Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Asher
Brayden wakes me absurdly early, nudging my shoulder and whispering so he doesn’t rouse Savannah. “I’m going running. Wanna come?”
We went to bed early last night—and got to sleep late. The bed is large and comfortable and most importantly, has both of them in it. Only Brayden’s looking at me like what I really want to do with my morning is run on hot Georgia asphalt.
“C’mere.” My voice is thick with sleep. I reach for him, and he hesitates. My hand was around his cock last night, as he knelt between Savannah’s legs and made her come over and over. Maybe this is the belated freakout I’ve been expecting. “You good, B?”
His face goes slightly pink in the early sunlight coming through the curtain. “I have morning breath.”
I laugh and kiss him anyway, tongue sliding past his. He’s right. His mouth tastes a little sour—and completely perfect.
We’re in the garage about to leave for the ballpark when Brayden pauses beside his absurdly large truck. “Maybe I should take you back to your place first.”
Yeah, here’s the freakout. “Hey.” I go over to his side of the truck, rub my palms up his biceps. “No one’s gonna say shit about you giving me a ride. Or if they do, it’s just ’cause we weren’t friends and now we are.”
“People might be able to tell that we’re— That I’m—” Brayden cuts himself off like he can’t quite manage the word.
I take pity on him. “Did you know I was queer before I kissed you?”
“No. Maybe.” He studies the air right over my shoulder. “Mostly, I hoped.”
“Yeah?”
He gives a half shrug as if he’s embarrassed to admit that much.
Refocuses his eyes on me. He’s smiling—he smiled all through dinner and hanging out together last night, smiled through our run this morning.
Smiled when Savannah came down for breakfast in a pair of tiny sleep shorts, her hair up in a messy bun.
If he keeps smiling like that, people might know something’s up.
I don’t tell him any of that. Just kiss him again, long enough that his hand finds its way under the hem of my shirt, fingers playing over the muscles in my back.
He hitches me closer to him like he can’t get enough. “You’re so…” he mumbles.
I think of that first time we met—Brayden sulking his way onto the field to give me shit about doing yoga. “Showy?” I reply.
He grins. “I was gonna say sexy.”
Fuck it. We’re in the garage but I’m wearing long pants and the ground is mostly clean. I drop to my knees, tug at the waistband of his joggers and underwear, stroke him a few times, though from the way his cock is rapidly thickening, he doesn’t need much help.
“Are you just gonna…” Brayden trails off like he can’t believe what’s happening.
“Suck your cock in your garage? Yeah.” I spit on my hand, jack him a few times. His knees are already weakening, his shoulders resting against the cab of his truck like he doesn’t trust his body to hold him up. Good.
His face goes a deep red, a color I’ve never seen him go even when we’re playing a day game in the glare of an Atlanta summer.
“You into that?” I say. “You want to fuck my face?”
“Shut up,” he grits out.
“You could shut me up anytime.” His cock is hard in my hand, flush with blood and already damp at the tip. I bend and kiss it, tongue dipping into his slit, saliva cascading down.
Brayden’s hand clamps on the back of my neck. “That’s it, get me wet.”
“Look who thinks he’s in control of this whole situation.” I press my forearm against his hips, pinning him to the side of his truck. Lower my mouth around the first few inches of his cock.
He groans, head lolling back, fingers tightening in my hair.
Even with my arm against him, his hips jerk involuntarily.
He feels good in my mouth—thick and full and just wide enough to stretch the edge of my lips.
But that isn’t anything compared to the feel of having him pliant against me.
I reach into my joggers and give myself a couple tugs just to take the edge off.
“You’re into this?” Brayden says it as if he’s surprised.
I pull off. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I—” He starts the sentence then bites it back. “I didn’t know it’d be something you’d like.”
“Something I’d like or something men like?” I say, then it hits me—what it means if he’s asking me that. “Am I the first guy who you’ve done this with?” Something I suspected but now need to hear out loud.
Brayden flushes again, this time more like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah.”
“Am I the first guy you’ve thought about doing this?”
He shakes his head. “No.” A word. An admission that this is something he’s wanted for a long time and only now had the guts to ask for. “Mostly, I thought about how much I wasn’t supposed to think about it. About what would happen if I did think about it.” His voice goes slightly thin at the end.
“What would happen?” I pull myself up. I can’t tell if Brayden wants me to kiss him or hold him or simply stand there while he breathes. I opt for the last one.
Brayden trains his eyes on the floor, then looks up to the ceiling as if he’s remembering something.
Then finally he shifts his gaze, eyes meeting mine.
“They told us this would be—” He swallows.
“That it’d be different. That it wouldn’t feel the same as when I’m with Sav.
Not physically. But that it wouldn’t feel…
” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he touches his chest once, hand right over his heart. “But it does.”
I don’t make him wait any longer. I kiss him briefly and drop back to my knees, slide him back into my mouth.
He thrusts deep enough that he taps the back of my throat.
I gag slightly, and Brayden looks like he’s about to let go of the back of my neck, when I bring my hand on top of his and tighten it further.
A puff of air escapes his lips that sounds like my name. “If I knew that this would get you to stop insulting me,” he says, “I would have done this weeks ago.”
I ease off him. “You like my insults.”
Brayden’s expression softens as he guides his cock back into my mouth.
“I like how good you look when you’re on your knees.
” Once he’s talking, he can’t seem to stop.
“And I like those pretty fucking eyelashes. I like how you do that thing with your lips when you’re laughing at me that makes me want to—”
The rest of the sentence gets lost in a gasp when I reach for his balls, hot and tight up near his body. I grip him, not hard, just hard enough to make him feel it. “That all for me?” I ask.
Brayden nods. His cock is leaking now, precome rolling down the shaft, and I pump him loosely, hand aided by my spit and his wetness. His eyes start to slide shut.
“Look at me,” I order and go back to sucking him.
He thrusts a few times into my mouth. His body tenses all over, cock cycling between my lips, wet, demanding, and free. “You want my come?” he asks roughly, and I don’t bother answering, just squeeze his balls as his orgasm hits until he empties himself into my throat.
When I get up, Brayden pulls me to him, tongue slipping into my mouth like he wants his own taste. I’m hard enough that it doesn’t take much—just our hands combined on my cock, Brayden’s body against mine—and then I’m coming too, vision whiting out briefly before I collapse against him.
“Here.” Brayden fumbles open the truck’s door, crawls across the seat to pop open the glove compartment, then takes out a handful of napkins. “For your, uh…” He gestures to my damp palm.
I take the napkins, wipe off my hand while Brayden does the same with another napkin. He’s smiling again. People will know. How could they not? Especially when I can’t stop myself from grinning too.
We’re late to the ballpark, but I can’t bring myself to care.