Chapter 18 Brody
brODY
I hold Beck’s stare, unable to look away from him, even to properly shake hands with my opponent.
His eyes on me before the match set a fire in my veins that is quickly becoming a potential hazard for this entire gym.
I’m not even sure what happened with my wrestling partner.
All I know is I looked down and saw the dude pinned beneath me, looking stunned.
I scrambled to get off him quickly before he noticed what kind of impossible situation I’m holding back.
Across the gym, Beck’s eyes are fixed on me, like I’ve got a hand around his throat pulling him closer. The hungry, intense, desperate way he watches me sends a slow, dangerous tingle up my spine. The kind that makes my thighs tighten and my pulse go haywire.
We have a silent, private conversation. You. Me. Now.
He takes a few steps towards me, and I start inching towards the nearest exit. I’m pretty sure there’s a utility room back here somewhere. Literally any place with enough privacy to get my hands on him would suffice.
Beck’s eyes are torn away from mine, jarring me out of my trancelike state. I blink, confused, seeing Beck’s back to me all of a sudden. He’s walking the other way?
The scope of my vision widens, and I see Mr. Beckett with his hand gripping Beck’s arm tightly, dragging him off to the sidelines. Their heads bend low, and by the look of Mr. Beckett’s scowl and the rapid-fire movements of his vicious lips, he’s likely spitting more of the poison he’s perfected.
I watch the fire drain from Beck’s eyes. His posture straightens and somehow deflates at the same time. His gaze is trained on the polished concrete under his feet, giving short, clipped nods at whatever bullshit is being spewed at him.
My stomach twists, and I ball my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to march over there and put the esteemed Mr. Charles Beckett on the ground.
I stare so hard that Mr. Beckett must feel it. He cuts his eyes towards me and gives me a dismissive once-over, sneers, and turns back to his son. Beck chances a glance, hollow-eyed and apologetic. When I’m sure I have his attention, I tilt my chin towards the locker rooms with a wordless command.
Come.
Then I turn to my right and walk along the edge of the gym towards the locker rooms. If he doesn’t follow… No. He will. I don’t let myself consider otherwise. Not until I’m alone for long enough that I start to question it.
The shouts and clapping from the crowd grows louder as the door swings open, then muffles again when it closes. My heartbeat hammers, and I turn around to face Beck as he walks in.
His shoulders are tight, body language guarded. His eyes have shadows that weren’t there ten minutes ago. He looks exhausted. But when those dark eyes flick up to meet mine, something sparks. Something I can read.
Something I can work with.
Without saying a word, I turn and walk through the entrance to the showers. I can hear his footsteps behind me.
He follows me all the way to the back, where there are a few single stalls that rarely get used. I reach deep into the stall to turn the water on so there’s sound to drown out our voices and turn around just as Beck steps inside and pulls the curtain closed.
“Are you alright?” I ask finally. I’m not sure if that’s what he wants to hear right now, but I need to ask. I want him to know I care about more than getting off.
“I’m fine,” he snaps. Then he shakes his head and takes a breath, actively releasing the tension from his shoulders. “I’m fine,” he says more softly.
“You don’t have to lie to me. Or downplay anything.”
He swallows deeply, looks down at his feet, then back up at me. He rakes a hand through his hair, and shrugs.
I cock my head thoughtfully. “What can I do?” Please say it. I need you to say it, Becky. Tell me you need me.
There’s a long beat of silence, but his eyes say everything. Make me forget. Get me out of my head. Take control before I lose myself.
I nod my understanding and start peeling out of my singlet while I kick my shoes to the far corner. He does the same.
Our uniforms hit the tile in a tangle, and then his hands are on me, mine are on him, and we’re desperately pawing at each other, rolling along the shower wall until we’re under the water.
His skin is warm from the match, the steam of the room, and the mess of feelings he’s drowning in that he doesn’t know how to name.
I lick up his neck, and he tilts his head back instinctively, exposing his throat, offering it to me.
My mouth works its way to the spot just under his jaw that makes him moan.
“Brody…” he breathes, barely audible.
I kiss along his neck, across his collarbone, down the slope of his shoulder, tasting salt and heat and him. He grips my waist, fingers digging in, and lets me drink from his skin. Fleetingly, I remember how much of himself he’s willing to give me.
I press him back against the wall, water streaming over us. His chest rises with each hitched breath.
I reach for the wall dispenser and pump soap into my palm, sliding my hand down between us. He gasps when I take him in hand and drops his forehead to my shoulder. His hips rock forward, pushing his cock through my slick fist, and groans.
“Look at me,” I murmur, wanting to see the moment the pleasure cuts through everything else.
He obeys, eyes blown wide, mouth parted, breathless. He’s so damn beautiful.
I lean in, eyes locked on his mouth, and he turns his head, my lips landing on his jaw instead. I grunt and try to capture his mouth again, but he turns at the last second. He isn’t smiling, if anything there’s a touch of sadness behind the lust again. It’s a plea for me to understand.
He’s not ready for this, but he doesn’t want to make it a thing. He wants the game. He needs it.
“You don’t want to give me your mouth?” I ask, trying to keep my tone dark and teasing, even though his avoidance pisses me off a little.
At least I’ll be able to take it out on him in a way that satisfies us both.
“I don’t need to look at your pretty face to get off,” I say, and grab his shoulders to spin him around.
I turn him towards the wall and tell him to hold on while guiding his hands to the metal bar.
His muscles flex under my palms, water carving lines down his back.
I consider what I want to do to him. Not wanting to use soap to lube an attempt to see how many fingers I can stretch him around before he comes, I settle my gaze on his thick, muscular thighs.
“I don’t like it when you don’t give me what I want, Becky,” I warn.
“Now you’re going to have to do some significant begging if you want me to let you come.
” I lick up his spine, and he arches so beautifully I want to praise him, but that’s not what he needs right now.
“I’m going to use you like a toy, mark you in my cum, and leave you wanting if you don’t convince me you’re a good girl before I’m finished with you. ”
I pull his body back against me, our skin slapping together with a wet smack, and Beck lets out a sound I don’t think he meant to make out loud. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I say, biting his earlobe.
How’s that for getting out of your head, Becky?
I reach for another handful of soap and coat my dick before pushing my hand between Beck’s thighs.
I tease his taint and his balls until his hips are twitching back against me and he moans, pulling away just as he’s starting to melt into the pleasure of me playing with him.
I push his shoulder blades down, pull his hips out, and make a show out of rearranging his body like he’s a life-sized doll.
Guiding my cock between his thighs, I tap on his hip lightly. “Squeeze your legs together, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this slit like it’s my own personal pocket pussy.”
He chokes out some kind of garbled reply, but I ignore him and start thrusting, not bothering to go slow, adjusting his position until he’s just right.
Not just to maximize my pleasure or because we don’t have long before we aren’t alone in the locker rooms, but to enhance the sensory experience for him.
I want him to smell nothing but the basic bitch sports brand body wash I’m using to lube my assault on his thighs.
I want him see nothing but the tile wall in front of him and his cock bouncing as mine juts out beneath it.
Hear nothing but the water running, the wet squelch of my cock moving between his flesh, and the smacking of our bodies as they collide.
He’s a writhing, moaning mess. He’s tried to let go of the stability bar several times to jerk his cock, but every time I fucked into him harder and faster, until bubbles start to run down the inside of our legs.
“Brody—” he whispers, voice barely holding together.
“Are you going to be a good girl and let me come all over you?”
He nods and moans, pushing back against me and arching his spine.
Fuck, that little move has me riding a razor-thin edge.
I grunt, the first burst of my release rocketing out of me as my thrusts slow just in time for our teammates to start filtering into the locker room.
Luckily, they’re all loud fucks, so we know when they enter and it usually takes a few minutes for the showers to start.
Brody stiffens and tries to move away like I’m going to stop, but hold his hips tighter and keep pounding, my hips making loud, wet smacks with each thrust. The whole time, I’m holding my breath to keep from moaning and shouting how fucking perfect he is.
I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and keep him there until I’m spent, and then longer because I’m not ready to let go.
“Best pocket pussy I ever used,” I murmur quietly.
He laughs, but nervously, pulling himself from my arms and flicking his eyes towards the curtain and the sounds on the other side of the locker room.
“I guess you’ll have to beg for me later,” I say, making an exaggerated pouty face and looking down at his straining dick while I rinse myself off. There’s a mess of cum and foam from the soap I used between his legs all over his thighs and down his legs, and his knees are shaking.
“You’re a mess, baby girl. You should probably clean yourself up.”
Leaving him in the shower stall looking dazed and terrified, I walk out naked and into the locker room, loudly greeting my teammates with congratulations and compliments about some of their various matches.
Fish asks why I’m wet and naked already, and I wink jokingly before making up a bullshit excuse about having to pee and deciding to get a jump on the line for showers.
“I’m fucking starving,” I say, drying my hair while walking to my locker. “What are we doing for lunch?”
“I dunno man, but I’m going to need you to put that thing away before it eats me,” Cade says, pointing at my dick with his entire arm outstretched.
“Aw, this little guy?” I say, giving my flaccid dick an affectionate pat. “Don’t worry, he’s not aggressive.”
Our friends around us laugh, but as I’m pulling on my boxer briefs, fucking Pierce Jamison has to throw his two cents in.
“That’s no surprise. I hear whiskey dick can become a permanent issue. But I guess if you’re the one getting pounded, you don’t need to be able to get it up.”
“You’re the least equipped person here to know anything about that, Jamison,” I say as sweetly as possible, deliberately cutting my eyes down towards his crotch with emphasized faux sympathy.
“Quit looking at my dick, fucking perv.”
“There’s nothing to look at from where I’m standing.”
Pierce looks like a cartoon bomb about to go off, smoke practically coming out of his ears. His face is almost purple, and the way he’s holding his breath makes him look constipated.
“Now feels like a good time for you to pick a fight with someone bigger than you. Or maybe say something obnoxious and homophobic again, if you’re looking to make a bigger ass of yourself,” I say casually, giving him my back to pull some clothes from my locker.
“Fuck you, Miller. We all know you’re one bad week away from drinking yourself into an early grave just like your old man.”
“Pierce!” Sean barks, his voice bigger than his usually quiet demeanor would suggest. It’s enough to get everyone’s attention.
Of all people, Beck steps between the guys who have crowded around to watch the spectacle. He must have slipped in when everyone was paying attention to the showdown.
“That’s enough, Jamison. That was out of line, and you know it.” He stares him down. “Sit your ass down before you embarrass this team any further.”
Then he turns those deep brown eyes on me, just as stern and with every bit of anger and animosity he’s held for me all year. “For fuck’s sake, Miller, put some goddamn pants on.”
Cade snorts, and several others burst out laughing. Beck turns back to his locker, and the rest of the room settles into their normal after-dual routines.
Not an hour later, I bombard Beck on his way back from lunch with his roommates, pushing him into our favorite stairwell, and dropping to my knees.