Chapter 10 #3
Dawson’s shocked and swift intake of breath as Cam dropped to his knees was so fucking satisfying. The way he groaned deep in his throat and the back of his head hit the wall behind him made Cam’s dick throb.
“Too long,” Dawson agreed roughly, one of his hands drifting down to Cam’s hair, tangling gently in it as Cam undid his belt, his zipper on his jeans. Carefully pulled out his cock.
It wasn’t long but it was thick, twitching against Cam’s palm as he gave it an experimental stroke.
Cam wrapped a hand around Dawson’s thigh, enjoying the way it tensed under his touch. It was even more satisfying when the cock in his hand flexed, too.
“You like this?”
Dawson laughed, rough and needy. “I don’t hate it.”
“What do you like? I want to make it good for you.”
There was that desperate laugh again. It lit up Cam inside, thinking that he’d driven Dawson to this—that he could drive him even further.
He flattened his tongue and, sliding Dawson’s cock along it, got his first taste.
“God,” Dawson panted. “Not sure you’re gonna have to do anything special to make me—” He cut off with a muttered fuck as Cam took him a little deeper.
He was just sort of feeling his way, figuring out what made Dawson tick, but Dawson was already making these insanely needy noises above him, like he could come from just a little exploration. Cam had wanted to make it last, but it was becoming rapidly clear that Dawson just wasn’t going to.
So he switched gears. Taking his cock deeper, sucking it hard, tongue flicking in and out of his slit, humming as Dawson’s precome coated his taste buds.
Dawson’s hand tightened in his hair, not pushing him, but winding in, the bite of pain ratcheted up both Cam’s arousal and his determination to make Dawson lose it.
His thigh was flexing, the muscles contracting under his palm, and Cam wished he wasn’t leaning against the wall, because he wanted to feel his ass as he sucked him down. All that plush muscle clenching and releasing, like he was already imagining thrusting into Cam’s mouth—or Cam’s ass.
Cam groaned around Dawson’s dick, mouth filling with spit.
He wanted to make it last. This was so hot—way hotter than it had any right to be—but they were both riding the edge now.
Cam pressed a palm to his own dick, throbbing in his jeans.
Giving pleasure always turned him on, but tonight, because it was Dawson or because it was how earnestly Dawson gave himself over to it, it was undoing him right alongside.
Then he pulled back. Glanced up. Swore he saw God in Dawson’s face. “You wanna come in my mouth or on my face?”
“Fuck,” Dawson muttered.
“Come on,” Cam teased. “Tell me, Daws.” He twisted his hand more insistently, more precome blurting onto his tongue. He was close. Cam could tell.
And he wanted it to be good. So fucking good that Dawson wanted more. That Dawson wanted this all the time, because Cam already knew he did. Once was definitely not going to be enough.
“Mouth,” Dawson said, panting. “God, your fucking mouth.”
Cam took him deep again, sucking hard, and there was one single glorious flex of what felt like Dawson’s entire body and then he was shaking apart. Coming down Cam’s throat until he pulled back a little, at the very end, savoring it on his tongue.
His knees were shaking when he rose to his feet, arousal a live, pulsing thing in his blood. He could barely get his jeans undone as Dawson pulled him in, palms cupping his cheeks and kissed him long and hard, tasting his own come.
For a second, Cam thought that was all it was going to take. Dawson’s plush lips working against his, his tongue in his mouth, his palm barely grazing over his aching erection.
But then a hand closed insistently around Cam’s wrist, holding him firm. Keeping him from doing anything that might actually set him off finally.
Dawson pulled back. “No,” he said.
Fire burned through Cam at the word. He wasn’t usually into being given orders. That had never done anything particularly for him before. But Dawson saying it sternly like that, in a voice already fucked out from his own orgasm?
That was a whole different story.
“But—” Cam whimpered pathetically. He was so horny. Couldn’t ever remember wanting anyone the way he wanted Dawson.
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this my way,” Dawson said and took him by the wrist, pulling him along the hallway, tugging Cam into what had to be his bedroom.
“What’s your way?” Cam asked, as he fell onto the edge of the bed. If his knees had been wobbly before, they were jellified now. And he hadn’t even come yet.
Dawson didn’t answer. Just leaned over Cam and began to strip him out of his clothes.
Shoes first. Then socks. His jacket. His shirt. His pants. His briefs.
Then he was totally naked, staring up at Dawson, who was the opposite.
“Oh yeah,” Dawson said, a tongue flicking out to lick his reddened bottom lip. “Shit, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
Cam leaned back on the bed and believed him.
“See,” Dawson continued, even though it sort of felt like he was talking to himself now, “if we’re gonna do this, I wanna enjoy it. Take my time with you.”
“I—” He didn’t need it. He wanted to tell Dawson that. But that thought—really, all the thoughts left in his brain—got swallowed up in Dawson’s mouth as he leaned over the bed and kissed him.
Hot and lush and leisurely, like they had all the time in the world.
For a long minute, it felt like all Dawson was going to do was kiss him. Cam might have been really alright with that situation. He was a great kisser, and the electricity that sparked between them made it one of the hottest makeout sessions he’d ever had.
But the thrum of arousal was insistent in his veins, and when Dawson’s mouth finally slid lower, to his neck, then lower still, teeth nibbling at his collarbone, he groaned out his approval.
“God,” Dawson murmured into his skin, humming as he went. “Wanna mark you up. Make sure everyone knows.”
He didn’t say what he wanted everyone to know. That he was fucking Cam? That Cam was fucking him? That maybe, incredibly, Cam was his?
But no, if that was true, then Dawson wouldn’t have gone out of his way to clarify ahead of time that this was just a fun hookup, an exceptional way to release some steam.
If Cam really wanted to be his, he wouldn’t have gone along with it so readily.
But he had, and so far it was both: fun and exceptional. There hadn’t been any releasing yet, but Cam was already panting for it, because he knew it wasn’t going to be a disappointment.
“Can I?” Dawson asked, lifting his head.
“Can you make me come? Please,” Cam half-begged.
Dawson just chuckled. “I mean, can I mark you up?”
The guys in the locker room might notice and give him shit for it, but who cared? Cam wasn’t worried about that. He nodded.
“Good.”
Cam saw a flash of a smug smile before Dawson ducked his head back down and began to suck a mark into his collarbone. Then around his nipple, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing its surface, making Cam cry out at the unexpected pleasure shooting through him.
“So good,” Dawson muttered, like that was the worst realization he could have come to. And that filled Cam with a buoyant happiness; they weren’t going to do this only once.
His tongue was wet against his abs, then, like he was tracing the lines of them, the muscles contracting under its exploration.
Then finally, Dawson sank to his knees, and the first brush of his palm against the head of Cam’s cock made him yelp embarrassingly loud.
He bit his bottom lip and tried to stifle his noises.
“No,” Dawson ordered. “I wanna hear you. Let me hear you, rook.”
Then he tucked Cam’s cock into the wet heat of his mouth, one hand an insistent pressure against his thigh and the other reaching up, cupping his balls.
Cam could barely hold it together, now. He wanted to drag the joy of this out, spinning it endlessly until it swallowed him up, but self-control was slippery and it was sliding away from him.
“Yeah,” Dawson breathed around him. “Come on, give it to me.”
Cam watched as his eyes fluttered closed, like Dawson really did want it, and he tumbled headfirst into his orgasm, pulsing against Dawson’s tongue.
All orgasms technically felt great, but there was a particular satisfaction in this one. When he collapsed back against the bed, Dawson’s hand still pressed into his thigh, it felt like he’d cleared the last bit of cobwebby stress out of his brain.
Any type of way he’d felt about that punt during the game, gone.
“Well, that was . . .” Dawson raised himself up and flopped back down on the bed next to Cam.
When Cam glanced over at him, he was grinning.
The kind of bright smile that Cam could remember seeing so many times on TV in prior years, but had never once seen in person, not since they’d both come to Toronto this season.
“Yeah,” Cam agreed. It didn’t really matter how Dawson had intended to finish that sentence, ’cause all of the possibilities would be true.
For a moment, he let himself lie there, soaking up the last bit of endorphin rush, not just of his orgasm, but of Dawson lying there next to him, an uncomplicated happiness radiating out of him.
But he couldn’t stay. Hookups didn’t really sleep over. That was one rule Cam knew like the back of his hand. Funny how it had never felt like an option before, or even like something he’d wanted.
But now he just wanted to not move, to let himself slide into sleep. Wake up next to that same look on Dawson’s face.
“Have to say,” Dawson finally said, “that wasn’t a bad idea at all.”
“Not-bad enough to repeat?” Cam asked, even though he already suspected the truth.
Dawson barked out a laugh. “I think you know the answer to that.”
Yeah, he did. And it felt damn good.
He should really be going now. They’d established it had been a very mutually satisfying encounter and that they’d be repeating it. There was no reason to stay.
Cam pushed himself upright.
“Where you going?” Dawson asked lazily.
“Back to my place?”
Dawson just chuckled again, a little darkly. Even that was hot. “Why bother?”
Cam almost said, because you said you didn’t want to complicate things, and cuddling together and definitely sleeping together complicates things.
But Dawson was ten years older than him. He’d been married. Surely he didn’t need Cam to explain that to him. If he wanted Cam to stay, then Cam wasn’t going to argue.
Not when he didn’t want to leave.
“Okay,” Cam said.
“Got a spare toothbrush rattling around here, and you can make the walk of shame in the morning,” Dawson said sleepily, slinging an arm around Cam’s waist, heavy and insistent. “Come on. It’s late. Just stay.”
It was only a few floors down to Cam’s own apartment, but it was cold and empty. Why would he go down there if he didn’t have to?
So he settled back onto the bed. “Nice mattress,” he said.
Dawson smiled again. “Yeah, isn’t it?”