Chapter Eight
Cooper
Get on your knees… Holy mother of all rock gods, that growl creates a delicious shiver to ripple down my spine. And when his hand clamps onto my shoulder, fingers biting almost painfully into the muscle. Give. Me. More.
The shove might have caught me off guard, a move rougher than anything he’s done before, but I’m quick to hit the ground, concrete stinging my knees, as a dark thrill tingles in my veins. I want to see how far rough-Declan is willing to go, because where has he been hiding all this time?
Licking my lips, I yank his pants down, his boxer briefs quickly following.
Strong hockey thighs on full display, his hard length stands proudly between them.
My mouth waters, gaze trailing over the thick veins, desperate to trace them with my tongue.
I glance up, watching him lift his shirt to reveal his defined abs and the thin line of hair below his belly button.
He looks like sin. A dirty temptation just for me.
I’m throbbing behind my zipper, painfully tight in my denim prison.
Cursing under my breath, I fumble with the button, and the second it pops, I exhale, relief flooding out with it.
But it’s not enough, my cock straining against the fabric of my boxer briefs, desperate to get out.
Cool air brushes over my skin as I pull myself free, the elastic pressing on my balls like a makeshift cock ring.
“We don’t have all day, Coop.” Declan’s hand clamps onto my jaw while his other grips his leaking dick, smearing the head across my lower lip. I moan, needing more, desperate to feel the weight of his thick shaft against my tongue.
It flicks out, circling the tip, the salty pre-cum pooling along his slit making me groan, my balls tightening and I’ve barely even started yet.
But it’s always like this with him—fucking intense, all-consuming, like I can’t get enough, no matter how many times we do it.
Doesn’t matter where or when, one touch and I’m gone.
“Make me come before someone walks in and finds the future rock star on his knees, with his pretty, swollen lips wrapped around my cock.”
His grip on my jaw startles me. Not because it’s rough—okay, it’s rough—but because it’s deliberate, bold in a way he didn’t used to be.
College has changed him, it seems. Not the fundamentals, not the steady, loyal parts of him I love, but the way he carries himself.
In the way he’s looking down at me now, like he knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to say it.
And God help me, I feel it all the way down my spine.
A shudder works through me as I hold his stare, not backing away.
If anything, I lean into it. I don’t know where he learned this kind of confidence, what experiences shaped him into the kind of man that knows what he likes and isn’t afraid to take it—not that I want to examine that too closely—but apparently, I am here for it.
With zero hesitation, I swallow him down, inch by glorious inch, until he bumps the back of my throat.
My eyes slam shut, mouth already watering as he fills me completely, his guttural groans burning me up from the inside out.
His fingers twist in my hair, pulling until it stings, only heightening the sensation of what I’m doing.
I’ve needed a haircut for a while, but with him holding me like this, maybe I’ll never cut it again.
“Jesus, Coop,” he gasps, then thrusts forward with abandon, making me choke on both his dick and the heat of my name in his blissed-out tone. “Your mouth… Fuck.”
My eyes half open, tears clinging to my lashes as his head tilts back, lightly bumping a box.
His chest heaves as he spreads his legs as wide as his jeans will allow, looking completely undone.
My free hand slides up his thigh, inching toward the edge of a line I already know not to cross.
He tenses, enough for it to be a silent warning, one I’ve learned the shape of.
We tried it once, just a brush, a light bit of pressure, nothing more, and he pulled away, saying it wasn’t for him.
But me? I need it. The stretch, the fullness, and my own hole throbs at the thought of his fingers there, my body desperate for them, but so much more at the same time.
The one thing we haven’t yet done. Him splitting me open, sinking deep inside me.
The idea of him claiming me like that makes my goddamn head spin.
Fisting my cock, I move slow at first, just enough to keep from blowing too soon, but it’s not even close to enough.
I need more. More friction, more him. My thumb swipes through the slick bead of arousal at the crown, smearing it down my shaft as a moan escapes me, vibrating around his length.
Declan groans, tugging at my hair harder, his hold making my spine arch and my cock twitch in my grip.
I’m already a mess, my eyes watering, saliva and pre-cum sliding down my chin, the taste of him everywhere. And I’ve never felt this fucking good. Never wanted to go back onto that stage, positively ruined in all the best ways, more.
I am in heaven.
His hand falls from my hair, making me whimper at the loss.
But then his fingers trail down my cheek, gently wiping away the tears, a stark contrast to how thoroughly he’s fucking my mouth.
He massages my jaw as he pulls out, then thrusts deep again, my lungs screaming as I gag, sputtering around his thick cock.
I feel raw, exposed, used in the best way.
“Come up here,” Declan whispers, pulling his hips back. His cock slips from my mouth with a wet pop, and I gasp for air, lips tingling and swollen, dizzy with the heady rush of Declan.
Bending, he grabs me under my arms, dragging me to my feet.
His mouth crashes onto mine before I’m even steady, tongue greedy, tasting himself on my lips like he’s starving.
Our cocks slot together as I sway into him, his hard, velvet skin on mine, the gentle friction sparking between us as he wraps a hand around us both, jerking in a slick, brutal rhythm.
The combined spit and arousal coat us, the sound wet and filthy, echoing in the quiet between gasps, my nerves alight with the need to come now.
Our kisses are sloppy, frantic, a collision that draws us toward the edge.
He’s warm and solid and so fucking sure, and I crave his release, want him to lose himself, cover me with his cum before I go back out there and finish my set.
I struggle with my shirt, pulling it up until it’s bunched under my arms, pressing my bare chest to his.
The dirty slap of skin-on-skin is intoxicating, the thought that if anyone walked in right now wouldn’t just see us or hear us, but they’d smell us too.
My balls tighten at the risk, and I whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, aiming to leave bruises, so come tomorrow, he’ll remember this moment.
Suddenly, my back hits the metal shelving, the edge digging into my spine as he swaps our positions, pumping ruthlessly, my greedy cock loving every second.
He tears at the collar of my shirt, baring skin he hungrily sucks.
My mind reels, chanting yes, mark me, over and over.
His free hand slides to my ass, kneading painfully, yanking me so close I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
Pushing back, I force him between my cheeks, my hole pulsing and clenching around nothing.
“Please.” The word falls out on a moan, needing to be filled more than my next breath.
He chuckles against my throat as the first brush of his finger against the tight ring of muscle makes my knees weak.
He pulls back, smirking when I huff in arousal drenched with frustration, sucking his index finger into his mouth.
I might explode, burst into flames, burn to ash right here at how excruciatingly slow he’s going, slicking it up like he’s trying to be seductive.
I’m already turned all the way on, dickhead. Give me what I want.
If he can read minds, I don’t care, because the next second, he’s sliding the wet digit between my cheeks again, my body clenching in anticipation of the forthcoming intrusion when he pushes forward.
Hand jobs and blow jobs we’re goddamn pros at, and I’ve played with my ass before when I’m alone, horny, and Declan’s back at college, but it’s nothing compared to this.
Face buried in his shoulder, I stifle a groan as he inches inside, creating sensations I miss like an addict when he’s away.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, slowly working my dick, like he’s distracting me. “Let me in.”
I relax, and the second I do, he slips deeper.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” I pant, tightening around him. “Don’t stop.”
He pulls back a fraction, then eases in again, sinking deeper each time until he’s up to the knuckle, a pleasure so intense I can’t speak.
If this is what it feels like when it’s just his finger, I can’t wait until the day it’s his cock.
The thought alone tips me over without warning, painting white ropes of hot cum, my body shuddering as I cover us both.
Shaking, I bat his hand away and clamp mine around him, pumping fast as the finger inside me keeps a slow rhythm, my over-sensitive hole throbbing while I keep working him.
“Cover me, Dec,” I grind out, teeth gritted. “Cover me, so when I’m singing in front of everyone out there, you’re the only one who knows that your cum is still drying on my skin, that this is why I smell like you when they cheer for me, why—”
I don’t get to finish before he groans, hips jolting as his release coats my hand. “Fuck.”
We collapse into each other, breathless, sweaty, trembling as we pant.
My head drops against his shoulder, my lungs sucking in as much air as possible like we didn’t just come in a storeroom filled with straws and fucking napkins.
My hands still slick, our release cooling rapidly on my skin, the scent of it thick in the air.
“You can’t say shit like that,” Declan mutters, his voice hoarse, a little winded.
I grin against his neck, eyes still shut. “Why not? You love my dirty talk.”
He doesn’t say anything, not for a long while, his body stiff against mine. I snuggle closer, wanting to ease this weird tension that’s found its way into his body. Maybe following him in here while he’s working was a bad idea.
But orgasms are never a bad idea, right?
“We should get back,” he says gently, fingertips lightly tracing the bottom of my spine. “You’ve still got half a setlist left.”
“Right,” I mutter as I pull apart and roll out my shoulders, my body loose and satisfied. “Best mid-show break ever.”
That manages a small smile from my best friend as he tucks himself back into his jeans while I do the same. Wiping my hand on the nearest clean-looking rag, I shove it into my pocket, reminding myself to toss that in the trash.
Declan grabs a pack of antiseptic wipes, giving himself a cursory swipe before reaching for the box that he originally came back here for. Before he can reach the door, I grab his bicep, holding him back.
“Hey, we’re okay, right?” I ask, feeling unsettled for the first time ever with him.
He pauses, but steps forward, brushing his lips against mine in a sweet kiss. “Always.”
Turning, he opens the door, the noise from the bar bleeding in, and just like that, we’re back to normal. Or close enough, because now, I can’t shake off the feeling that I might have fucked up somehow.