-up on the ice on you being gay?”
“That,” I agreed. I’d tried to avoid all the stories about how the gay was making Edzie slump, every time he had a bad game, but man, the backlash was vicious. Like, can’t the guy have a fucking off night without someone saying he’s “distracted” by his boyfriends, or worse?
Miles glowered. “It’s not right and it’s not fair. That bullshit makes me ragey. I want to punch someone.”
“You can’t punch all the homophobes in the world. Or even in hockey.”
“Nope,” Miles agreed. “Although if you ever need Mortenson’s nose broken, let me know. He’s a lot bigger than you, but he’s not bigger than me.”
I laughed, some of the storm of butterflies in my gut settling. “Morty’s not important. No assault.”
Miles cupped my face in one huge hand. “I can’t change the world for you. I can’t even tell you that you’re wrong to be afraid. Maybe it would be the last straw for the team if they were debating cutting you, I don’t know. All I can do is stand beside you, however you’ll let me.”
I turned my head to kiss the base of his thumb. “That’s more than enough. Let’s go find a bed before we put our backs out trying to fuck in a backseat.”
We walked into the lobby, damp from the rain and dressed in jeans. This was the kind of place that had chandeliers and plush carpet and didn’t seem to care if the right people walked in with wet shoes on all that luxury. I felt like a grubby intruder.
Miles strode forward and I stuck to his side.
He didn’t even glance around. Of course, it was his kind of place, him and his fellow millionaire players.
Maybe he’d been here with some other hookup, this past year?
Maybe he knew they were discreet from actual experience. I decided I was never going to ask.
As we approached the check-in desk, Miles tilted his head, inviting me to head over to a cluster of upholstered chairs around an actual fireplace. I shook my head and led the way to the desk.
The clerk greeted us, told Miles he’d see if they had open rooms, and I saw the moment when he clocked who Miles was, saw a slight widening of his eyes followed by a glance up and down both of us.
I almost panicked, but the guy’s voice slipped upward half a step and his smile went flirty.
He asked, “Two beds or one really big one?” perfectly politely but with a glint in his eyes.
My gaydar was practically ringing a gong.
“One king,” I said, before Miles could answer.
“Good choice.” The clerk scanned his screen. “Okay, yes, third floor. I’ll get you the keys.”
Miles handed over his credit card, and the clerk nodded at the name but made no comment as he got Miles’s signature and passed over the little envelope with room cards.
When the paperwork was done, he smiled. “Room service is open twenty-four hours. The restaurant closes at eleven but the bar serves food till two. The pool’s on Basement Level Two.
Your room key gets you inside. Check the folder on the dresser or the QR code on your key for all our amenities.
” His smile tipped up at one corner. “Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.”
“We will,” Miles assured him. “Doing okay?” he murmured to me as we headed for the elevators.
“So far.” I glanced around the lobby, but no one seemed interested in us. “That guy knew who you were.”
“Yeah, probably, but I think he’s on our side.”
I nodded. “New experience. That’s the first time I’ve been clocked as your date.” We’d gone out sometimes, cautiously, in the two years we’d been together, but Miles hadn’t been publicly out then. His size and tough-Viking looks meant no one’s first assumption had been “gay couple.”
“Do you mind him guessing?” Miles pressed the up button.
“I think I like it.” The mirror on the elevator wall as we got in showed my growing smile.
We stood apart as the elevator rose, aware of the security camera in the upper corner.
My dick wasn’t getting that message, though.
Having Miles next to me, big and hot and right there, meant I was getting hard without a single touch.
Luckily, we only had to ascend three floors.
When the doors opened, I bolted through. “Where’s fucking 317?”
Miles pointed at a sign. “To the right.” He strode off, with me hustling to match his long-legged pace.
He reached the room first, tapped his card, and pushed the door open. I shoved past him, grabbing his arm on the way, and tugged him after me.
Miles laughed as we staggered inside. “Let me get the door locked.” He swung the night latch across. “There. Now—”
I rose on my toes and ate the words off his mouth like I’d wanted to since forever. Miles grabbed my head in his hands and kissed me back just as hungrily.
“I want you to fuck me,” I gasped into his mouth.
“You have a game tomorrow,” Miles hedged.
“I don’t care.” Yes, taking his huge dick after a year of nothing but a few hand jobs would leave me sore, but I wanted that. Feeling it tomorrow would keep me from wondering if this had all been a dream.
“I care.” Miles kissed me, wet and filthy, then pulled back again. “I don’t want you playing like you have a lower-body injury the day after you told Petrov you’re gay.”
“Oh.” The thought of how that might look flushed my face with heat. “Good point.”
“I can’t wait to fuck you again, but we’ll reintroduce you to Dillon first.”
I snorted. “Dillon” was a big red dildo I’d bought and kept at Miles’s place, which he used to open me up sometimes, when we hadn’t fucked for a while.
The name was Miles’s idea of a joke, something to tease me about while I panted through him working the fat head up my ass. “You just like a threesome.”
“Only with Dillon.” He bent and sucked on my neck, stopping before the heat of bruising blossomed. In the summer, he’d sometimes left hickeys, but in the season he was always careful. God, I was tired of being careful.
I sank to my knees and fumbled the button of his jeans open.
He shrugged his damp jacket off onto the floor as I eased his zipper down.
His hard cock stretched his underwear through the open fly.
I leaned forward and closed my mouth over Miles’s thick shaft through the cotton, tugging his jeans down his muscular thighs.
He groaned and tangled his fingers in my hair.
The big bed sat fifteen feet away, but I didn’t want to wait.
I grabbed the waistband of his boxer-briefs and worked them past his dick and balls, leaving his legs trapped.
His cockhead bounced against my cheek, already leaving wet smears of precum on my skin.
I wrapped my fingers around the base of him as far as they would go, guided the head to my mouth, and sucked him down.
Holy fuck, I loved this. My mouth was so full my jaw already felt strained, and the taste of him hit my tongue, bringing a cascade of memories.
I’d always craved this, could never deep-throat him, but I fucking loved trying, spit-wet and choking and full of Miles.
I sucked hard, bobbing lower down his shaft each time, not needing to relearn how to breathe around his size because I hadn’t forgotten fucking anything about Miles.
“Shit, Logan, shit, yeah.” Miles tugged my hair, not hard, just enough for me to feel the pull, exactly the way I liked it. “Fuck, so good.”
My lips met my fist, which was as far as I was going to get. The solid heat of Miles’s cock pressed heavy on my tongue, and I worked my mouth around him, hollowed my cheeks for more suction. Spit ran down my chin.
“Jesus, look at you.” Miles rocked his hips, little controlled thrusts that shoved him in to my limit. “I—” He suddenly pulled my hair enough to slide my lips off him. “Wait, wait!”
“What?”
He grabbed my biceps and hauled me to my feet, pressing a kiss to my wet lips. “I don’t want to come like that.”
“No?” I dodged his next wild kiss. “Why not? Gonna fuck me after all?”
“I want you to fuck me.” He took my mouth again, and for a few minutes, all I could think about was hauling him closer and kissing the hell out of him back.