17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Trey
Hudson grasps the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, his lips finding mine with precision. His kiss isn’t sweet by any means. I’m more than aware that no one has ever kissed me like this. Like they crave my mouth, my tongue.
Like they crave me.
I pull him to me, needing to be closer. My hands slide over the waistband of his pants, unsure of where to rest them.
On his waist, his back. His ass. His body isn’t soft or pliable, not like a woman’s.
It’s hard and smooth, and heavier than what I’m used to.
He could totally crush me if he wanted to.
My dick jumps at the thought of his solid body pressed against mine, pinning me down, making it impossible to escape him.
I can’t decide where to put my hands, so I don’t overthink it and let them run rhythmically up and down his spine and over his hips, my fingers grazing the top of his ass with each pass until I finally relax and let my palms settle there.
Part of me expects him to react—to smack my hands away or shove me, maybe even put an end to this, because clearly this isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing.
But… he doesn’t. My hands slowly slide over the curve of his ass, getting used to the feel of it.
It’s smooth, round, and firm. I squeeze it, and Hudson deepens the kiss and distracts me with his tongue. I groan as I respond in tandem.
Hudson keeps one hand on the back of my neck while his free hand grabs my hip as he kisses me with a ferocious hunger that reminds me all too much of the way he used to play on the field.
I take his bottom lip between my teeth and bite it, which elicits a grunt from him, and his grip on my waist tightens. When we pull apart, he looks up at me with hazy eyes and pouty, kiss-swollen lips, and I think we should probably stop what we’re doing—but…
I don’t want to stop. And he’s not stopping me, either, so I lean down and kiss him again, pushing him toward the sliding glass door that leads to the oversized deck.
He stumbles, not expecting the force, and I can’t help but grin as I kiss him again.
And again. I don’t want to stop kissing him.
It’s like some switch has flipped in my brain.
I don’t want this, I need it. I need him.
I place both hands on his chest and push him back against the glass.
His back hits it with a thud as I press myself against him.
He could easily overpower me, but something tells me he won’t.
Something tells me he doesn’t want to escape either.
A flurry of thoughts and feelings rush through me, confusing and slightly overwhelming, but the minute he groans into my mouth, thrusting himself against me, I forget about anything else.
All there is, is this electricity, this rush that exists in the space between us.
He grinds his hardness against me, and I meet his thrust with one of my own.
“Fuck, Trey—” His voice is dark, yet nearly breathless.
My hands travel down his chest, my fingers grazing the edge of his waistband.
I flick the latch on his belt, the metal cool against my skin.
My lips travel from his mouth to his jaw as I bite and nip my way over to that spot on his neck that’s calling me.
I lick the spot before sucking on it, and he curses.
So I keep doing it. I bite and suck and lick his neck and grind my dick against him.
Hudson’s hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my neck, sliding up and down my chest.
“Did I say I was sorry yet?” I whisper, kissing the spot below his ear.
His breaths are heavy and rapid, and as I kiss his neck, I feel his pulse racing.
“No,” he says, his voice like melted butter. “Not enough.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, trailing my lips down his neck.
I pull the collar of his polo so I can bite the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.
I kiss and bite and suck, eliciting more of those sounds from him, the ones that have my dick throbbing.
His hands go straight for the open buttons on my shirt and slide between the opening.
I nearly jump from the sudden touch of his fingers on my skin.
I think he’s going to push me away. That he’s going to wake up and realize this isn’t a good idea.
Problem is, I don’t want that to happen.
I don’t want him to push me away, not now when I have him here, in my hotel room and history is repeating itself.
I have read enough self-help books to know that sex doesn’t fix problems, but I’ve also slept with enough people to know that make-up sex is hot as fuck.
All that aggression and bitterness, all the fury…
it makes everything so much more intense.
His fingers move fast and deliberately as he unfastens one button and then two and…
I break away. For a split second, he looks at me with that familiar glaze of panic, of concern, like he’s done something wrong. Like he’s waiting for me to tell him to stop. There is one clear thought in my mind amidst all the lust-glazed ones.
We should talk about this.
But those aren’t the words that fall out of my mouth. Not by a long shot.
“Let me make it up to you.” I lean my forehead against his, imploring his amber gaze with my own pleading one.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything else.” Even as I hear the words in the space between us, I know it’s a lie.
Because it feels like more. At least, on my part. But life is full of lies, right?
What’s a little white lie between friends?
He slowly toys with the next button on my shirt.
The air between us is charged, full of tension like a pot about to boil over. Problem is I don’t know if that’s a boil like…the pasta is ready or it’s been overcooked and we’re fucked.
Hudson’s gaze drifts to my mouth, then to my chest. He presses one palm against the open expanse of my skin, resting it right over my heart. He stands still, just like that, and I realize how fast my heart is beating.
His gaze flashes up to me. I panic, bracing for the “stop” or the “we can’t do this,” or the “I have to leave.”
But he doesn’t speak. He slides his hand down my chest slowly.
His fingers trace the outline of my pecs and my abs.
His touch is soft, but not hesitant. It’s almost methodical—like he’s thought about this.
I stand there, my dick throbbing in my pants as he traces lines and patterns across my skin.
His thumb and forefinger tug on my left nipple, and I can’t help but let out a high-pitched squeal of surprise because I was not expecting that.
I’ve always been sensitive when it comes to my nipples, which is why I guide people away from them, especially during sex.
It’s worse than being tickled, and I’m ticklish as fuck.
He looks at me with a darkness in his eyes that makes my dick jump. Moisture kisses the inside of my briefs, and I let out a heavy breath. He thrusts his dick against mine and grins.
“Say it again,” he says, his voice deeper, darker. “Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m—” His thumb flicks my nipple again, and I yelp, my body twitching from the touch. I suck in a breath. “Sorry.”
My voice is raspy from kissing him. Hudson looks up at me, but the look isn’t one of surrender. In that one look, I know exactly who has the upper hand. He holds my gaze in challenge.
“Make it up to me, then.”
I blink, unsure I heard him correctly. He must sense my hesitation, because a second later there’s a popping sound and a clatter, and then he lets go of my shirt, sliding his hand down the expanse of my chest, and I realize what the noise was.
My remaining three buttons.
“Prove how sorry you are,” he says, his hardness throbbing against mine.
He doesn’t thrust or grind against me, but he does pinch my nipple this time, and I curse.
A dark chuckle escapes his throat, but it’s not friendly.
It’s smooth and sexy, and makes my dick strain against my pants.
Hudson may be beneath me, but I am at his complete mercy.
Just as I feel like I can breathe, he moves forward, placing a slow, warm kiss over my nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive area, and I can’t help but groan.
Another bloom of precum forms, kissing the inside of my briefs.
“Oh, fuck…” I breathe, my heart racing a mile a minute. This isn’t forgiveness. This is fucking punishment.
But I don’t hate it.
Hudson’s fingers find my other nipple, and he pinches it while sucking on the one in his mouth, and I cry out as my balls tighten up.
“Hudson…” I try to keep my voice steady, but it cracks. A myriad of emotions and thoughts go through my mind. I’m confused. I’m turned on. I’m a little bit scared, I won’t lie. I’ve never been in this position before.
“What?” His dark whisper comes like a thief in the night.
“How?” I ask, my voice damn near breathless as I try to find the words to speak. It’s difficult when he keeps touching me like this. I’m so hard it hurts. This sweet yet sort of sadistic form of sensual torture is exactly what he wants.
“Tell me…” I grind against him, needing the friction, the motion. I’m so close already, and he’s barely touched me. My entire body feels like an overloaded circuit about to blow.
In all the years I’ve been with women, no woman has ever made me feel like this.
The anticipation is unlike anything I’ve ever known.
I don’t know what he’s going to say. I don’t know what he’s going to do.
But I do know whatever it is he wants, I’m going to do it.
Because I do owe him an apology, but also because I want to.
This doesn’t have to mean anything. I tell myself this, like if I say it enough, I will believe it. I think about Hudson’s words the last time we did this.
You don’t have to be gay to have sex with a guy.