Five #3
“Uh,” I said again. “Yup. I guess I do.”
Miles headed for the bathroom and closed the door, leaving me to snatch up the reader to see what he’d found so absorbing.
He’d changed books, abandoning the one I’d been halfway through to start something else – a gay ice hockey romance I noted with a horrified laugh.
Of all the conversations to have with Miles Callahan, I’d never expected having to warn him that gay sport romances tended to be really fucking horny.
Hopefully, he would escape while he still could.
My phone buzzed. Katie.
I’m getting nervous about tomorrow’s match. Are you free tonight? Or do you have another cake date?
It wasn’t a date, I wrote back, but then because we’d never had secrets and it would certainly take her mind off her upcoming match, I added, but he did kiss me.
The phone rang three seconds later.
“He what?” she demanded. “How did that happen?”
“Hold on,” I said with a laugh. “Let me step outside.”
“Why do you need to step outside? Is he there with you right now?”
I hurried into the corridor, each stride toward the stairwell leaving the sound of running water growing fainter behind me. “Yes, but not like that. He’s using the shower because ours doesn’t suck and he has a high tea to go to.”
“How fancy. But spill, Mat, what happened?”
“Just what I told you,” I said, pushing through the swinging door into the stairwell with its old-carpet smell. “We hung out and it was . . . fun. That might have been the biggest shock of the night if he hadn’t kissed me as he was leaving.”
An astonished whistle sounded by my ear. “So are you guys . . .?”
“No! I mean, he’s straight, right? He certainly made all the usual excuses this morning, and wasn’t there a French model in his player’s box at Roland Garros? And that American influencer who—”
“Don’t ask me!” Katie interrupted. “I’m not the one who hate-stalks his socials whenever he makes news.”
“I don’t—” I began only to snap my mouth shut. I’d done exactly that for two days after losing in Paris.
“Careful, Mat,” Katie laughed. “If there’s something your romance books should have taught you, it’s that hate and love aren’t really opposites.”
“Love? Katie, I don’t even know him! Lust I will admit to, but wanting to fuck him isn’t the same as liking him. God, why am I even saying this?”
She went on laughing. “I don’t know, but tell me if you figure it out, okay?”
We talked a few minutes longer, before I hung up and headed back to my apartment.
Inside, the bathroom door sat open and there was no sign of Miles, leaving me to breathe out a sigh of relief.
Perhaps his sister wouldn’t have to murder me after all.
He’d left the bathroom fan going though, clacking away like it was about to fall out of the ceiling.
Despite its noisy attempts, a thin layer of moisture covered the mirror and the air was thick with the mingled scents of someone else’s toiletries – a new experience that knotted a strange kind of longing in my chest, diffuse and directionless.
Not sure I liked it, I turned off the fan and made to leave, only to catch sight of Miles’s phone sitting beside the sink.
Footsteps scuffed on the carpet, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway, naked but for the towel around his waist. I’d seen him change his shirt on court many times, yet in the intimate space of the tiny bathroom, I caught my breath as my gaze slid from his collarbone down over lean muscle, only to snag on the fine trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the edge of his towel.
It took far too long to realise I was staring and drag my gaze up. “You left your phone,” I said, gesturing toward the sink.
Miles didn’t so much as glance at it, eyes fixed on me. “Like what you see?”
“Oh, you think because I’m gay, I’m automatically attracted to all men?”
“No, just that you wouldn’t be filling out like that—” He nodded at my shorts. “If you didn’t.”
My body’s betrayal was desperately, horribly embarrassing and I willed myself not to make it worse by blushing. “Look, Miles, it’s just—No, you know what? Forget it.” I made to walk past him, but he sidestepped to block my escape – a man who always knew which way the ball was coming.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to call you out, I just .
. .” Standing close now, he dropped a hand to the waistband of my shorts before sliding it down over my semi, his touch warm through the fabric.
My cock hardened beneath his fingers and there was no way he couldn’t feel it.
“. . .wanted to know if you liked what you saw. I guess I have my answer.”
“You’re stroking my dick!” I cried. “You could be half as hot and it would make no difference.”
“Ah, so you do think I’m hot.”
“Oh my god,” I groaned. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to be honest,” he murmured against my temple as he went on rubbing his palm slowly up and down the front of my shorts. “I want you to tell me whether the sight of me shirtless excites you.”
I turned my face away, closing my eyes as though that would save me from his questing hand. “Fine, yes,” I said. “But the sight of lots of men shirtless excites me, this is not new.”
“Are you trying to make me take the towel off too?”
“No! I’m not trying to do anything, you just left the fan on and—” My explanation ended in a groan as he slipped his hand beneath the elastic of my shorts, finding skin.
Half wishing I had put on underwear and half glad I had not, I tilted my head back against the shower door as his fingers closed around my cock.
Gentle but sure, he stroked me a few times then squeezed, my breath hitching.
Miles let out a small groan that vibrated deep in his throat. “Fuck, you’re hard.”
“And whose fault is that?” I growled back through gritted teeth.
“Well, if it’s mine then I should do something about it.” He pulled his hand free only to drop to his knees on the powder-blue tiles, shaking the tangle of damp, wavy hair back from his face.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up, an errant curl stuck to his brow. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
It looked like he was kneeling in front of me.
Looked like he’d gripped the waistband of my shorts.
Like he was going to suck me off. But since there was no way that was happening, I just shook my head, dazed, as he freed my rock-hard erection – an erection around which he once again wrapped his fingers.
“Miles,” I said as he stroked me slowly. “You really don’t—”
A gasp swallowed my objection as he swallowed my cock, sliding smoothly down my shaft right to the base before pulling as smoothly back – mere seconds of sensation that utterly short-circuited my brain.
“What were you saying?” he asked, looking up again. “I really don’t . . .?” He went on stroking me, the sight of even just his hand there making my legs unsteady. Miles tilted his head. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I laughed, the sound slightly manic.