Chapter 15
JASON
“Is there anything you want to share, or can I help in any way?” he asks and I shake my head.
“I’m fine,” I reassure him as I step out of the shower and start to towel myself dry. The door opens and Gus Thompson, our manager slash coach walks in.
“Bowes. My office. two minutes.” Gus has never been one to mince words, and I know he noticed my poor performance.
We may play for fun, but our training, the ground, our strip and equipment are all paid through sponsorship.
Gus looks after it all and coaches most of the teams who play at the ground.
He used to play football professionally and he’s tough, but he’s also fair and I respect him a lot, which is why I scramble quickly to get dressed and I’m in his office with seconds to spare.
He indicates a seat on the opposite side of his desk from where he’s sitting, and I take it.
“I’ve known and coached you for at least seven years now, ever since you joined the senior team.
You’re one of the reasons why this team is near the top of the Sunday league.
” This isn’t news to me so I wonder what he’s getting at.
“I’m not going to tear a strip off you for what happened out there today, because I know you’re already beating yourself up about it.
” You have no idea, Gus. “Next week is a crucial game for us. If we lose that, we don’t make the draw for the trophy.
Every member of the team has worked hard all season and you deserve this chance.
So whatever it is, get it sorted by next week. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” I reply, because it is. He knows me well enough that bawling me out would wash over me, but making me feel like I’m letting the rest of the team down as well as him and our sponsors . . . Yeah, that’s where it hurts.
“Good, I expect to see some improvement at training on Thursday.”
“Yes, Coach,” I reply, and he gives me a small smile and a nod of dismissal.
“What did Coach want?” Jordan questions me as I enter the locker room to grab my bag.
“He told me to get my head out of my arse and play better or I’ll be the reason we don’t make the draw next week.”
“Ouch,” Jordan says.
“It’s true, though.” I sit on the bench next to him, tired of feeling this way.
“You can always talk to me, bro,” he says, nudging my knee with his.
“I know. Thanks, Jor.”
I’ve been able to confide in him for most things, like telling him I was gay before I came out to our parents, to which his reply was, “That’s a relief, as I don’t want to have to compete with you for the best girls.
” He’s always been my big brother and has always been there for me.
But this is different, it’s too close to both of us, and I want to work through it on my own.
I know from the thick quality of the darkness that it’s still the middle of the night when I awake.
My eyes are gritty like I’ve barely been asleep, which is probably true.
I had a lot going through my head last night.
Coach’s words and letting my team down add to my self-loathing, and it all comes down to one thing.
I need to get Kai out of my head. I can’t, though.
It isn’t just watching videos of him. I miss talking to him, how my heart does a little leap when I come across him unexpectedly or he just appears while I’m working.
He told me how lonely his childhood was, about his father and how he was estranged from the earl, but seeing his smile makes it feel like the brightest summer’s day even when it’s raining.
And I ruined all that because I started obsessing over him and found his account.
There’s only one thing for it—to find someone else to lust after.
It’s a stupid plan, and there’s a part of my brain that registers that, but it’s three a.m. and I can’t think rationally.
All I can do is clutch at any idea that even has a whiff of working attached to it.
I pull up For my Fans and start scrolling.
I ignore the notification icon that there are new videos on the accounts I follow.
Instead I search for the opposite of Kai—dark-haired men with a bit of fur, who’d always appealed in the past, and I load a video of one of my previous favourites.
I start to relax as the familiar face and body appear on the screen.
I’ve always liked his arse, and my cock thickens as he wiggles it at the camera.
Yes, this is what I need. I wrap my hands round my cock, settling into a long, slow, stroking rhythm as I watch him gyrate on the screen.
It feels good, right up until . . . it doesn’t anymore.
Five minutes in I’m aware that my cock is softening and I’m barely even looking at the laptop.
Driven with frustration by a hunger that’s been thwarted and the failure of a plan, I hit the notifications icon, not even thinking about what I’m doing.
There are several new videos on the LegacyinLace account, and my cock stiffens again.
I don’t wait for the previews, I don’t care, I just need to see something. I choose the latest one at random.
There he is, stretched out on the chaise longue.
I know it’s him even though I can only just see his form as he’s covered with cream lace.
The music starts and he pulls the lace off slowly, uncovering his blond hair and the black mask.
Next he reveals his lips—full and pale pink—that I have dreams about kissing.
I lick my own lips at the thought. In his teeth he has the end of a string of pearls.
Even seeing this much is far more erotic to me than the previous video I’d been watching, and my cock aches in anticipation.
I take hold of it again, squeezing lightly, teasing the end with my thumb and running precum over the head.
As he pulls the lace down further, exposing his torso, my eyes trace the pearls as well as they snake across his chest and belly. He whisks off the lace and the rest of the pearls are coiled around his cock, in neat rows from base to tip, his erect cock jutting straight up from his lithe body.
I almost moan. I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s so fucking hot. My hand moves faster as he starts to slowly uncoil the pearls.
I can see the tip of his cock, beautifully dark pink in contrast to the jewellery, the bead of precum almost matching the pearls before he gently rubs it in, arching his back as he does it.
He uncoils even more, revealing his cock, layer by layer, drawing my eyes to every inch of skin, every vein.
He reaches the base, and I watch as he gathers the pearls up and winds them round his hand.
He smoothes what looks like lube over himself with the other hand, then he wraps his pearl-covered hand round his cock and starts moving.
Holy fuck, that looks good. I imagine what it must be like to have them sliding against your skin.
Each pearl is a point of pressure gliding smoothly up and down.
I want them on my cock, those pearls in my hands, and then I want my hands wrapped round both of us, skimming the beads up and down us both together as I see him come undone from my touch.
My hand on my own dick moves faster as I watch him thrust into his hand.
Our strokes are in unison, as are our orgasms, as I hear him moan loud enough to be heard over the music.
I roar through my release, coming harder than I have for a long time before slowly coming to a stop.
He lifts his hand, cum dripping off the pearls.
I’d like to suck each one of the beads clean for him, and in my post-orgasm state I nearly write a pledge to ask for that.
Only then does a small part of my brain kick in that this had not been the point of the exercise.
I’m going to regret this in the morning, but right now I’m too sated to care.