CHAPTER 8 #2
The sheer physical shock of their lower bodies aligning sent a violent shudder through Everett’s heavy frame. He was rock hard, aching, the heavy cotton of his sweatpants creating a brutal, agonizing friction against Dorian’s bare thighs.
Everett tore his mouth away from Dorian’s lips, gasping for a single, jagged hit of oxygen.
He dragged his heavy, stubble-covered jaw down the line of Dorian’s jawbone.
He buried his face into the curve of Dorian’s neck.
He opened his mouth and bit down hard on the sensitive, pulsing flesh right over the carotid artery.
Dorian screamed his name. A loud, entirely unfiltered sound of raw shock and intense pleasure that bounced off the high ceiling of the master suite.
Everett sucked hard on the skin, his teeth scraping the surface, deliberately leaving a dark, bruised mark that would take a week to fade. A mark that belonged entirely to him.
Dorian’s hips jerked upward, a desperate, involuntary thrust that ground his own heavy arousal directly against Everett’s groin. The goalie was entirely unraveled. The trauma, the federal agents, the corrupt club directors—everything was burned away by the consuming fire of Everett’s weight.
Dorian’s long, powerful legs shifted. He hooked his calves over the backs of Everett’s thighs, wrapping his legs tightly around Everett’s waist, locking the captain entirely into his guard.
"Take them off," Dorian begged, his voice a broken, frantic rasp as his hands tore at the waistband of Everett’s sweatpants. "Everett. Please."
Everett didn't need to be told twice. He shoved himself up just enough to rip the grey cotton down his legs, kicking the fabric away until there was absolutely zero barrier between them.
He dropped his weight back down, settling perfectly into the cradle of Dorian’s locked thighs. The alignment was devastating. The slick, pre-come heat of their heavily aroused bodies pressed flush together.
Everett’s right hand slid down between their stomachs. His thick, calloused fingers closed completely around both of their rigid lengths.
Dorian choked on a breath, his head falling back against the black silk pillows, exposing the fresh, dark bite mark on his neck. His eyes rolled back slightly, completely overwhelmed by the intense, localized pressure.
Everett set the pace. It wasn't slow. It wasn't tender. It was a rapid, brutal, and entirely consuming rhythm. He pumped his heavy hand over their slick flesh, driving his hips forward in time with the movement, simulating the heavy, relentless friction of total possession.
"Look at me," Everett commanded, his voice a dark, rough snarl vibrating through the room.
Dorian forced his heavy eyelids open. His gray eyes were entirely blown, swimming with a haze of absolute physical submission. He looked up at the towering, terrifyingly dominant man hovering over him.
"You're mine," Everett ground out, his jaw locking as he increased the speed, his thumb pressing hard against the sensitive, weeping slit of Dorian’s length. "Not a contract. Mine."
"Yours," Dorian sobbed out, the word tearing from his throat in total surrender. "I'm yours. Only yours."
The verbal confirmation triggered a catastrophic chain reaction in Everett’s nervous system.
He drove his hips down one final, heavy time, his grip tightening viciously.
Dorian shattered first. His entire body bowed upward off the mattress, his spine arching to an impossible degree as a hot, messy wave of release pulsed violently over Everett’s hand.
Dorian cried out, his fingernails digging deep into the heavy muscle of Everett’s shoulders, entirely wrecking the captain’s skin.
A second later, Everett followed him over the edge.
A deep, guttural roar tore from Everett’s chest as his own orgasm ripped through him.
He collapsed forward, his massive chest slamming flush against Dorian’s violently heaving ribcage.
The heavy, agonizing pulse of his climax drained the last ounce of strength from his limbs.
They lay there in the dim, amber light. Tangled together. Wrecked.
The silence of the penthouse slowly crept back in, broken only by the loud, ragged drag of their overlapping breathing. The room smelled heavily of sweat, slick skin, and raw, unfiltered sex.
Everett didn't move. He kept his full weight settled over Dorian, his face buried in the crook of the goalie’s neck. He felt Dorian’s long, trembling fingers slowly thread their way into his hair, a gentle, reverent stroking motion that entirely contradicted the violence of the last ten minutes.
The adrenaline slowly bled out of Everett’s system, leaving behind a cold, terrifying clarity.
He felt the heavy, uneven beat of Dorian’s heart against his own sternum.
He felt the slick, sweat-soaked drag of the black silk sheets beneath them.
He thought about the legal document locked in his father’s downtown office safe.
A document that stated this was a temporary, administrative illusion to fool a federal investigator.
Everett turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against the fading pulse point on Dorian’s neck.
He was no longer pretending to love his roommate. The fake contract was a ghost. He was in deep, and there was absolutely no coming back.