17. Nick
NICK
Alittle while later, we drive back to Hank’s house. My heart rattles in my chest, wondering if we’ll kiss again tonight. I’m officially addicted.
I say good night to Brody, who hugs his dad, then goes up to his room to play on his Nintendo Switch. Leaving Hank and me alone downstairs.
I’m buzzing from tonight and still buzzing from yesterday. Crackling and twinkling like a string of lights. Hank walks us into the living room. We sit on the sofa, some space between us, as I resist the pull of his gravity.
I’m not sure what to say. Are we saying good night? Goodbye?
Hank closes the space between us. God, I love how he does that. It’s like his version of sweeping everything off a desk so he can have me. He strokes a hand through my hair all while keeping his eyeline fixed on me.
“I love your hair. It’s soft and kind of curly,” he says, running his hand through the back, setting off fireworks on my skin.
He gently leans me toward him for another kiss that I melt into. Our lips are hungry but tentative. It’s a delicate dance that I am totally unprepared for. His tongue massages mine as I gasp into his mouth.
In my royal life, I am a ten on the tasteful scale.
I know how to be reserved. But Hank ignites my ravenous, gaudy side.
I lean against him and push us back on the couch.
I collapse against his big, bear chest and protuberant stomach, his body the perfect mix of soft and hard.
He gets more into it, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.
He moans into me as he pulls me close.
“I really enjoy kissing you.” I’m no longer embarrassed to say what’s on my mind in front of Hank. It’s freeing.
“Likewise.”
“Is Brody going to come down?”
“I hope not. But he’s loud enough that we’ll have warning. I like where your head is at.” He smiles against my lips, his skin hot like fire.
His big, calloused hand caresses my beard as we kiss while his other hand skims down my back.
“Would it be okay if I grab your ass? I’ve wanted to do that since our first practice,” he says.
I love a man who asks permission.
I give him a nod. Hank palms my cheek and squeezes, an electrifying moment that elicits a moan from both of us.
“You’re on your way to a hockey ass.” Hank gives it a sweet little slap. There’s caution in his moves, like he wants to remain a gentleman.
I brush his shaggy strands of hair away from his eyes. A quiet moment hangs between us.
I like you. I really like you. The words are on my tongue, but I hold back, afraid of what that admission could mean.
His midsection deserves to be touched. I luxuriate in running my hands over him, obsessed with the muchness of Hank. His lumps and curves. I’m getting to make out and touch the guy I’m hot for. No wonder gay is a synonym for happy, because nothing else has ever brought me so much joy.
“You’re sexy, Hank.”
He laughs at that, a surprised humph.
“What?”
“That’s not something I usually hear.”
“Well, people are blind and stupid.” I give his nipple a squeeze, surprising both of us. “I think you’re fucking hot.”
I have never said such a filthy statement. Has any royal? Prince Harry, probably. He seems like a guy into dirty talk.
And because I’m feeling extra bold (and extra horny), the feeling that only comes from getting exactly what you want in the exact moment when you want it, I grab his erection over his pants.
And I stroke.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
He nods, a bit nervous. He looks past at me, to the stairs.
“I’ll just do this. I wanted to feel your cock.” It’s thick and rock hard. I knew behind that goofy personality was a man who can fuck. God, I love the feel of his stiff cock in my hand.
I bite my lip, hungry for more.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I know I just said I’d just do this, but what if I did this?” I unzip his fly. I wait to gauge his reaction and get a green light.
Lust burns in his eyes. He adjusts himself to give me better access.
“Yeah. Do that.” His voice is heavy, low. He pulls my face to him for a deep, tongue-filled kiss.
I palm his hard cock over his boxers. Its warmth vibrates in my hand.
“Fuck,” Hank growls out.
I give his dick light strokes over his underwear, feel it pulse with approval. A bead of precome wets a spot. I run my thumb over it.
I wonder if I’m going out of order. In the palace, there’s a strict order to all affairs. A certain way of doing things. Yet with Hank, we can make things up as we go along. Hank’s low, panting grunts against my lips tell me I’m doing the right thing at the right time.
Hank runs his hands roughly over my back, part caress and part massage. Our tongues wrestle in the space between us—sweet, awkward, a bit sloppy.
He moves his hand down and politely, but firmly, takes mine and moves it inside his underwear.
“In case you were wondering if you needed permission,” he says, a dirty wink in his eye.
I grip his hot length. Fuck, it’s so thick. I love the meatiness of it. I nudge under his shirt and graze my hand all over his furry stomach and chest. Every part of Hank I discover only makes me want him more.
I rub my face against his hairy torso like it’s a towel drying me off while also stroking his cock. I breathe in his musky scent of his golden brown body hair and smother myself in his manliness.
“Don’t mind me,” I say, looking up at him. I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. I feel safe with Hank. “Is this okay?”
“It’s very okay.”
“Mother nature did not bless me with this.”
“I’ve had it since I was sixteen. Guys in gym class used to call me Austin Powers.”
I kiss down his chest, over the lumps of his pecs and protruding belly while my other hand strokes his cock. It sneaks down to his balls, letting their weight land in my palm. I am drunk on Hank’s hot body.
“I love the male anatomy.”
Shit. Did I just say that? This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to be intimate with guys. I wind up saying weird shit.
“Can we forget that I said that?”
“Makes sense. You are gay.”
Hank’s stomach ripples against my mouth, and I realize he’s laughing.
I laugh, too. I thought people had to be dead serious when being sexual.
But for me and Hank, this is as fun as it is sexy.
My face is buried in his chest, my hand is on his cock, and yet I feel as comfortable with him as I do on the ice.
He looks behind his shoulder at the staircase. “Maybe we should wrap it up. Just in case?”
Heat blazes in my core. “I didn’t bring any condoms or lube, but I read that olive oil could be a good substitute.”
“What? No, I meant wrap it up like…” He spins his finger, as in we should finish, not we should fuck.
“Oh, God.” I feel my entire body turn bright red like one of the inflatable ornaments from earlier. “Did I just say that we should have sex?”
A few minutes after I touched Hank’s dick, I’m begging for him to shove it inside me. This is mortifying.
“I’m horribly awkward.”
Hank laughs again, his jiggling stomach putting me at ease again.
“You’re my awkward turtle.” He tips my chin up and leans down to kiss me. “I think if you keep playing with me down there, I’m going to blow.”
Lust burns within me, overpowering my embarrassment. That is the power of horniness, isn’t it? When our urge is strong enough, it can push past any feeling. “Is that so?”
I sink to the floor on my knees and lower my mouth onto Hank’s dick. I should be nervous, but I still feel that ease, that calm that Hank projects.
We don’t have time to draw this out. A teenager could potentially leave his bedroom at any moment. I suck Hank’s cock with a hesitant momentum. No time to wonder if I’m doing this right.
I lick up his shaft, taste his bitter precome, listen to the soft moans coming from above. I spit in my hand and stroke him as I suck—fast, like someone’s holding a timer over us.
“Fuck. Oh that feels so good, Nick.” Hank lifts his hips to give me a better angle. He shifts and tenses above me. I savor the heat of his cock filling my mouth, the sounds of his whispered desire echoing in my ears. I love making Hank feel this good.
He grabs my shoulder and squeezes hard. That’s my warning. I brace myself for his impending orgasm.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he says, each yes higher and softer than the last.
His hot release splashes into my mouth, and before my brain can chime in, I swallow it all. It tastes…well, it’s not the most delicious thing I’ve ever ingested, but not the worst. Like dinner at a fancy restaurant, it’s more about enjoying the overall ambience versus the actual food.
Looking at Hank’s shocked, ravenously turned-on expression is my favorite part. I feel more powerful than Superman.
“Shit. That was hot. Holy shit,” he says, catching his breath.
“Not bad for a prince, eh?”
“Huh?”
“I mean…figure of speech. That’s what gay guys say in Baltimore after they give a blow job. From what I’ve heard.”
“Man, y’all are little freaks down in Baltimore, aren’t you?” He pulls up his underwear and pants, gets buttoned up.
I realize I’m still on my knees, so I stand up. Hank pulls me onto his lap and kisses me softly, tenderly. He gazes into my eyes with the same sweetness, not like someone who just got a blow job.
“Are you planning to go to the bar crawl tomorrow night?” Hank asks.
“Uh huh,” I say, catching my breath.
“Brody is staying at his mom’s tomorrow night.”
“Oh.”
“You should stay over after the bar crawl. We can’t have you driving home drunk.”
“I agree.” My mind explodes with scenarios for tomorrow night.
“And I’ll make sure I take care of you then.” Hanks smolders with more confidence than I’ve ever seen from him, like one blow job transformed him from goofy dad to action hero.
When I leave his house a few minutes later, I sit in my borrowed car and stare off into the dark sky. The spotlight of the D’Angelos’ house shines in the distance. A sheer, unfaltering sense of happiness floods through every vein.
So this is what it’s like to feel on top of the world, huh?