22. Dirty Magic
22
DIRTY MAGIC
Jason
At the speed of light, Beck unlocks the door, pushes it open, and lets me into his home.
I don’t look around. Don’t care. I’m still pissed, hours later. “What the fuck?”
Beck’s face is ashen. “I’m sorry about the Zena thing. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I snort. “Fuck the Zena thing. I’m talking about what you said. Is that your dream guy or girl? The one next door? Soft-spoken? Shy? Did you deliberately paint my opposite?”
He shakes his head, whiplash fast. “No,” he says, then winces. “Yes.” He looks eaten alive as he confesses, but his eyes say forgive me .
“Why did you say that?” It was so calculated, so deliberate, and I don’t get it.
Beck cracks his knuckles over and over. “You’d told me you didn’t want to date. But then it seemed like you did. And fuck, I don’t know, Jason. I don’t fucking know.”
I cross my arms. “I do this event every year. It’s for charity. I do it because it sends a good message to the whole damn world that there are gay football players up there parading around on stage, having people bid on them, just like the straight guys.”
Beck drags a hand down his face like he wants to wipe away today. “I . . . was . . . jealous. Just stupidly jealous.”
“Yeah, I’d say. So, I ask again. Is that what you want in a person?”
He meets my gaze. “No. I said it because I wanted you to...”
“Wanted me to what?” I challenge.
“I wanted you to feel what you’re missing,” he fires off, full of hurt and anger.
Same here. “You think I don’t? You think I don’t feel what I’m missing every fucking day? Every time we text? Every time I see you? You really think I don’t feel it?”
In the foyer, I stare at the other quarterback, anger, and lust feeding me. But something deeper too. Something that comes from the last few weeks of talking, texting, and not touching.
Beck huffs. “I feel it all the time with you. Every damn second.” He steps closer, maybe, just maybe, putting down the weapons for a second as he confesses, “I want you. So fucking much.”
I heat up in an instant. Screw jealousy. “Want you too,” I say, then grab the front of his shirt, yank him against me, and kiss him so hard he better forget every other man, woman, and person in existence.
I kiss him so I can forget he’s a bigger risk than playing a brutal game for a living.
But mostly, I kiss him for me. So I can remember again how it feels to slam into the man I want. It’s been too long without his touch. More than three weeks since that night, and years have passed in those twenty-four days.
As I crush his lips, I do my damnedest to commit every detail of his kiss to memory. So I can recall it tomorrow in the shower. So I can relive it alone in my bed.
The slide of his soft hair in my fingers.
The outdoorsy smell of his aftershave.
The tempting taste of his lips.
Most of all, the way I feel with Beck Cafferty.
Electrified .
This is want. This is thirst. And I will quench it tonight.
We’re rough and demanding. Hands grabbing. Lips smashing. Voices grunting.
Beck yanks on my hair, jerking me impossibly closer. I clutch at his shirt, tugging him firmly against me. We overbalance and stumble, break apart for a second. Panting hard, I glance around. A bed? A couch? But fuck it. The bedroom’s too far. Everything’s too far but him.
He reads me instantly. Pushes my chest, slamming me up against his front door.
Have me, Beck. Manhandle me.
As his lips seal to mine once more, his strong hands claw at my shirt, my chest, my arms.
He’s got me up against the door, and I am here for this.
Beck takes the lead. He’s ravenous, biting my lips, sucking on my tongue, and unzipping my jeans. He doesn’t even bother to push the denim down, just dives his hand into my boxer briefs and grabs my cock.
He hisses as he wraps a hand around my dick. A wicked vibration rattles my entire body, and I break the kiss to mutter, “Fuck, yes.”
When I look at Beck, he’s already staring at me, fire in his eyes, determination in his jaw. He strokes me with obscene purpose as he watches me intently.
I’m dying to kiss him again, but the pleasure... the indecent pleasure of his hand on my dick is driving me out of my mind.
I’m shaking with lust.
He slides his palm up and down my shaft, then rubs his thumb over the head, lubing me up with my arousal.
“God, that’s so fucking good,” I groan.
He grips me tighter like my cock is his fantasy come true.
It’s crazy to think that. But that’s how Beck touches me. Like I’m his fantasy.
I huff out a breath. “You,” I murmur. “Need you.”
“Have me,” Beck answers, and I heed the call. I grapple with his jeans, undoing the button, then unzipping.
For a necessary second, we both stop. He eases his jeans to the top of his thighs. I do the same with mine. When our dicks are free, we crash into each other.
“Ahhh,” he mutters as our cocks rub together. “This feels so good, Jason. So fucking good.”
“I know. I know,” I repeat. Everything about the way we touch excites me, and I need as much as I can get.
No. I need more .
My hands fly to his ass. I squeeze his cheeks as we grind together.
His mouth finds mine again in a deliciously sloppy kiss.
“More, give me more,” he grunts, and I give him everything. I knead his ass, bite his collarbone, rub against his dick.
Then shove my hands between us to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, getting two undone. “Off. Get this off,” I order.
He yanks his button-down over his head in a split second, and before I know it, my shirt is hitting the floor too.
Then we’re skin to skin, dick to dick.
It feels so good. But there’s also this voice in the back of my head reminding me this is all new to him. I’m the lucky man who gets to have his firsts. That’s a privilege but also a responsibility, and it’s one I relish. I want to make sex so good for him.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from our night together, Beck likes it when I talk.
“Want to rub off with you,” I tell him. “Right here.”
“Yes. Do it.”
I stare down at our bodies pressed together, savoring the view of two hard cocks. When I spit into my hand to help us along, he unleashes a carnal groan.
“That’s so fucking hot,” he says.
“This’ll be even hotter,” I say as I grab our cocks in my hand.
As I jerk and stroke, I stare shamelessly at the man I crave. His fuckable lips are parted, and every breath that escapes them seems ripped from the depths of his dirty, hungry, horny soul.
He pumps into my hand, fucking my fist, fucking my cock, fucking us .
It’s incredible and erotic, and I need to come so badly. But there’s one little problem.
Spit only gets you so far, and I don’t want to stop.
“There’s lube in my wallet,” I command as I slow the pace for a few seconds. “In my pocket. Get it.”
He nods, one hand sliding to the back of my jeans. As he fishes around, anticipation moves over his shoulders, down his chest. Watching him experience us might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
There’s no porn hotter than Beck’s first time. With me .
Quickly, he’s got my wallet open. He digs around in it, locates the packet, then tosses the billfold to the floor in one careless move. He rips open the lube, but there’s a pause for a second when he seems unsure—should he hand it to me? Or handle it?
I rope my free hand through his hair as I stroke our cocks. “You do it, baby. Get us nice and slick.”
He slides his teeth over the corner of his lips, all anguished and lust-struck. “I want that. So badly,” he rasps out.
“I know,” I murmur. “Me too.”
“God,” he groans, then pours lube into his cupped palm and reaches between us.
He takes over, wrapping his shiny palm around our dicks as I let go.
“Yesssss,” I grunt, clasping his hips as I rock into his hand. As his fist flies over our lengths, I thrust. Together, we’re groaning, panting, pumping.
He mercilessly jerks us till I sizzle everywhere. Lust rockets down my spine. Radiates along my thighs. Tightens in my balls. Then my vision blurs, and my brain flatlines as I shoot all over his hand, his dick, and probably his stomach. God, I hope so. I want to make a mess of him.
Seconds later, my off-limits lover makes a mess of me, unloading on me with a loud groan.
I open my eyes to stare wantonly at his release as it coats his fingers, my cock, his cock.
We are a fantastic mix of sweat and orgasms, breath and satisfaction.
His hand is still on us, his pace slow and easy like a roller coaster car, rolling to a stop, unclicking, the seats unlocking.
The two passengers are spent, ecstatic, thrilled.
I wrap my hand around his, squeeze up our dicks, then gently move him off us. I press a hot kiss to his perfect lips. “You’re incredible,” I say, and my chest heats all over again as I praise him.
As I kiss him gently, he smiles my way. “Yeah?” He sounds like dirty magic.
“So fucking incredible,” I tell him. “Let’s clean up.”
“Then can we do that again? Or, really, anything?”
I love his enthusiasm so much. It matches mine completely. “We can do anything you want,” I say, and I mean it.