Chapter 6 #2
Content, not only with Dylan’s affection but also by his reassurance that we had this, I sighed into his touch, letting the effects of the alcohol swim through me and relax me even more.
My dick twinged, not a surprise considering the gentle caresses or the fact that I tended to get horny when I’d had a few drinks. I suspected most people did.
With each touch, I sank deeper into the sensation, luxuriating in the tenderness.
This year had been full-on in school, leaving little room for any real connection.
It was difficult to open up when I questioned every hookup. Were they in it just for the spotlight? Was getting in my pants a chance to get knocked up? Paranoia was rife in the sporting world—something I’d experienced firsthand last year when one girl “swore on her life” she was on the pill.
Like fuck I’d fall for that.
It was shit feeling that way. Thinking that way.
Doubting women seemed especially unfair. I knew it. No doubt I was preventing any real connection with my paranoia. Not that I was looking for a relationship anytime soon.
And guys?
Fuck. Just the thought of sinking into a man’s ass thickened my cock.
But I hadn’t been able to get over what happened last year and my irrational freak-out.
Dylan had been incredible when he’d flown out to me, helping to draw me out of my funk and get me out of my head.
His insistence that I’d been traumatized rather than irrational had been kind too.
Did I want to believe that? Reluctantly, I supposed so.
But trauma?
I continued to roll my eyes whenever I thought that.
It seemed a little excessive.
And didn’t it belittle those who experienced real, honest-to-god trauma?
When I’d said as much to Dylan, he called bullshit and reminded me that trauma wasn’t a competition.
Regardless, sinking my cock into a tight channel remained central to so many fantasies.
That would not happen. Not unless I could do so with someone I trusted implicitly. Someone I knew I could fall apart in front of and not want to disappear. Someone who I trusted to get squeaky clean and not laugh or destroy my usually big ego if I panicked.
In this, my ego shrank to the size of a walnut. Hell, maybe a shriveled peanut.
But fuck, how I wanted it.
Want turned my dick to steel. Want had me forgetting who the fuck I was with when I angled my hips, brushing my straining cock against Dylan’s thigh.
Dylan’s fingers froze in my hair, stopping me immediately.
“Fuck. Sorry.” I tilted away as I spoke and started to pull back fully. The hell is wrong with me?
“Hey.”
I paused when his hand moved to my shoulder.
“Get your ass back here.” He tugged me toward him, my face settling once more on his chest.
“Fine, but still. Sorry.” I ignored the heat filling my cheeks. I just wished I could ignore my aching cock. Even the awkwardness of rubbing up against Dylan hadn’t done a thing to make me deflate.
“S’all good. It happens.”
Hearing his words, I sagged into his touch, knowing Dylan never lied to me.
“Happens all the fucking time these days when I’m not getting any.”
At my words, the pounding of Dylan’s heart, loud against my ear, picked up speed. And while his movements in my hair faltered, it was for barely a couple of seconds.
He didn’t say anything for a beat, the room quiet, though the thumping of his pulse filled me. When he finally asked, “There a reason you’re not getting any?” I didn’t hesitate in angling to see a glimpse of his face.
Truth was, Dylan knew all my reasons.
“Same old. Trusting is virtually impossible.”
Despite his wince, he smiled down at me. It was a little sad and filled with understanding.
“I get it. For different reasons, but I do get it,” he said softly.
Being gay in a small town could be tough. Dylan being at college had made things a little easier, but letting down your guard and sharing your sexuality always came with risks. I felt like I only knew or at least experienced a fraction of what he did.
Don’t get me wrong—I was regularly frustrated that the B in LGBTQ seemed to be ignored or brushed aside, but Dylan had a couple of quite shitty reactions over the past couple of years.
Honestly, I dreaded him joining the police force. Worrying about his safety for simply being a cop was one thing. Worrying about his safety and well-being because he was a gay cop added a whole new level to my fear.
The last thing I wanted to think about was Dylan at risk. Though my dick flagged a little, so there was that.
“This is going to sound all ‘woe is me’ or something, so tell me to get over myself, but it’s going to get even harder, right?
” I shifted, moving more fully on him so half my body pressed against his front.
He scooted up a little as I did so, leaning against the headboard so he wouldn’t be in such an awkward position to be able to see my face.
It was a dance we were used to.
When comfortable, I pressed my hands against his chest and rested my chin on top. Peering up at him, our gazes catching, I waited for him to answer.
“More difficult knowing who to trust?”
I bobbed my head.
Sending a tender smile my way, Dylan reached for my face. A gentle stroke followed before he dropped his hand. “I hope you can trust your team.”
I hoped for that too.
“You’ll find your place and settle into it. Make friends. No doubt there’ll be a bigger circle of friends there in the process. You’ll learn how to trust them.”
What he didn’t mention was my decision to stay in the closet. Or maybe with my door slightly ajar.
There were no out queer players in the League. I hoped there would be some day soon.
Sure, I was comfortable in my own skin and with my sexuality. Lots of my teammates at college knew, but it wasn’t public knowledge; I kept things on the down-low.
It was that reality that sucked.
It was also that reality that would mean I’d have to be even more careful. The press were everywhere, and when I did choose to come out, it would be on my terms.
At least that was the plan.
It meant hooking up with a guy now that my contract was signed would be even trickier. I needed someone I could really trust so I knew they wouldn’t kiss and tell and could help me get past my fear.
Dylan knew all this. Respected it even.
Now, with just two days before he packed up and left for Virginia, we’d had a similar conversation. I didn’t know whether it was ironic or simply funny, but I’d always been the loud and proud bi and was now stepping into the shadows.
Dylan, though, had come out later and was always a little hesitant and nervous—understandable considering his upbringing.
Though he’d decided to no longer hide away, even when at the academy and when he was working in the force. After being taught to feel shame, he refused to conceal this part of him any longer.
Jesus, he was strong and brave. Stronger and braver than I ever was.
“What’s that smile for?” He tilted his head, searching my gaze.
I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling, lost in thought about how proud of Dylan I was.
“Just thinking how awesome you are.”
The pink in his cheeks made me grin. His pale skin always highlighted his feelings, drawing them front and center.
“It’s about time you recognized how phenomenal I am.” He hid his embarrassment well with his teasing words.
“I’ve always known how phenomenal you are.
” I arched a brow, saying, “You had a good mentor, someone to aspire to be like.” By the time I managed to say, “You’re welcome,” I huffed out a loud laugh as he grabbed hold of me and managed to wrangle me so I was on my back, Dylan between my legs, his weight pushing against me.
He snagged my hands, shoving them above my head, holding them with one hand.
“Fuck no.” Laughter had me wheezing, knowing the asshole was going to go for my ribs and tickle me.
I bucked against him. All that did was make him push harder against me, a wide grin on his lips and a flush in his cheeks. His eyes virtually sparkled with amusement.
By the time his fingers danced across my flesh, his hands under my shirt, I was bucking like a fucking bronco.
One jolt forced his hand high, his fingers trailing against my nipple.
Goose bumps broke out across my skin, and my breath caught.
Two hip jolts and his grip tightened around my wrists. And why the fuck was I beginning to like the idea of him holding me down like this and doing all manner of sinful things to my body?
One more thrust had him locking his feet around my calves. I hadn’t even noticed him straddling me rather than being between my thighs.
My eyes glazed over.
His dick was hard.
There was no mistaking the thick, solid appendage against my stomach. My dick throbbed, the sound of our combined heavy breaths doing nothing to calm my racing pulse or the awareness sweeping through me.
Our gazes locked, and it was impossible to look away.
This was Dylan. My Dylan.
The fuck was happening?
His tongue darted out, and I tracked the movement as it swiped over his bottom lip.
My dick jerked. At the movement, my gaze flicked up, meeting his.
Did I say anything? Did I want this?
Did he?
Never, not once, had we gotten close to doing anything like this.
Almost fifteen years of knowing the man, and not even once had my awareness of him turned my dick to steel.
Dylan parted his lips, and I held my breath, waiting, wondering what he was going to say.
Nothing. No words followed. But I saw his struggle, his confusion. I felt it bone-deep and saw it mirrored in the reflection of his eyes.
Could we do this and not have it ruin everything?
Could we do this so I could selfishly have my first taste of something I’d been desperate for? Something I’d been craving?
Trust.
I trusted Dylan more than I trusted myself.
Did that mean—
Fuck it.
Consequences be damned, I angled up and pressed my mouth against his.
Heat, perfection, and awareness all slammed into me as we kissed. Our touch was tentative, exploring.
Until it wasn’t.
Until Dylan ground against me.