26. Chapter Twenty-Six #2
They don’t know Alex very well if they think he isn’t going back to hockey come hell or high water. The guy might be an annoying asshole most of the time, but when he wants something, there is no telling him he can’t have it.
I guess Alex and Dre are similar in that regard. Maybe I should take a page out of their playbook and just go for what I want.
Dre.
The kids.
Our life together as a real family.
I reach for my water bottle, sucking in a deep breath as I watch the broadcasters continue their debate about Alex’s potential return or early retirement, and I know exactly what I have to do.
I take a long drink of water. “Fuck it, I’m going to do it.”
“Do what?” The familiar voice pulls my attention, and I turn slowly to see Dre, standing there a few inches away.
I take in the sight of him, dressed up in a sleek dark green silk button-down, the sleeves tightly rolled up to his elbows, his dark grey peacoat draped over his right arm.
The top button is popped, drawing attention to the expanse of his throat; his Adam’s apple a bit more prominent from the way the collar rests.
My gaze hovers there; on his Adam's apple. It’s a strange thing to notice, to feel attracted to.
He swallows, and I watch it bob, and suddenly my heart picks up its rhythm, even though it’s been nearly ten minutes since I’ve stopped running.
“You okay?” Dre asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he steps closer to me. I notice some of the guys in the gym looking in our direction.
Looking at him.
That’s when it hits me, really hits me.
Why wouldn’t they stare? He’s Andre fucking Taylor.
I blink as he steps in front of me, and I’m acutely aware of his proximity. There’s barely inches between us.
To everyone around us, I’m sure he just looks like a concerned athlete, and not like a concerned boyfriend.
It would be so easy to kiss him right here. Right now.
I want to.
Something tells me if I did, he wouldn’t stop me like he probably should. Hell, knowing Dre, he’d probably slam me up against the treadmill and shove his tongue down my throat because he’s Andre Taylor, and nothing can touch him. He can have whatever—whoever—he wants.
I meet his gaze as he reaches out and settles a hand on my shoulder. I feel the warmth from his palm soaking my shirt, but I’m not entirely sure it’s him because I feel hot. Sweaty. Breathless.
And I know it’s not entirely from my workout.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Never better.”
I love him so much… so much more than I thought I ever could.
“You were supposed to meet me at the bar. I was worried when you weren’t there.”
“Sorry. I must’ve lost track of time.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs, like it really is okay. “What do you want to do instead?” His voice is low as his gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth. It hovers for the briefest moment, and the heat between us can be felt like an inferno. Or maybe it’s just me.
Maybe it’s just what he does to me.
I step into his space just an inch. Not enough to draw attention or concern, just close enough I know only he can hear me.
I know what I want to say. Hell, I want to say it, but I’m not sure this is the time or place.
Not because I’m embarrassed, but because right now all the blood rushing in my body is pooling to my cock, and last I checked, Andre was not into being watched by strangers, and I don’t want anyone to know Dre the way I do.
Three words should be easy to say. But somewhere between the heat blooming between us, and the part of my brain that is responsible for speech, they disappear. At least, two of them disappear, because the only word that I can remember how to say at the moment is, “You.”
Andre smirks as he roves his gaze over me—standing in front of him, shirtless in nothing but my running shorts and Nikes, covered in sweat and radiating heat.
“Well, then, perhaps you should get showered,” he taunts.
I shake my head, a smile coursing over my face that is irrefutable.
“Pretty sure the locker room is full.” I move past him, purposefully knocking into him hard enough that he stumbles just slightly. I catch the gaze of one of the guys lifting the kettlebells, looking at me like I’d just punched Santa Claus.
I don’t wait for Dre to catch up. I don’t look behind me. But I know without a doubt, those are his footsteps behind me, and I can’t help but smile.
Because in a room full of people, in this lodge in the middle of fucking nowhere, it’s not some woman he’s chasing.
It’s me.
It’s me.
I round the bend to the elevators and keep going.
“Where are you going?” he calls out.
I turn to look at him, and I can see the feral look in his eyes from where I stand.
“The stairs.”
He looks around, noting we’re alone. At least right now, but that’s not to say anyone can’t come off the elevator at any minute, and that there won’t be someone on it when we get on.
He narrows his eyes at me in confusion, and I saunter towards him, holding his gaze. I cover my palm over the button and lean in closer, close enough my lips brush his.
“You are going to beat me up those eight flights of stairs?” he asks, his voice low. Gravelly.
Sexy as hell.
“I know I can,” I say with a smirk. My cock twitches, reminding me precisely what I’m up against in more ways than one.
“Want to bet on that?” Andre asks, pushing me back with nothing but his chest. I don’t move my hand from the button and his finds mine, trying to force it away. He’s strong, but so am I.
I hold my ground, and I hold his gaze.
“What do you want to bet?”
Andre smiles, licking his lips.
“If you open the door and I’m on that bed, you have to do exactly what I say.”
I roll my eyes. “Exactly what you say, huh?”
He nods.
“Okay,” I whisper. “And if you open that door, and I’m on that bed…”
I place my free hand on his chest, pushing him back just an inch.
He breathes a low, deep breath, his gaze holding strong as he waits for my stakes.
I wait three seconds before I lean in to whisper in his ear.
“I get to fuck you.”
Before I lose my nerve and stay here too long—because the look in his eyes right now is hotter than the fire burning in the lodge—I press the elevator button and take off like a bat out of hell towards the stairs, Andre’s “fuck!” echoing in the hallway, making my heart flutter and my grin widen.
I’ve never run so fast in my life, and as I get to the sixth set of stairs, I think maybe I was too confident in my ability to beat him.
I push through the burning in my legs, focus on my breathing, and the thought of him and his hard cock beneath me, bouncing against my sweat-slick skin with warm, wet confirmation.
I scan my wristband, and the click echoes, and I throw open the door. The light is off.
The bed is made.
And there’s no sign of Dre.
“Dre?” I call out, just in case the asshole is hiding because it would be just like him to make me think I’ve won and then come to reap his prize.
There’s no answer.
I don’t hesitate as I tear my shorts and briefs off and launch myself onto the gigantic bed, palming my cock as I fight to catch my breath.
When the door opens, time stops. My gaze roves over him in the doorway, and I notice the second button on his shirt is undone.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” he asks as he slowly enters the room, shutting the door calmly. Quietly.
I don’t dare look away, because if I do, I’ll be in trouble.
Because he’ll definitely attack me and wrangle me into tapping out. I’ve seen that look on his face before. Usually, right before he annihilates the other team.
“I think we have a winner,” I say, continuing to stroke my cock.
Dre carefully undoes the buttons on his shirt. His movements are slow and smooth. Methodical.
He’s doing this on purpose, and I know it.
And I love it.
I love him so fucking much it hurts.
“Is that so?” He shrugs his shirt off, cocking his head to the side to shift some hair out of his eyes. He’s mere feet away and I could easily get up, meet him halfway. Tear off his nice pants and free his cock. But I want him to come to me.
I want to remember this moment—the moment I fuck him—forever. And something tells me I will.
And so will he.
I lean one hand behind my head, spreading my legs as I lazily stroke myself, making a point of slowly spreading my precum along my shaft. His gaze drifts to my cock and I note how he grabs himself through his slacks, a low, deep groan escaping his throat.
“You look so fucking hot right now, Paul,” he says, shaking his head.
“I know,” I grin.
He lets out a low laugh as he unbuckles his belt. I don’t move from my spot. I can’t.
Even if I wanted to, I’m frozen by the sight of him like this.
Standing inches away from me as he frees his cock for me.
Precum glistens over his head, shimmering in the light with the undeniable truth.
He comes to stand next to the bed, now inches away from me.
He doesn’t move, and neither do I, but I don’t rush him.
I want to savor this, but I also don’t want to do this if he isn’t ready for it. I’ll wait until he’s comfortable. I’ll wait as long as I have to. If I turn into a skeleton, so be it.
I half expect him to say something to taunt me, to bait me a bit. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sets one knee on the bed and carefully crawls over top of me, his cock sliding against mine, and the only words that escape him as he kisses me are, “How do you want me?”
I swear I’ve never heard words so sexy in my life. I groan, kissing him hard. I shove my tongue into his mouth, and it’s like something inside of me snaps.
I don’t wait. I don’t hesitate.
I pull his body against me, crushing our dicks together, and then roll us over until he’s beneath me, his cock sliding up against my stomach.