CHAPTER 27
Kane
THIS IS PROBABLY the must surreal I have ever felt, my breath coming in fast and shallow, as I’m standing here, under the stream, jacking off with Becker watching.
Because that’s what I’m doing, for all intense and purpose, and if Becker says anything other than “Yes,” in the next ten seconds, then…well, that’s all I’m going to be doing.
But his resolve is crumbling, I can tell. I can see it in the way his cock jerks, in the way his throat works as he swallows, in the way his eyes are glued to where my hand is working my shaft.
And finally, he says, “Yeah, fuck it. I mean, me. Fuck me—“
I don't let him finish.
I'm on him in half a second, mouth crashing into his, one hand fisting in his wet hair while the other grabs his hip hard, already walking us both out of the shower, our lips locked, barely remembering to reach back and shut off the water before we're stumbling into the main room.
Right now, I want him so much, I don’t care about anything else. About the future, or the past, or the fact that our bodies are dripping water, leaving pools on the floor as we walk.
We reach the bunk beds and I break the kiss just long enough to grab every blanket, sheet, and pillow I can reach from my bunk, tossing them onto the floor in a messy pile.
I arrange them with my foot into something resembling a bed, and when I look up, Becker's watching me with this amused expression.
"What has gotten into—"
"Nothing. I just want you. Is that so hard to believe?"
Before he can answer, I'm kissing him again, hands everywhere, touching every inch of skin I can reach, pulling him as close as physically possible.
He chuckles against my mouth. "Wait."
I don't want to wait. I'm so hard it hurts.
"Wait a second." He sounds amused. Reluctantly, I let go of his mouth. “We need…things.”
Right. Things.
My heart kicks into overdrive because I know exactly what things he means, and it should terrify me.
It would terrify me if I let myself think about it for more than two seconds.
But I'm not thinking. I'm not giving myself the chance to chicken out or overthink or make a mental list of reasons this is a terrible idea.
I want Becker. I need him. That's the only thing that matters right now.
He crosses to the closet, opening his bottom drawer. The contents nearly explode out—a chaotic mess of clothes and random shit I don't want to know about. He rummages through it, cursing under his breath, before returning with a bottle of lube and a condom.
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is real. This is actually happening.
I raise a brow and eye his supplies. "And you just happen to have those on you." Because of course he does.
He shrugs one shoulder, smirking. "You never know."
I step closer, wrapping my hands around his waist, pulling him flush against me. "And who exactly were you planning on using them with?"
"Well, to be honest, an antagonistic hockey robot wasn't very high on that list," he says. "But here we are."
"Shut up." I kiss him again, deep and urgent, pouring everything I can't say into it.
When I pull back, my cheeks are burning. "Teach me, though? You know you'll have to—"
"I know." He grins. "Luckily for you, I happen to be an excellent teacher."
I laugh despite myself. "Why do I doubt that?"
"You're yet to build faith in me. It's a process."
He drops to his knees on the makeshift bed and I follow, sitting back on my heels. My hands are shaking. Anticipation builds in my chest, tightening like a fist, as I watch him fumble with the lube packet before giving up and tearing it open with his teeth.
"Give me your hand."
I stretch out my palm and he squeezes lube onto it, the cool liquid pooling in my hand. He sets the bottle down beside us, then looks at me. "Are you sure—"
"Becker? I thought teachers were supposed to be encouraging, not instill doubt in their students."
"Instill, huh? You really are a robot."
I'm about to snap back when whatever word was on the tip of my tongue dies, momentarily forgotten, as Becker rises from his heels onto his knees, spins around, and gets down on all fours, bent over, ass sticking out.
Right. Fucking. There.
A groan rips from my throat, and I grab the base of my cock hard with my lube-free hand, squeezing to keep from coming on the spot from the visual alone.
Becker's ass is... everything. It’s fucking everything, all round, and muscular, and fucking biteable.
As I sit here, temporarily stunned, Becker looks back at me over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Lube up, buttercup."
I stifle a laugh. "Oh my God..."
My hands shake as I rub the lube between my palms, making sure every inch of skin is slick.
When I'm ready, I swallow hard. "Done. Next?"
He laughs. "Seriously?" He looks back again, amused, but schools his feature when he sees my face, undoubtedly serious as a funeral. "Oh. Right. You are serious. Okay, lesson one. Take your index finger, or the middle one, either works, and—ooh."
His spiel dies in his throat as I press the pad of my finger against his hole and draw a small circle against the puckered skin.
"Like that?"
His voice comes out rougher now. "A plus. Now you can carefully, slowly—mmm."
He stops talking again as my finger’s already pushing inside. Yes, carefully. Yes, slowly.
Truth is, I don't really need the instructions. Nor really. Even though I've never done this before, it's not exactly rocket science. I just want to hear him talk. I need to hear him talk, because I need his voice just as much as I need every other part of him.
I finger him slowly. My eyes are glued to where my finger’s disappearing inside Becker’s body, sliding, gliding, making way.I’m operating on instinct, and yeah, it’s not difficult at all.
It’s like I was always meant to be right here, doing just that, with this man in particular.
How that happened, I don’t know. The only thing I know is that it’s right.
"Is this okay?" I ask after a while, even though I'm not doing anything different. I just want to hear his voice.
He looks over his shoulder, eyes only half-open now, teeth sunk into his lower lip. God, he's so fucking hot like this.
"I knew you were a fast learner. Bet you got straight A's and all that."
Noting his hole is now slightly looser than it was, I pulls out my finger completely, connect it with a second one, and slowly push both in, relishing in the tightness of his body. “Valedictorian, actually.”
He lets out a strained laugh. "Of course you—oh fuck."
His eyes snap shut and it's the single most beautiful, most poetic "oh fuck" I've ever heard as I angle my fingers up, hitting what must be the perfect spot inside him.
The perfect spot inside the perfect man.
I rise from my heels to my knees, putting my free palm on the side of his ass for support, and quicken my pace, shoving my fingers inside him faster now, establishing a rhythm, making sure to hit that spot every single time.
My breathing becomes uneven, my cock leaking as Becker falls apart in front of me, head dropping down, hips already pushing back, matching my rhythm, body silently screaming for more.
His mouth, though? All but silent, a stream of curses and moans and groans escaping him with every thrust of my fingers.
"You know," I say, breathless, "if it weren't for your tendency for media mishaps, I'd film you right now."
His voice comes out hoarse. "You can film me. I don't mind."
I chuckle. "And end up trending again? No, thank you."
He looks over his shoulder, eyes dark. "Kane? I'm ready."
My heart jumps into my throat. It's happening. It's really fucking happening.
I withdraw my fingers slowly, circling around his hole on the way out, making sure the skin there is slick. My hands start shaking again as I reach for the condom, becker watching over his shoulder, and I fumble with the wrapper, the foil slipping between my lube-slicked fingers.
Becker finds it appropriate to laugh. "Come on, now. You know this part already."
My cheeks burn, fingers shaking even worse as I fight with the wrapper.
Mercifully, Becker rises to his knees and spins around. "Let me, then."
He takes the condom from my hands, brings the corner between his teeth, and tears it open. He removes the condom, pinches the tip, and brings it to the head of my cock.
Before he does anything else, he asks, "Still sure?"
"I don't think I've ever been this sure in my life. About anything."
He nods and rolls the condom onto my aching cock, drawing a guttural groan from my throat. He reaches for the lube, squeezes the rest of it directly onto my shaft, and wraps his palm around it, giving me a few long, firm strokes.
And just as I think this is it, this is the most amazing I've ever felt, he leans forward and shoves his tongue deep into my mouth, giving me a single, scorching kiss.
"Kane?" he says after he breaks the kiss, face still close, looking straight into my eyes.
"Yeah?"
He smirks. "Fuck me."
Everything happens at once then—me groaning, his words shooting straight to my dick, Becker spinning back around and sticking his ass out again, already impatient, hips already rocking back.
I focus on breathing because if I don't, I'm going to pass the fuck out. I grab his ass cheek with one palm, fighting for a decent grip with my hand still slippery, wrap my fingers around the base of my cock, and align the head with his hole.
I pause, giving myself a second to calm down even a bit. But Becker's not having any of that, head whipping around, hips pushing back. "Come on, now. You need a manual for that as well?"
There's zero finesse about the way I enter him for the first time. I grit my teeth, pushing in, trying, fighting against the tightness og his hole while he curses, presumably from pain, but pushes his hips back regardless, until we both stop when I'm balls deep inside him.