Breakaway

15. Hayden

Chapter 15

Hayden

In less than a minute after the equipment manager tells us the last of the players are gone, Maggie has found the confidence to turn to me and say, “You should go to the hotel.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay. And all of this will just be magically packed up by the time we have to fly home?”

“No. It’ll all be packed up by me.”

“There’s way too much for you to do alone.”

“Hayden. Mr. Wallace. Sir.” I turn to her, raising an eyebrow. She hasn’t called me those last two since my first day working with her. My attention seems to take a little of her confidence, but not enough to have her giving up. “I have a fresh energy drink, a promised phone call to my sister, and more strength than most give me credit for. I can handle the breakdown on my own. You need a night off.”

I smirk. “That bad, huh?”

“I’m not sure if you need a good cry or a good scream or a good sleep or a good… something too inappropriate to say as your subordinate, but whatever it is, go find it before you explode.”

“Honestly, I could probably use all of those things,” I mumble, looking away from her. “Kind of scares me how badly I need some of them.”

She makes a noise of understanding. “Maybe start with sleep. My mom always told me everything is better after a good sleep. I mean, a good sleep has never made anything worse , at least, right?”

“Right.”

“Add in a tart cherry juice. I hear they’re all the rage for a person’s health these days.”

That startles a laugh out of me, even as it creates an ache in my chest. I don’t let myself be reminded of a certain player who hates that juice. I don’t have the emotional capacity to think of him tonight.

I grab a juice, lifting it to show her. She gives an approving nod before making a shooing gesture. “Now go away.”

“Call if you need something, okay? I’ll have my phone on loud.”

“Go away.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” I grab my jacket and personal bag before heading outside. It’s still close enough to the end of the game that people are milling around, grabbing something to eat from food trucks or waiting for rides. It only takes two minutes for a rideshare to appear after I use the app on my phone, the vehicle probably in the area for the crowd.

The drive is thankfully quiet, the man not interested in anything other than a quick hello, an invitation to one of the free bottled waters and bags of pretzels, and a reminder to let him know if I think I’m going to be sick. I take the pretzels to eat with my cherry juice and promise him I’m not going to throw up.

There’s a brief moment as we pass through an area full of nightlife that I consider asking him to drop me off there instead. In a city like this, there’s bound to be a gay bar or club around here somewhere. At the very least, a gay-friendly one. Maybe that’s what I need—a guy to clear my mind. Someone who looks nothing like Ethan Pope. Someone who isn’t fucking straight.

The thought makes me feel unsettled, almost sick, so I let the driver bring me to the hotel instead.

A few players are at the hotel bar as I pass, calling out to me to join them. I give them a nod and a rain check. Their booing follows me to the elevators, but I’m too swallowed up by my own shit to be bothered by it. They’ll forget I walked by within minutes anyway, most of them well on their way to being drunk.

The silence of the elevator teams up with my exhaustion to finally win over my control over my mind. The moment I close my eyes, I see Ethan Pope looking at me in that locker room, so much fear in his eyes, his fists at his sides like he was preparing to swing at me for my admission. Why did I do that? What the fuck was I thinking?

There are two ways this can go now. He can freak out, throw a fit, and get me into a lot of trouble, or he can freak out, turn his back on me completely, and disappear from my life. Either way, it’s a fucking mess with heartbreak on top.

When I get to my room, I consider crawling under the blankets and hiding for the rest of my life. Or as long as it takes for me to crave chocolate—because I may be a health nut, but some days a person just really needs some fucking chocolate.

On second thought, maybe I’ll just crawl under the blankets and have a good cry followed by a good sleep.

Maybe a good scream into my pillow too.

A knock on my door interrupts my exciting plans for the evening. Knowing it’s probably Ian either coming to bother me as a friend or yell at me as my employer, I don’t bother putting on the shirt or belt I just discarded. I’m literally only minutes from a breakdown. The least he can do is not make me get redressed.

He knocks again. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m coming!”

I’m already preparing two versions of my response as I reach for the door. One for if he’s here as a friend— man, I’m so fucking tired, can we rain check? —and one for if he’s here as my employer— man, I’m so fucking tired, either fire me or yell at me in the morning .

Then I open the door.

It’s not Ian.

It’s Ethan Pope.

My heart stutters. I try to rein it in, to act professional, to hide the emotional turmoil I was just wading through a second ago. I’m not sure how well I do, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes are sweeping away from my face, lingering on my bare chest instead. There’s a pained noise in the air. For a moment, I worry it came from me.

Then I realize it came from him.

“Pope—”

He surges forward, his hands almost violent as they grip my face. His momentum sends us stumbling back a step into my room. I have just enough time to swing a hand out, sending the door slamming shut, before his mouth is pressing to mine.

There’s no reining myself in after that. I’m lost, drowning in a sea of a hundred little moments, of lingering looks and light touches, of dimpled smiles and soft laughter, of blue moon ice cream and terribly folded towels, of secrets and doubts, of his chapped lips, his hesitant tongue, his trembling hands, his heaving chest as he starts to gasp desperately against my lips.

I take over for him, plunging out of my sea of emotion and lust to pull him out of his own chaos. I bring my hands to his face, mirroring his hold on me, and gently break the kiss. He tries to fight it, that same pained noise coming from him as he chases my lips. His eyes are wide when I look into them. Scared. I press a hand to his chest, stroking my thumb over his heart. “Breathe. Just breathe .”

He shudders, his breath catching as he tries to suck in air. I nod for him to try again. His hands are shaking where they still hold me. His whole body is shaking, actually.

“Breathe,” I urge again, sliding one of my hands down until I’m cupping the side of his neck. His pulse is a panicked flutter beneath my thumb. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours right now, it’s going to be okay. I promise. Just breathe.”

His eyes close as he finally manages to pull in a proper breath. He does it two more times before I’m looking into his green eyes again. They’re still wary, but the fear is gone. I smile. “There you are.”

He breathes a soft laugh, his already flushed cheeks getting darker. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say like an idiot, my mind still reeling as it tries to figure out what just happened. “You just kissed me.”

“Yes.” He touches his fingers to his lips, an incredulous smile growing against them. “I could feel your stubble. It was just as hot as I thought it’d be.”

He’d been thinking about kissing me enough to consider my stubble? Did I actually fall asleep somehow and this is a dream?

“I should have prepared something to say. Like… a big romantic speech or something. A rom-com moment. But the truth is, I didn’t want to wait another fucking second.” He shrugs, looking almost helpless. “I want you, Hayden.”

The words damn near destroy me.

I can think of a dozen things to say. Since when? What changed? Aren’t you straight?

Instead, I admit my own helpless truth. “I want you too.”

I’m not sure which of us moves first, but we’re kissing again.

This one is slow. Controlled. He softens beneath my lips, shivers against the brush of my fingers on his jaw. The first touch of my tongue has him gasping. I take advantage, darting it out until it’s sliding between his lips and finding his own. His moan vibrates from his chest to mine as he presses harder against me, licking into my mouth with a practiced roll of his tongue. When it retreats, I chase it, my teeth finding his bottom lip and nipping. He shudders, his hands gripping at my shoulders before sliding down my sides. We stumble again.

Something hits the backs of my knees, forcing me to fall. The couch catches me. Then I catch him. He settles against me, one thigh across my lap, the opposite knee pressing into the couch cushions beside my hip. His cock is hard, pressing firmly against my stomach through his pants. I shiver despite the heat coming off him in waves. My hands clumsily find his hips as he fights me for dominance of the kiss, more teeth than lips between the two of us now. I grab hold of his waistband and tug him forward until he’s forced to grind on me. He makes a wrecked sort of sound that I’m certain I’ll never forget.

“Wait. Wait.” He puts a hand to my chest, sucking in a breath that hitches. “Stop.”

I pull my hand back, my stomach sinking as I prepare myself for him to take everything back. To change his mind. Some kissing was fine, but now that cocks are getting involved, the straight boy is panicking. Shame washes over me. How could I have let myself get swept up in him again? Am I just begging for my heart to be broken?

“Sorry. Shit.” I quickly extract myself from him, pushing to my feet. “This was a mistake.”

Pope looks up at me with hurt in his eyes. “What?”

“You should go.”

“I—really?” He looks down at himself, staring at the stretch of fabric that’s been exposed like it holds the answers to our situation. “You said you want me too.”

“You don’t actually want me though, Pope.” I sigh, hating myself for getting into this mess. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want you?” he asks incredulously.

“You—” my brain screeches to a halt as he stands up, letting his sweatpants fall to his ankles. At the same time, he tosses his cap onto the couch and tugs his hoodie over his head to expose that he’s shirtless beneath. My mouth goes dry at the sight of each exquisitely sculpted inch of him.

He hooks a thumb into the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugs it down, revealing most of his hard cock. The tip is leaking. Apparently us coming to a stop didn’t take any of the wind out of his sails. “Does this look like I don’t want you, Hayden?”

“I—” I swallow, my previously dry mouth suddenly filling with a little too much saliva. He’s cut, the head of his cock a pink that I can’t help but find almost… pretty . If he was anyone else, if this was any other situation, I’d be shoving him back onto that couch and filling my mouth with it. I’d push him to the brink, then make him wait, listening to him beg and whine. I’d see just how long I could go before he unraveled completely. Maybe even see if I could draw tears. But tonight, I’m frozen.

I’m usually so dominant. Why is this man fucking my head up so badly?

“You stopped us,” I choke, hating the emotion welling up inside of me but unable to stop it. And that’s what’s fucking me up, isn’t it? I’m too emotionally involved. I’m not confident here. I don’t know where I stand. I don’t know what’s okay. This isn’t a hookup that may escalate later on into a relationship, this is already a man I love without ever having touched him. It’s a different landscape.

“I stopped us because I didn’t fucking shower after the game. I’m disgusting. Like— disgusting . We don’t have to stop, just pause. Give me three minutes in that shower of yours and we can go right back to that couch.” He inches forward, eyeing me like I’m a damn piece of meat. His voice is lower when he speaks again. “Or maybe your bed.”

Oh fuck me.

Or, more accurately, fuck him.

“Care if I join you?”

His green eyes light up. “I insist.”

“You insist, huh?” I grab his wrist and pull him toward the bathroom, my confidence slowly returning. I still have some questions before I feel completely secure in the things I want to do to him, but those questions can be asked while I soap up his very dirty body. “Just as a warning, I’m usually the one that insists in these situations.”

“Y-yeah?” he asks, his voice suddenly breathy as he stumbles behind me into the bathroom. I reach into the shower and turn the water on, letting the temperature warm. His eyes are glued to me as I step back and begin stripping my own clothes off. “How so?”

“I’m dominant, Pope,” I warn him, glad that it only takes a second to pull my shirt off because the way his expression shifts into pure lust at my words is just about the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time. “Outside of the bedroom, we can negotiate just how bossy I am, but when sex gets involved?” I slow down my movements, loving the way he seems to be hanging off the edge of a metaphorical seat as he watches me undo my belt. “When sex gets involved, I’m in charge.”

He squeezes his cock at the base like he’s trying to keep it under control. I grin at the sight. “You like that?” I ask him. “You like the idea of me bossing you around?”

Pope is nodding before I’ve even finished my question. His eyes are starting to glaze, his lips parting as he pants. When his eyes meet mine, he shivers. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“Careful.” I grin. “I might take you up on that.”

“Fuck, Hayden.” He comes closer but stops when I put a hand up. Already such a good listener.

I gesture to his sweatpants where they still hug the middle of his thighs. “Finish taking those off and get in the shower.”

He shoves the fabric down so quickly he nearly falls over. “Are you coming too?”

“Of course.” I eye his ass. Goddamn, he doesn’t skip his squats, does he? “But you first so I can enjoy this view.”

His cheeks flush before he adorably ducks his head and climbs into the shower. It’s a ridiculously small stall, but it’s not like I plan on fucking him in there so we don’t need much room. I let myself appreciate the way the warm water drapes over his muscular shoulders and chest before grabbing a cloth and climbing in behind him. Our skin brushes together—it’s impossible for it not to in these close quarters. He makes a soft whining sound in his throat as my chest hair rubs along his bicep, his pupils dilating as he watches it happen.

Noah was right—this boy is so not straight.

Thank fucking God.

I press up behind him, my cock nudging his right thigh, my chest hair now brushing his broad back. He whispers, “ Fuck ,” under his breath, his head dropping. When I rest a hand on his left hip, he puts a hand out in front of him to brace against the wall and whispers the same word again, this time throatier, like the word is yanked right out of him.

“I’m not going to fuck you in here,” I murmur, not sure if he’s bracing himself for that possibility or if he’s just bracing himself against the onslaught of emotions and sensations he’s experiencing. “Just getting you nice and clean for me. Is that okay?”

“Yes. Fuck . That’s fine.”

“Is there anywhere you don’t want me touching with the cloth?” I ask as I start to soap it up. He shakes his head no. “What about with my bare hands?”

“You can touch me with those anywhere you fucking want,” he rasps. “ Please touch me with them.”

Chuckling, I bring the cloth to his shoulder and begin washing him in gentle circles. He exhales slowly, as if he’s releasing every ounce of weight on his soul with it.

I work up to the hot spots, letting him get used to the feeling of the cloth—and little skims of my fingers—against his skin first. He laughs softly when I wash his armpits and squirms when I clean his ribcage like he might be ticklish there.

When I lower myself to a squat to get the backs of his thighs, he freezes.

I ignore the reaction, letting him think as I work the suds through all of his thick hair down to his ankles. He’s relaxed by the time I’m at his ass cheeks, but there’s a wobble in his knees, both of his hands now braced on the shower wall. His head is hung like before, but his eyes are wide open and locked onto what he’s able to see of my hands on his body.

He sucks in a breath when I pull his left ass cheek to the side to expose his tight pucker. I hear his nails scrape against the tiled wall as the muscles in his ass tense. “That’s—that’s not—”

I pause, then stand back up and hook my chin over his shoulder. He tilts his head toward me, letting my lips brush against his cheek, but his eyes are now squeezed shut.

“Do you want to clean that part yourself?” I ask, making sure there’s no disappointment in my tone even if I’m feeling it.

“No. Just—just fucking nervous.” He laughs softly, his face relaxing but his eyes still closed. “I don’t want this to be one night, Hayden.”

I place the cloth on a shelf and rest my hands on his hips, gently turning him to face me. His eyes are open now, but his teeth are clamped down tight on his bottom lip. I cup the side of his neck, stroking his jaw with my thumb. “I don’t either.”

He releases his lip for another heavy exhale. “It’s not as scary if it’s not one time. Is that stupid?”

“Not at all. One time means less trust. Less potential.” I slide my hand up until I’m cupping his cheek instead. With our eyes locked, I guide him into a soft kiss. Just enough of lips against lips to have him relaxing against me. “If you’ll let me, I want to touch every inch of you tonight. And then again tomorrow. And again, and again, and again, until you stop me.”

His lips quirk into a smile. “What if I don’t stop you?”

“That sounds like a damn good plan to me.”

He kisses me again, lifting his hands to grab at the back of my head. I let him keep me there, giving him whatever he needs from me as our lips press and pull and our cocks slot beside each other. He’s panting by the time he breaks the kiss, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watches me grab the cloth again. I don’t turn him away this time, just adding more soap to the cloth before reaching around his waist and sliding it across his ass. I don’t know if it’s our talk, the kissing, or the fact that I’m not looking right at it now, but whatever it is, he’s relaxed this time as I clean one ridiculously firm cheek, then the other.

He sucks in a sharp breath when I pass the cloth over his hole. I smirk as I watch his eyelashes flutter. “Feels nice,” he whispers.

“That’s nothing, baby. Just wait until it’s my tongue. Or my fingers.” I lean forward, brushing my lips against his ear while adding a little pressure to his hole. “Or my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” he moans, letting his head fall forward onto my shoulder.

“I’m going to wash your cock now,” I warn as I bring the cloth back to his front, wrapping it around his cock in a firm grip that has his legs going weak. “Don’t you dare come. I’m nowhere near done with you yet, understood?”

“Oh fuck.” His teeth scape my shoulder but he doesn’t bite down. “ Fuck .”

“Understood?”

“Yeah. Yes. Mhm.”

I move the cloth between his legs, rubbing beneath his balls while my thumb maps out the taut skin on his sack. His legs quake. I know part of it is what I’m doing to him, but some is probably the fact that he played a hard game tonight too. I keep that in mind as I speed things up, already bringing the cloth to wrap around his cock again. He chokes, his hands gripping my waist, fingers digging in. I give him a few firm strokes before releasing him and stepping back. “All clean.”

He just stares at me for a few seconds, his expression slack, before he seems to gather himself with a deep breath. “Th-thanks.”

“Go dry off and lie on the bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Pope frowns, any lingering fog seeming to vanish from his mind. “What are you doing?”

“Washing myself.”

“Can’t I do it?”

I smirk at him, deciding now is a great time to show him how my dominance will work. “Maybe another time.”

“But… why?”

“Because you don’t get to touch me until I decide you can.” I tilt my head at him, letting my smile turn a little dirty and dipping my voice low like a lot of submissive bottoms enjoy. “Do you want to be good for me, Pope?”

He shudders, his cheeks flushing. “Yes.”

“You can’t be good if I don’t give you tasks, right? Even if they’re hard. Even if they’re not what you want. You obeying anyway is what makes you a good boy. Does that make sense.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. Then go wait on the bed and be patient. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay…”

I pause when I see the way his shoulders slump, reaching to stop him before he can exit the shower. He looks at me, eyes full of hope, and I remember that this man isn’t a submissive, at least not knowingly, and he’s nervous and off-kilter and about to take a huge fucking step toward something he may have never even considered before tonight. I’m being too hard on him. I have to rein myself in.

“You want to stay, don’t you?” I ask, softening my voice for him.

“Doesn’t matter, right?” He looks away from me, his jaw ticking. “We agreed you’d be in charge…”

Something tugs in my chest. I’m an asshole. “We didn’t agree though, did we? I said I’d be in charge and you were turned on by the thought, so I accepted it. That’s not really fair, is it?”

Pope nibbles on his bottom lip, still looking off to the side. “I… don’t know. I don’t know how this works.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You have to agree to things before I get to be in charge. I did that wrong. I’m sorry.” I tilt my head as I assess the situation and try to figure out the best way to fix it. “How about for tonight, I’m your guide, but I’m not fully in charge.”

His eyes brighten. “Does that mean I can wash you like you did me?”

“No.” I smirk. “But you can stay in here and watch.”

He exhales shakily, his eyes going heavy-lidded again. I watch as he leans his back against the tiled wall like he’s setting himself up for a show. I suppose he kind of is. I grab the cloth he had used, rinsing it out well under the spray before adding more soap to it. I back up until I’m against the opposite wall, letting him get the best view possible, and start running the cloth down my chest.

Pope’s body gently jerks as if he can feel the touch himself, his eyes glued to my hand. I move slowly, letting the anticipation build as I clean everything I can other than the spot his gaze keeps flickering to. When I finally bring the cloth down to my aching cock, he sways forward for a moment before deflating back with a soft thud against the wall.

“You’re big,” he breathes as he watches me stroke myself. “Bigger than I expected.”

I chuckle, letting the cloth fall before bringing my soapy hand to my cock. I bring my other hand to my balls and gently roll them. His jaw slackens. “Are you going to bottom for me, Pope?”

“Yes,” he says without even a slight pause. Well, fuck. Okay then. He looks me right in the eye, his arousal making him brave. “I want to be full of you.”

I moan, my head thunking back against the wall behind me as his words rush through my veins. If I was a more sensitive man, I may have just come right there.

“That can be arranged,” I rasp. “You ready to go wait for me on that bed yet? I just need to rinse off.”

He doesn’t even respond, just turning away from me and grabbing the shower curtain with a trembling hand. I step closer in case he stumbles in his haste but he manages on his own. It does sound like something clatters though when he grabs for the towel. I grin, picking up the cloth again to clean the remaining areas of myself before tossing it on a shelf and rinsing under the water.

When I get out of the shower and grab a towel of my own, I find a hairdryer and two rolls of toilet paper on the ground. I chuckle as I wipe myself dry.

The chuckle dies in my throat when I step into the room to see Pope draped in the center of the bed, legs parted, his cock heavy and hard in his palm. His green eyes lock onto me as his hand flexes at the root of himself. I reach for him, just needing to make some sort of contact. His chest heaves with a breath.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice slightly choked.

He licks his lips, eyes roaming over my naked body before lifting to meet my gaze. “You have no fucking idea.”