12. Kingston #2
Looking Allen up online was the easiest way to satisfy his curiosity and get to the bottom of what the fuck he was dealing with right now.
“Monroe,” Jake said, since Allen was too busy bickering with Evans to answer him.
It took no time at all to find everything he needed, including an article that talked about Allen’s sister, April Monroe. That alone was shocking enough, but then he found Allen’s career stats he had set in junior hockey and Christ, he wasn’t bad—he wasn’t fucking bad at all.
Given enough time and hard work, Allen could have gone pro, judging by the points he put up, which was mind-blowing to him. It wasn’t that Kingston didn’t think someone as pretty and small as Allen could do that, because Su-jin Park proved it was possible, but it was just…surprising.
He knew Allen likely had his reasons, but the amount of talent he had thrown out the window when he quit was depressing.
“Please, Ally?” Evans whined, sounding like the simp Kingston knew he was. “I want to play with you. It will be so much fun.”
Allen huffed and tipped toward Kingston, bumping against his side. “I’ve gained weight and have creaky joints, so no. Can’t we just snuggle in bed and watch a movie?”
Jake swept his gaze over the sectional and the people sitting on it. “All four of us?”
Kingston didn’t know why he was being included in all these plans, but he didn’t care as much as he thought he would.
“Why not?” Allen pushed closer to Kingston, as if he were trying to create space between himself and his boyfriend. “The bed is big enough, and you said that this was a bonding experiment.”
Evans took one look at how cozied up Allen was and glowered like a jealous boyfriend. “Bonding for hockey chemistry, not boyfriend chemistry.”
Kingston smirked, knowing Evans had been caught in a trap. “I thought you told me they weren’t your boyfriends?”
Evans deflated, and Allen gave Kingston one warning tap to stop him from going in for the kill. And like a good little boy, Kingston stopped.
No. This was too weird for him.
It was too warm. There were too many things happening, and Kingston was getting overwhelmed.
“Thanks for the food,” he said, gently pushing Allen away from him so he could stand. “I forgot I have to do something back at the apartment, but if you guys do have that game, send me a text.”
Allen stood too, but Kingston already had his plate in hand and was hurrying to the kitchen to avoid him. He disposed of the rest of his food and rinsed his plate off like a proper guest, and then he was at the front door, putting on his boots and grabbing his coat.
“Your hoodie—” Allen began, holding it out for Kingston to take.
“Keep it,” said Kingston. “Add it to your hamster nest.”
It was an awkward joke to make as he was fleeing out the door, but it was the best he had right now. Kingston didn’t look back as he left the penthouse and strode down the long hall to the elevator.
He couldn’t explain why he was running, only that he needed to leave before he…
Before he got too comfortable and forgot himself.
Kingston wasn’t in Nova Scotia to make friends; he was there to play for the NHL and make a name for himself. He needed the money, and he craved the fame that came with the job.
Women, expensive cars, parties with the rich and famous—that was what he wanted. Not the warm, mind-numbing comfort Evans seemed content with, being a third wheel to a relationship that he didn’t realize he was a part of.
Kingston forced his mind to clear on the taxi ride to his apartment because he didn’t want to think about them anymore.
He fiddled with the idea of calling his last hookup and asking her back for a second roll in the sheets, but after the day he had, he was too tired to put in the effort of pleasing someone.
A nap. A nap sounded great.
Kingston fell onto his bed the second he was in his room and buried his face into his pillow. He let out a loud, long groan, feeling the childish urge to kick his feet because he couldn’t understand what was wrong with his brain.
He knew Evans was going to have something to say about his abrupt exit, but that was a tomorrow problem. It didn’t stop thoughts of the annoying bastard from entering his mind as he drifted into a restless sleep, images of the peaceful moment in the penthouse slowly transferring into his dreams.
Dreams of the four of them on the sectional, watching hockey and eating amazing homemade meals. The camaraderie, banter and feeling of family sank into his body until his soul lit up from the burning need for it.
It was good just like that, but it became even better when Allen slipped off his robe and splayed himself across their laps, presenting himself as an offering for all of them to devour.
In his dream, Kingston had Allen on his knees and was fucking him from behind, entranced by how sexy he looked while taking his cock.
Jake had Evans gripped by the hair and was thrusting his tongue into his mouth while the other hand jerked himself and Allen off with firm, confident strokes.
Kingston lifted Allen’s hips higher so Jake could move more easily, directing Allen’s head forward until his mouth found his rival’s cock.
Kingston groaned as Evans pulled away from the kiss so he could tilt his head back and moan.
That sound vibrated Kingston’s nerves, sending shocks of pleasure straight to his cock.
“Too far,” Evans said, meeting Kingston’s gaze with sex-dark eyes. “Wanna kiss you.”
Allen’s muffled cries around the cock in his mouth were driving Kingston to the edge, but he would—he would kiss Evans once he got their pretty boyfriend off.
And once Allen was satisfied and hazy from his orgasm, Kingston was going to put himself between Jake and Evans. He was going to sit on Evans’s cock and suck on his tongue while he gave him that kiss.
Kingston was going to run his hands all over Evans’s annoyingly sexy body and stare into those colour-swirling eyes while Jake joined Evans inside of him.
Kingston was going to cover all that pale, unblemished skin with bruises while Jake fucked them both to the edge, until Evans understood who he belonged to.
“Ah—Evans—”
No.
“Riley—”
Kingston gasped and jumped up so fast that he threw himself out of his bed and hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Gasping, he stayed on his back, blinking up at the ceiling as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
He was panting, covered in sweat and—
“Oh god.” Kingston cringed when the sticky feeling of cum became too obvious to ignore. “No fucking way.”
But there was no way to deny it. Kingston, without meaning to, had jizzed in his pants like a teenage boy because he had a wet dream about fucking three men.
Three men, and one of them was his goddamn rival.
“What the fuck?” he groaned, anger slowly building inside him.
If he had topped Evans in his dream, it would have been easier to accept, but knowing his brain wanted him to take two cocks up his ass was rude.
Kingston was a rational person, and he knew dreams could do weird things, so he could handle this.
He didn’t want Evans. He didn’t want Allen. He didn’t want Jake.
Kingston was a straight man who had been caught up in the warm fuzzies of friendship. This was why having friends was dangerous. Friends came with commitment, and apparently, wet dreams about guys with six-pack abs and thighs thick enough to comfortably bounce on.
“What the fuck.”
A gentle series of taps on his door made him freeze, and Kingston held his breath as a deep voice spoke from behind the door.
“Sloan, you good?”
Evans. The bane of his existence.
Kingston swallowed to wet his dry mouth and got ready to tell the asshole off, but froze when his dick gave an interested twitch at the thought of Evans barging in to find him like this.
That was…wrong.
“Sloan, are you breathing?”
Fuck.
“I swear, if I come in there and I find your dead body, I’m going to be so pissed. I don’t want your stupid ghost haunting me.”
Fuck.
Kingston rolled and pushed onto his feet. He felt ridiculous as he limped over to his bedroom door and threw it open, making sure to keep his lower half tucked out of sight.
He took one good look at the shocked expression on his rival’s face, his stupid eyes that could never pick a colour between blue, grey or green, and his stupid hair that was neither brown nor blond.
“Fuck off, Evans,” Kingston snapped. “Everything about you pisses me off. Pick a fucking colour and stop frustrating the hell out of me.”
He didn’t care if any of his words made sense. Kingston slammed the door in Evans’s face and stomped across the room into his bathroom. He needed hot water and thirty minutes to have a serious conversation with his brain and his cock, because this couldn’t happen again.
He couldn’t be attracted to guys—especially guys who were Riley Evans.
“What the fuck?”