Chapter 43 Derek
I tossed Théo onto the bed and watched him bounce once before I was on him, covering that slim body with mine. The weight of him beneath me—solid and warm and real—made something in my chest loosen. Some tension I hadn’t realized I had been holding until it was released.
It felt like forever since I’d touched him properly.
First his mom’s visit. Then our road trip.
Then the call about Nico, the flight to Toronto, the night he’d come to me broken and shaking and we’d just held each other until the sun came up.
One night. That was all we’d had before I had to leave town again—one night of him crying in my arms, too raw for anything but comfort.
And then another road trip. Phone calls and video chats and jerking off in the shower like a teenager. Too many nights of lying awake in hotel rooms thinking about the curve of his spine, the sounds he made, the way he tasted.
Now he was here. Under me. Looking up at me with dark eyes and parted lips and I was done waiting.
“Hi,” Théo breathed.
“Hi.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. I dragged my nose along the column of his throat, inhaling deeply. It was clean and crisp and reminded me of a sunlit winter’s day when the air was cold but the sun was shining. “Fuck, I missed the way you smell.”
“Is that all you missed?”
“Missed your smart mouth too.” I nipped at the spot below his ear, felt the shiver that ran through him. “Missed being able to do this…”
My hands were already under his shirt, palms hungry against bare skin, sliding up his sides like I could memorize every inch by touch alone. Théo arched into me and I groaned, the sound pulled from somewhere deep and primal.
“Three weeks,” I muttered against his collarbone. “Three fucking weeks of not being able to touch you when I wanted…” I bit down gently and he gasped.
I yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere behind me. Then I froze, just looking. The lean muscle, the pale skin, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Mine.
“Everything okay?” Théo asked, a flush creeping up his neck.
“Just looking.” My thumb traced along his ribs, reverent. “I kept thinking about you. On the plane, in the hotel, during fucking practice. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”
His expression shifted—heat turning into concern. “Derek… this is your comeback season. You fought to get back here.” He swallowed. “You can’t be thinking about me during drills. I don’t want to be a distraction.”
I paused, thumb still tracing lazy circles on his ribs.
”You’re not a distraction.” I kissed his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “You’re the best part of my day. Every day. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
He exhaled shakily. “You’re impossible.”
“You like it. Now stop arguing with me,” I murmured and leaned down to kiss him—not soft this time. Hungry. Devouring. My tongue swept into his mouth and the taste of him after weeks of nothing made my brain go haywire.
Théo moaned and scrambled at the hem of my shirt. I pulled back just long enough to strip it off, and then we were chest to chest, skin to skin, and I felt feral with it.
I rolled my hips, grinding my aching cock against his thigh, and the friction wasn’t nearly enough but it was something. Théo whimpered—this perfect, needy sound—and my last thread of restraint snapped.
“Missed this,” I groaned, rocking into him again. “Missed you under me. Missed the sounds you make.”
“Then stop teasing and make me make them.”
I laughed, breathless and a little wild. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah, I do.” I caught his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head, pressing them into the mattress. His eyes went wide, his breath catching, and the way he just submitted made my cock throb. “But I think you love it when I’m in charge.”
My free hand worked at the button of his jeans, tugging them down along with his briefs in one impatient motion. Then my hand wrapped around his cock—hard and leaking and perfect—and he nearly jerked off the bed.
“Derek—”
“I’ve got you.” I stroked once, slow and deliberate, watching his face—the parted lips, the flutter of his lashes, the way his whole body trembled. I had almost forgotten how responsive he was. How beautiful. “I’ve got you, snowdrop.”
He stopped being sassy after that. He just let himself be touched, let himself be taken, and the trust in that made me want to ruin him and worship him in equal measure.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please, I need—”
“What do you need?” My thumb swept over the head and he shuddered, precum slicking my fingers. “Tell me.”
“You. All of you. I can’t—Please—”
I released his wrists and pulled back, stripping off the rest of my clothes so fast I nearly tripped over my own jeans. I didn’t care. I needed skin, needed closeness, needed to be inside him five minutes ago.
Then I was back, nothing between us, and the full body contact made us both groan. His legs wrapped around my waist immediately, pulling me closer, and I could feel the heat of him, the way our cocks slid together.
“Lube,” he demanded.
I reached over and fumbled for it, knocking the lamp off the nightstand. Neither of us cared.
My hands were shaking as I slicked my fingers. Actually shaking. Derek Sullivan, seven years in the pros, nerves of steel on the ice, and my hands were trembling because I was about to touch Théo Beaubien for the first time in three weeks.
Get it together.
I pressed one finger against his entrance and watched his face as I pushed in. The way his mouth fell open. The flutter of his lashes. The soft exhale he made.
“More,” Théo demanded, spreading his legs wider.
“Patience.”
“I’ve been patient for three weeks.”
Fair point. I added a second finger, working him open, watching him take it. His heels dug into my lower back, urging me on, and I crooked my fingers, searching—
He cried out, back arching off the bed, and I grinned savagely. There.
“You don’t have to be gentle,” he panted. “I won’t break.”
“I know you won’t.” I pressed that spot again just to watch him writhe. “But I want to take my time. Want to feel every part of you.”
That was a lie. I didn’t want to take my time at all. I wanted to bury myself inside him and fuck him until neither of us could walk. But some part of me—the part that wasn’t completely feral—wanted to savor this. To make it last.
I added a third finger and he keened, high and desperate, and my self-control crumbled.
“Ready?” My voice was strained, barely recognizable.
“Yes, please, now.”
I withdrew my fingers and fumbled with the condom, rolling it on with hands that still weren’t steady. He watched me, dark eyes glazed with want, and I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I lined up and pushed in.
The tight heat of his body swallowed me inch by inch and I had to stop halfway, jaw clenched, every muscle locked down. If I moved too fast I was going to come like a fucking teenager on the first stroke.
“Okay?” I managed, forehead pressed to his.
“More than.” His hands slid up my back, nails dragging lightly. “Move.”
I bottomed out and gave myself one breath. Two. Then I pulled back and thrust in hard.
The sound he made was obscene. I did it again, and again, setting a rhythm that was probably too fast, too rough, but I couldn’t help myself. Three weeks of want had built up inside me like a pressure valve and now it was releasing all at once.
“Three weeks,” I growled against his throat, hips snapping forward. “Never again. I can’t—I can’t do three weeks without this again.”
“Then don’t.” He gasped as I shifted the angle, going deeper. “You’re mine and I’m yours, you know that, right?”
“Yes, snowdrop. All mine.” I kissed him, messy and graceless, all teeth and tongue.
“All yours,” he agreed, voice breaking on the last word.
Something cracked open in my chest. I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. I wanted to feel him come. Wanted to be inside him when it happened.
“Come for me,” I demanded. “Come on, baby, let me feel it.”
He arched his back and I knew I was hitting that spot that made him see stars by the way he was whimpering, his hands scrabbling against the sheets. “Right there. Oh God, Derek, that feels so good. Fuck me hard, daddy.”
Sweat slicked both our chests and I gripped his hip and thrust harder. After a few more strokes, he shattered. His whole body seized, clenching around me so tightly it was almost painful, crying out my name as he spilled over my fist.
The sound of my name in his mouth—broken and desperate and his—was what did it. I buried myself deep and came so hard my vision whited out, pulsing inside him, collapsing against him as the aftershocks rolled through.
We lay there afterward, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync. I couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. I wanted to stay inside him forever, stay wrapped around him, stay exactly here in this bed with the afternoon light slanting through the windows and our dog snoring in the other room.
“So,” Théo said eventually, voice wrecked. “How was Detroit?”
I laughed, the sound shaking through both of us. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
I lifted my head, looked down at the man beneath me—flushed and satisfied and smiling that secret smile that was only for me.
“Give me ten minutes,” I said.
“That a promise?”
I kissed the tip of his nose. “That’s a guarantee.”
He hummed, still tracing those patterns on my skin. Then his hand drifted lower, past my hip, fingers skimming along my inner thigh.
“What are you doing?” I asked, not stopping him.
“Thinking.” His voice was innocent but his eyes weren’t. “You know what feels really good?”
“What?”
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me properly. “When you were inside me earlier, did you notice how good it felt when you hit that one spot?”
“The one that sends you to another plane of existence?”
“Exactly.” A slow smile. “A prostate orgasm is completely different from a regular one.” He said it matter-of-factly, like he was explaining a skating technique. “Most guys don’t know what they’re missing. Or they’re too scared to explore it.”
“I’m not scared.”
“I know you’re not.” He kissed my jaw. “That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re not scared of trying new things.”
His hand was still on my thigh, fingertips just barely grazing where my leg met my hip. Teasing. Waiting.
“Is this something you want?” I asked. “To show me?”
“Only if you want me to.” He met my eyes. “No pressure. But I think you’d like it. And I’d really like to be the one to show you.”
My pulse kicked up—nerves and anticipation tangled together. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pulled him closer, kissing him slowly. “Show me.”
His smile turned wicked. “Lie back.”
I did.
He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers, and settled between my legs. The position felt vulnerable in a way I wasn’t used to—spread open, waiting, letting someone else take the lead. But it was Théo. I trusted him.
“Relax,” he murmured, one finger circling my entrance. “I’ve got you.”
The first press of his finger inside me was strange—not bad, just unfamiliar. He went slow, giving me time to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Keep going.”
He pushed deeper, crooking his finger, searching—and then he found it.
“Fuck—” The sensation jolted through me, sharp and electric, nothing like I’d expected. “Holy shit.”
“There it is.” He sounded smug. “Good?”
“I—yeah—” I couldn’t form a complete sentence. He did it again and my hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the pressure.
“That’s it.” His voice dropped, honey warm. “Just feel it.”
He worked me open slowly, adding a second finger, rubbing that spot with maddening precision. I was hard again—achingly hard—and leaking onto my stomach without either of us touching my cock.
“Théo—” My voice cracked. “I’m gonna—if you keep doing that—”
“That’s the idea.” He kissed my hip. “Let go, Derek. I want to watch you fall apart.”
He curled his fingers one more time and I came untouched, back arching off the bed, a sound torn from my throat that I didn’t recognize. It rolled through me in waves, longer and deeper than anything I’d felt before, leaving me boneless and gasping.
When I finally opened my eyes, Théo was watching me with an expression caught between tender and triumphant.
“Good?” he asked.
I pulled him up and kissed him, still shaking. “I think you broke me.”
“In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
He laughed softly against my mouth. “Welcome to the wonderful world of prostate orgasms.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“That’s normal.” He settled against my chest, smug and satisfied. “You’re welcome.”
I wrapped my arms around him and held on, heart still racing. This man. This impossible, sharp edged, beautiful man who kept surprising me at every turn.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For showing me.”
He tilted his head up. “Thank you for letting me.”
We lay there in the fading afternoon light, tangled together, and I thought—not for the first time—that I would do anything to keep this.
To keep him.