Chapter 9 - Karter #3
“Could have fooled me,” Aleksey whispered. His gaze dropped to my mouth for one split second before hardening into a glare. “Keep hiding behind him like a good boy. It suits you.”
He bumped his shoulder roughly against mine as he pushed past me to head back toward the bar entrance. The blunt physical contact sent a liquid heat straight to my groin, overriding the bitter cold of the parking lot.
I stood there for a second, swallowing hard to get my breathing under control. Then I yanked the door open and climbed into the driver’s seat.
The van’s heater slowly thawed my frozen fingers as I ran endless, repetitive loops between the local bar and our hotel. Shuttling loud, highly intoxicated teammates required zero actual thought. It was just mindless driving, leaving me trapped with my own racing brain.
Every single time I pulled back up to the snowy curb outside the bar, my stomach tightened. I kept bracing myself for a specific, broad frame to step out of the red neon light.
By the time the last large group of seniors stumbled out into the hotel lobby, the quiet inside the van felt deafening. I drove back to the bar for the final sweep, only to find the snowy parking lot basically empty.
Until the passenger door suddenly wrenched open.
A blast of freezing wind hit the center console, followed by Aleksey. He climbed in and slammed the door shut.
The lock clicked, and all the oxygen seemingly vanished from the cab.
This was it. The very first time we were totally, completely alone since the bus.
My grip on the leather steering wheel tightened until my joints ached. I stared straight ahead at the sweeping windshield wipers, as my hands tightened around the steering wheel.
The sheer gravity of him sitting mere inches away felt suffocating. And out of the corner of my eye, the yellow streetlights illuminated the crude, bloody gauze wrapped thickly around his battered hands.
I shifted the gear into drive. I did not ask whether he was okay. I just waited.
“Take a left up here,” Aleksey ordered. The rough gravel of his voice vibrated in the small, heated space.
“The hotel is straight ahead.” I kept my tone perfectly level.
“Take the side road by the woods.”
I turned my head to look at him. The thick muscle in his scarred jaw was jumping rapidly. “Why?”
“Just turn the wheel, damn it.”
The tires slipped on the wet slush, taking the turn. The main road faded behind us. Snow fell steadily against the windshield when the van finally parked in the dark near the tree line.
I shoved the gearshift into park, the engine idling around us.
The loud, metallic click of Aleksey unbuckling his seatbelt echoed inside the van. I unbuckled my own seatbelt, but before I could even turn to look at him, he was already moving.
He pushed himself out of the passenger seat, sliding through the narrow gap between the front seats to step into the empty rows behind us.
He did not say a word. He just reached right back over the low plastic center console and grabbed the front of my shirt in two large fistfuls.
With one violent pull, he hauled me out of the driver’s seat. I scrambled awkwardly over the divider, my boots catching on the floor mats as he dragged me into the unlit back of the van.
Aleksey did not give me a single second to catch my balance. He backed me up hard until my back slammed against the cold metal of the interior wall, his weight pinning me there.
Fast, harsh breaths filled the van.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” Aleksey snarled.
“Do what?” Matching his erratic breathing was impossible to avoid.
“Take hits like that.” Pushing me harder against the metal wall, his voice shook with a mix of fury and adrenaline. “I’m not watching you get targeted.”
It was the absolute closest the guy had ever got to admitting he actually cared about me even a little.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat as I reached forward, my fingers finding the rough, bloody gauze wrapped around his fist. I pressed down, just hard enough to make a point.
“You might have ruined your draft chances today,” I told him, keeping my voice dead level as I stared back into his intense glare. “When you beat the crap out of that guy.”
He grabbed my waist, pinning me down on the bench seat. “He touched you.”
Before I could say anything back, he crashed his mouth against mine. The collision was rough and desperate. His lips pressed hard, like he was trying to erase everything that had happened on the ice. I grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer as he groaned into our kiss.
His hands moved first, shoving under my shirt, fingers rough against my skin. He traced the bruises on my ribs, pressing just enough to make me wince. “This hurt?” he asked, voice low.
“Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t pull away. I grabbed his belt, tugging it open. “Keep going.”
He nodded, shifting to yank my shirt off and toss it aside.
His mouth found my neck, biting lightly, then harder when I arched into it.
I worked his shirt up, running my hands over the hard lines of his stomach.
He was tense, muscles jumping under my fingertips.
“Do you want this?” he muttered against my skin.
I didn’t answer with words. I just held the front of his jacket even tighter and pulled him down against me.
He laughed, then kissed me again, slower this time, his tongue pushing into my mouth. His hands slid lower, undoing my jeans and shoving them down to my thighs. I did the same to him, gripping him through his boxers at first.
He was hard already, and he hissed when I stroked his dick. We stayed like that for a minute, hands moving, breaths getting faster in the dimly-lit van.
Finally, he pushed me flat and climbed on top, pinning me with his weight.
He shoved his boxers down, then mine. His cock sprang free, thick and long with visible veins running along it, easily dwarfing mine in size.
My dick was slimmer, average length, but it was nothing like the thick girth of his.
I stared at the blunt red head of his erection for a second, wondering what it would feel like to take his cock in my mouth, to suck on it deep, but I chickened out on saying anything.
I was not ready to go there yet, nor admit I wanted to eat a guy’s dick.
Aleksey spat into his palm, slicking it over both our cocks quick and rough. Then he wrapped his big hand around us at once, holding our cocks together, skin hot against skin, his massive grip handling both of us.
He started rubbing us, slow at first, the wet slide making the friction smoother, every pull sending heat spiking through my groin. The pressure was just right, his hand squeezing our cocks while his hips rocked, making the contact between us tighter, rougher.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he said, moving his hand faster.
“Good,” I shot back, clawing at his back through his shirt.
Our mouths broke apart just long enough for him to shove my head back. His fist locked into my hair, yanking hard at the roots, and the sharp burn lit up my spine. It anchored me in place while he kept working us together, his grip tight and relentless.
I bucked into his hand. “Faster.”
He gave it to me. Short, rough pumps of his hips that rocked the van, thrusting hard, both our cocks sliding slick in his fist while low grunts tore from his throat. The sound of him fighting to hold on pushed me right to the edge.
Everything tightened low in my stomach. I gripped his shoulders and arched up right as my orgasm ripped through me, white spurts splattering across my chest. The convulsions drove me forward against the iron hold on my hair, and he didn’t let up, tugging harder until the sting blended with the rush and my vision whited out.
However, he didn’t stop.
His hand kept going, the friction scraping over my spent cock like sandpaper.
I whimpered, a high, broken sound I didn’t recognize, my hips jerking away even as I craved more.
Black spots crowded my vision. I was right on the verge of blacking out from the overstimulation when his breath finally hitched.
Aleksey went rigid. His hips slammed forward one last time, and he pulled back just enough to aim.
Thick white ropes shot from his dick, hot and streaking across my chest, mixing with my own cum.
A raw groan tore out of him, his whole body shaking with the force of it, veins standing out on his neck as he emptied himself completely.
A few moments later, his full weight slammed down on me, crushing the air from my lungs and tacking our sticky messes together. He stayed like that for a few ragged breaths, then rolled off me with a long exhale.
The cold crept back in fast, slicing through the heat we’d just generated. I hauled my boxers up with clumsy fingers and wrestled my jeans over my hips. Beside me, the rough rustle of denim meant Aleksey was doing the same. He zipped his pants with a harsh pull of metal.
Then, true to form, he retreated.
He pushed up from the bench and climbed over the center console, putting the plastic divider and a whole row of seats between us. Facing the icy passenger window, he jammed his raw hands into his jacket pockets.
Pulling my shirt back on, I ignored the spike of pain from my bruised ribs.
I could recognize the pattern already by now. Aleksey liked to drag me in, let the adrenaline take over, and the second the intimacy got real, he’d bolt.
An urge to push flared up, to force a conversation and make him turn around and acknowledge exactly what we’d just done.
However, I killed it. My mouth stayed shut. Pressing him now would only make him defensive.
I climbed back over the console and dropped into the driver’s seat, then hit the gas.
Meanwhile, Aleksey kept his eyes locked on the dark trees whipping past the passenger window, and I just focused on the road.