Chapter 6 #2
What I want to say is that I hate athletes because of him, and in addition to my hatred of him, specifically.
But I won’t give him that power over me–that control over how formative he was to my life.
I stand up, my extra inch of height and my boots allowing me to look slightly down on him.
Which I was already doing metaphorically, anyway.
Even if we have to work together, I have no problem letting him know just where I stand.
“Let me put it this way, you wouldn’t even be at this school if you didn’t have a hockey stick so far up your ass that makes it possible for you to manage to walk to class.
I’m not sure why we don’t all just give up the pretenses and give you a degree in staying inside the lines on coloring books.
Make it easier for everyone, including me. ”
I walk around the desk to make it clear our time is up.
I want him gone. Now. The space is too small for us both, which becomes even more apparent when we’re on the same side of the room.
We’re uncomfortably close, and I can feel the heat radiating off of him.
I smell his body wash–something unsurprisingly masculine like cedar or pine or whatever-the-fuck tree he thinks will best hide the stench of being rotten from the inside out.
“What the fuck?” He stretches out to his full height, and I can so clearly see the cords of muscle running along his neck.
His chest instinctively broadens and his hand wraps tighter around his backpack strap, like he’s gearing up for a fight.
Good. I like him better when he’s mad and brutish.
It makes him easier to hate. He leans toward me, pointing his finger at my chest. “You don’t know shit about me. ”
I match his energy and lean forward, too, egging him on. I’m not a kid anymore, and my hours at the bag mean that I can give him a run for his money. “I know that your precious hockey team would be more likely to burn down an arena filled with kids than let you fail.”
He’s faster than I expected. His backpack is on the ground, and I’m pushed up against the wall next to the door before I realize what’s happening, his forearm pinning me in place.
The pressure he’s applying keeps me still unless I fight, but it’s not enough to limit my breathing.
There’s fire in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s going to hit me.
“What the fuck is your problem with me?” he asks through staccato breaths. I can see his irises closer now, flecks of gold in the brown that make his eyes look like galaxies. What a beautiful face to waste on a man like him.
I let him hold me in place, heat radiating from both of us.
The temperature in the room must have gone up by at least fifteen degrees in the last minute, and I feel beads of sweat pooling on my lower back.
I practically spit my words at him. “My problem is that you think the world is yours for the taking. And you think that you’re better than everyone else which is what gives you the right to take it.
But you’ll always just be some loser from South Warwick who never makes good. I can promise you that.”
He pushes into me harder, our bodies aligned from chest to thigh. “How about I break that pretty face? See what kind of shit you can talk with a few teeth missing?”
His leg shifts when he shoves his forearm harder into me, his joggers-clad thigh grazing against my cock. Even through my jeans, it feels incredible. I’m already throbbing, wondering if he can feel it, too. I bat my eyelashes, my voice breathless when I say, “You think I’m pretty?”
And that’s when I feel it. The push of his own bulge, embarrassingly unrestrained with only the thin fabric of his joggers and whatever underwear he wears–boxer briefs, if I had to take a guess.
My gaze shifts downward, even though I can’t see between us, before I meet his stare again. “Either violence excites you or I do, and both beg questions.”
I don’t care that he doesn’t answer because I only need his single moment of hesitation, like he’s surprised to find himself hard.
In a second, I have our positions turned, with him pressed up against the wall.
Only, I don’t have my arm in between us, just my body lengthened against his, my thigh nestled between his own so that our cocks are brushing against one another.
I feel like I’m running toward a cliff, but I can’t stop myself.
I want to wreck Kellan O’Reilly. I want him to know what I can do to him.
That I could fucking own him in every conceivable way, and there’s nothing that he can do to stop it.
Forget stopping it–he’ll be begging for it.
I don’t care that I’m breaking one of my rules. This is a special exception.
I run my hand across the outside of his joggers and down his length, desperately wanting to know what he tastes like, wondering if I could take him fully in my mouth.
Still, I can’t seem to stop teasing him.
At the very least, I need to know that he wants me to keep going.
The power isn’t in taking, it’s in being given the control so freely, like a lamb guiding itself to the slaughter.
“I figured a hockey player wouldn’t be so eager.
You feel like you’re about to bust all over yourself,” I say, starting to massage his thick cock now.
“I’ve been busy,” he says through gritted teeth, that muscle in his jaw that I’m already growing obsessed with popping out again. And even though I find it distracting, I’d never miss the way his legs open wider.
I take that as my signal to slip my hand under his clothing and then–I was right–past his briefs, the ones that are barely containing his erection.
I try not to let him see what this is doing to me, how my own cock is swollen with the weight of him in my hand.
His skin is so hot, and I can feel his tip, already dripping.
I lean forward and lick against the salty sweat beading his neck.
“Too busy to get off?” I whisper hoarsely in his ear.
“Wow, you must be busier than I give you credit for. I can’t imagine not coming at least once a day.
Twice if someone else is getting me off, too. ”
I don’t think it’s my imagination that him hearing about me getting off is making him even harder. And even though I think it might kill me, I pause my movements, taking my hand off of him but keeping it under his joggers. He needs to know who’s running this show.
“What the–” he hisses sharply, his head leaning back against the wall, his long eyelashes batting open.
Slowly, I rub my finger against his tip, smearing his wetness around. “Tell me you like what I’m doing to you.”
“Wells,” Kellan rasps. His voice is strangled, like I’m physically torturing him.
I fucking love it. I love the rich, deep timber in his tone as he’s saying my name.
I love the way his chest is rising and falling, like he’s having the best workout of his life.
And most of all, I love that I’m toying with him effortlessly, that working him up is so much easier than I’d ever imagined.
I stop moving my fingers again. “Tell me, Kellan. You need to let go. Let me take control. Can you do that? Because if you can, no amount of head or pussy you’ve ever gotten is going to compare. I can promise you that.”
I wouldn’t oversell my skills. I know that I can back them up. And given Kellan’s response to me, to how much he likes what’s happening, he knows it, too. “I just need to get off, Wells. I need–”
“You need my lips on your cock? You need my mouth sucking you until your knees buckle? You need somewhere to shoot all that come? Someone who can handle you? Is that what you need, big boy,” I say, giving his impressive length a quick squeeze, which makes him groan.
I have him, literally, in the palm of my hand.
The air is electric, the scent of sweat hanging heavy in the small room.
So close to him, I can see how his neck is straining, how he’s working to control his breathing.
Maybe he’d make it to the bathroom down the hall before he comes, but he definitely won’t make it all the way home with how close he is.
I’m edging him hard, and I’m surprised at how well he’s holding up.
His hips start rutting against my hand, trying to make me move again. It’s so fucking heady, and I can’t get enough. “I need you to beg for it, Kellan,” I say before nipping at his neck again. “I need to know you want it. That you need it.”
“Please, Wells. I need it.” It’s a moan. A plea. The key to his deliverance.
Except that I never promised to play fair.
And Kellan trusting me is his first mistake.
I can’t let go of this feeling. He looks so vulnerable, his joggers low on his hips, his hard cock straining to release itself from the fabric.
I can see beads of sweat dripping down his neck–I’ve already tasted the musky tang of him, even if I crave so much more.
Six years of anger doesn’t just dissipate in the face–or plump head, more accurately–of a beautifully shaped cock that I just know would stretch my mouth in the best ways.
So before I get lost in my own desire, I retract my hands from underneath his clothing.
I miss the feeling of the heat radiating off of him, of how well he fits in my palm, but then he groans at the loss of contact.
I wonder if I could come like this, without ever being touched.
Just teasing him. Pushing him. It’s better than any drug I can imagine, and I’ve tried a lot of them.
I shift the smallest step back as I rake my fingertips across his abdomen, watching the hard lines of perfectly sculpted muscle clench in my wake. My voice is throaty, full with my own want, but I try to keep it in check. “Until you understand that I’m in charge here, this doesn’t work.”
“Wh–” For once, I love that dumbfounded puppy dog look on his face. Men like Kellan are used to getting what they want. Taking what they want.
But he won’t get anything unless I give it to him.
His eyes are unfocused, his lips parted as he pushes out choppy exhales that I want to capture with my mouth.
There’s a split second when he’s in a state of perfectly suspended animation, his hips jutting out toward the air, begging to find relief.
And then his irises grow dark, recognition dawning across his face as I watch in real time how he’s coming back to his senses.
I wonder if he’s going to wrap those meaty hands around my throat.
I almost want it to happen, just to feel his skin on mine again.
The most fucked up part of what’s happening right now, in this small room that smells like sex and feels like its pulsing with the weight of our need, that all I’ve ever wanted is to be invisible to Kellan O’Reilly.
And now?
I can’t seem to get enough of the fact that he sees me.