22. JED
TWENTY-TWO
JED
The water drums off my back and shoulders, steam curling around me, and I just stand there, letting the heat sink into my skin.
I roll my shoulder—completely loose now.
I had Duncan really work it out. For some reason, even though my arm hasn’t given me any reason to doubt it, my brain won’t quit protecting it, and it’s leaving my trap and rotator cuff tight as hell.
I’m taking my sweet ass time in here because a couple of the guys were trying to rally people to go out and celebrate.
I’m assuming Michaels will be one of them, and I don’t need to give him more opportunities to try to convince me we should hook up again.
I’m not superstitious. We don’t need to hook up again to ensure another win.
But…nope. Nope. I will stay in this shower as long as I have to because I clearly lost my self-control somewhere at Cox and Company last night.
A cool whoosh of air hits my skin, and I spin around, my feet sliding on the wet tile floor. And there he is. A towel hangs low over his hips as he leans against the frosted glass shower cubicle door, that foolish grin spreading those pink lips wide.
Sunshine.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. My eyes dart around, even though I know that makes no logical sense. It’s not like I can see outside the shower stall into the hall.
Fucking hell. The frosted glass doors are completely opaque, but they don’t go to the floor, anyone could see two pairs of feet in here.
Unless—I grab his arm and drag him into the shower with me, then shove him into the back corner.
I’ll just have to hope we’re far enough back that people won’t be able to see unless they literally bend at the waist and look.
Which would be weird. No one would do that, right?
My heart rate doesn’t seem to agree with me.
His grin widens, and he slides a hand slowly down his smooth chest. I try to look away. I really do. But God, I’m a red-blooded man. Those fingers bump over each one of his defined abs and then dust over the edge of his towel.
“My towel’s getting wet,” he whispers. “Probably should fix that.” He tugs it, and in the next blink, it’s somewhere outside the shower.
Where? I don’t know, because now there’s a very naked, very sexy Shane Michaels in front of me.
I hate him. I really, really hate him. I let out a growl because it’s the only way I can cover the whimper that was seconds from falling from me. Why is he so pretty?
“Shane,” I warn in a low whisper. “You need to get the fuck out of my shower. Right. Now.”
The brat shakes his head.
I let out a slow, controlled breath until the muscles in my face relax.
Fine. This is fine. He thinks he can just show up naked, and I won’t be able to resist him?
I’m a professional athlete, for fuck’s sake.
Control runs in my veins. I spin away from him and grab the bodywash.
Change of plans. I will now be making this the fastest shower of my life.
It’ll be like he’s not even here, and then I’ll get the fuck out.
A hand lands on the middle of my back, and I freeze. My body trembles, and my eyes sink shut. Control, Jed. You are in control. But with this man, I’m really afraid I’m not.
That hand slides torturously slow around to my side, then starts to make its descent toward my hip. Toward where my cock is now fully hard and aching. Then his hand stills.
He presses a soft kiss to my deltoid. “Come on, Storm Cloud. Let’s do some we shouldn’t be doing this things.” His nose grazes over my shoulder, and a shaky exhale flees me. “It’s for the game,” he whispers.
How is this happening? We hooked up once.
Fucking once. And it was his first time with a guy.
Now he’s in my shower…trying to seduce me?
How does he have this endless amount of confidence?
How is he not freaking out about being queer?
He’s diving headfirst into this, like he seems to do with everything.
He gives it his all, determined to succeed. It’s beyond frustrating.
And it’s such a fucking turn on.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall.
Water drips from my sodden hair down my face.
My mind is having trouble coming up with reasons why I’m supposed to resist this.
He’s my teammate. That’s a huge don’t fucking go there.
But is it really so bad if it’s meaningless hookups?
It’s not like we’d be dating teammates. We’d just discreetly bone to help our game.
Sex for success. I’d be a fool to resist that.
But there’s one other glaring hold-up whispering through my mind. You’re in the fucking team locker room. It’s one thing to hook up behind closed doors. But in the locker room, where anyone could walk in and hear us?
This is a horrible idea.
I spin and push him back into the wall.
So, obviously, we’re doing this.
“Yes. On one condition.” I wing a brow. “You make a sound, this stops.”
His lips part on an unsteady breath, and he licks those pouty lips. I don’t get to enjoy how full they are very often; they’re always stretched to their limits with his face-eating grins. He nods, too-blue eyes never leaving mine.
Something dark and sinful flows through me.
It’s the heady feeling of challenge. He thinks he’s going to get away with pulling a fast one on me like this?
I push back the dark-gold locks that are plastered to his forehead and cheek.
It’s gentle, but my smile isn’t. My smile promises torture. Shane’s eyes widen.
I reach over to the bodywash dispenser and squirt some in my hand.
I crowd around him until my forearm lands on the tiled wall next to his head.
But I don’t touch him. Just tease him with my presence.
His pupils flare, and a deep, rich satisfaction surges through me.
Steam surrounds us, but it’s not just from the shower stream.
Heat radiates from us. And anticipation.
His Adam’s apple bobs, his gaze pinging between mine and my mouth. He’s not going to get what he wants. He needs to be a good boy and prove he can be quiet without my mouth silencing him first.
I wrap my hand around his length, slowly working the soap over him until he’s sliding smoothly in my fist. His breath catches, and I shoot him a warning glare.
His teeth clamp down on his bottom lip. I reward him with a firmer grip, with a slight twist on the upstroke.
His nostrils flare on a quivering breath.
I hadn’t realized something so small could say so much.
That breath was relief, a plea for more, a fuck yes, all in one.
I lean against the wall, still not letting anything but my hand touch him while still ensuring he feels all of me.
How I loom over him. Force him to stare up at me where he’s melting into the wall.
I’ve got maybe three inches on him. But that’s just height.
I also have two years of training. There’s a big difference between twenty-four and twenty-six.
Two years of muscle. His gaze turns hazy, and it languidly trails over my chest and down my torso. A view Surfer Boy clearly appreciates.
I shuttle my fist faster, alternating between full strokes and half strokes.
I twist over his crown and add pressure to the sensitive vein underneath with every pass until he’s squirming against the wall, hips bucking into my hand.
I’ll give it to him; he’s doing an impressive job of being quiet.
At the expense of his poor bottom lip. Time to up the torture, test the cocky brat.
I push off the wall and grab his thigh, hitching it around my hip. I stifle a groan as my aching cock slides up the groove where his hip meets his thigh. I gather more soap and wrap my fist around us both. His eyes fly wide, and a strangled noise tries to escape from those tightly pressed lips.
That’s right, Sunshine. Let me show you the glory of two dicks rubbing together.
I thrust into my hold, and a low thrum of pleasure starts up in my blood.
I can’t fit my entire fist around us, but our dicks make up for it, the glorious sensation of our crowns bumping and grinding against each other, feeling every ridge.
All the while, I slowly slide my other hand up his thigh toward his ass.
I palm it, revel in those hard-earned muscles flexing with every thrust of his hips.
A shot of pleasure streaks through me, and my fingers dig deep into his strength, his power.
He’s so much leaner than me, but God is he powerful.
He jerks into me, the first sign he’s losing control, and the smallest sound escapes him. I tsk and abruptly freeze. His mouth falls open, and the protest forms, ready to break free. I shake my head sharply. His mouth snaps shut.
Good boy.
He must hear the silent praise because those lips tilt into a saucy half-smile, his chest puffing out. The fresh little shit.
I start working us over again. I’m not sure what’s heating my blood more: the friction of us fucking into my fist, or the way lust melts the smile off his face and desire steals the cocksure glint from his blue eyes.
My fingers tighten on his ass, pulling him even closer.
Those lids fall, heavy with the weight of what’s swirling around us.
Raw. Carnal. It mixes with the steam, with our ragged breaths, until it feels like a being all its own.
Sliding its fingers teasingly over our skin, whispering dirty fantasies in our ears.
I can tell he’s getting close. His thrusts are erratic, his face twisted with the strain of keeping quiet. And that blush. Bright red crests over his cheekbones.
Time to really test the brat.