Chapter 7
I wasn’t sure how long we sat there, talking about everything and nothing while our cocks continued to have a conversation of their own. All I knew was that things were growing more charged by the minute.
Evan’s cock had gone from leaking to dripping.
A steady stream of clear fluid pooled at his slit and ran down the shaft in slow, glistening trails, coating every ridge and vein until the whole thing shone under the bedside lamp.
His balls were wet with it, and there was a growing stain on the bedsheet.
I wasn’t faring much better. My cock was slick from tip to base, and a dark spot was spreading on my boxers from where I’d been dripping for God knows how long.
Evan’s head dropped back against the headboard with a dull thud. His eyes squeezed shut. His thighs spread wider, the muscles in them tensing and releasing in a rhythm I couldn’t tear my gaze from.
“I can’t—” His voice came out strained. “I can’t go any longer without touching it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You mind?”
The sound that left my mouth wasn’t even close to a word. It was a high-pitched, involuntary squeak that came from deep in my chest and escaped before my brain could intercept it.
Evan’s mouth twitched. “I’ll take that as a no.”
His thick, calloused fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft, barely closing around the girth.
He dragged them upward in one long, torturous stroke.
The precum spread under his palm, the wet sound of it filling the room.
His thumb circled the head, pressing into the slit, and his hips rolled forward off the mattress.
I stopped breathing.
This was what Evan Brock looked like alone. In his dorm, or a hotel room, or wherever he went when the need built up past the point of ignoring. This was the face he made—brow furrowed, lips parted—when no one was watching. The slow, unhurried pace of a man who knew his body and wasn’t in a rush.
His hand slid back down and squeezed at the base, his cock flexing in his grip. Another pulse of fluid welled up, spilling over his knuckles.
I was going to cum. Right here, untouched, watching Evan jerk off five feet away from me. My cock twitched violently, and I grabbed the base of it hard enough to hurt, cutting off the orgasm before it could crest.
“This house arrest shit,” Evan said between slow strokes, his voice thick and lazy, “is seriously fucking with my game.” His hand twisted on the upstroke, and his abs clenched.
“On road games, I hook up. More than Reed, and Reed does it every single trip. In every city, there’s someone. Sometimes two.”
His hand kept moving. The wet sounds were obscene.
“Jerking off takes the edge off.” He said it the way someone would say that eating crackers technically counts as a meal. “But it’s not.” His breath hitched as his finger dragged over the frenulum. “There’s nothing like a wet pussy or a warm mouth.”
His eyes popped open. Blue and intense and locked directly onto me.
A slow smirk spread across his face, and every muscle in my body went taut because whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to kill me.
“You’re gay, right?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word came out immediately. I’d never been one to lie about that. I was proud of my sexuality, and if anyone had a problem with that, then fuck them.
Evan’s smirk widened. His hand stilled on his cock, holding it loosely, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fluid gathered at his tip.
“Here’s what I’m thinking.” He shifted against the headboard, rolling his shoulders. “Every road game this season, you put that mouth on my cock. Give me what I’m missing.” His eyes stayed fixed on mine, steady and calculating. “And in return, I’ll take some pictures of my ass for your spank bank.”
The blood drained from my face again. “What—I don’t—what do you mean by—”
Evan chuckled. “Jenkins. You’re not as discreet as you think you are.”
I choked on air.
“Every game, your eyes are on my ass.” He said it without accusation or disgust. “Bent over in the on-deck circle. Walking back to the bench. Crouching to field a ball.” His hand resumed its slow stroke, almost absentminded. “Reed noticed.”
“Reed—”
“Reed’s pissed, actually. Said you’ve never once checked out his ass.” Evan rolled his eyes so hard his head moved with them. “He thinks his is better than mine. Which is—” He exhaled through his nose. “Reed’s delusional. But that’s a separate conversation.”
My brain was firing on exactly zero cylinders. Reed had noticed and was apparently offended that I hadn’t objectified him equally.
But none of that mattered, because Evan Brock had just offered me his cock for the rest of the season.
I didn’t need to weigh pros and cons, or sleep on it, or consult my better judgment. That had left the building three hours ago when Evan took his pants off. “Yes.”
Evan blinked. His hand paused mid-stroke. “That was fast.”
“Yes,” I said again. “Deal. Done. Whatever you want to call it.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or a recalculation. He’d expected me to deliberate. To stammer, hedge, and ask clarifying questions. Instead, I’d agreed in under two seconds, and the speed of it told him exactly how badly I wanted this.
The surprise lasted half a beat. Then his expression shifted into something hungrier. He spread his legs wider, planting his big feet flat on the mattress, his knees falling open. His cock stood tall between his thighs and throbbed like a dog wagging its tail.
“Then get your ass over here,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “and put that mouth on my cock.”
I was off my bed before he finished the sentence. My knees hit the mattress between his spread legs, and I was already leaning forward, my hands finding his inner thighs for balance.
Evan chuckled. “Eager.”
“Shut up,” I breathed, and then my mouth was on him.
The first thing I registered was the taste layered under the slick sweetness of his precum. The second thing was the heat. He was furnace-hot against my lips. The third thing was the sheer size of him filling my mouth, stretching my jaw wide the moment I took the head past my lips.
Evan’s breath left him in a rush. His thigh twitched under my left hand.
I swirled my tongue around the head, lapping at the precum as it oozed out, and his hips jerked forward.
“Fuck,” he said quietly.
I took him deeper. My jaw ached—the girth was unreal, forcing my mouth open to its limit—but I didn’t care. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, dragging my tongue along the underside of his shaft as I pulled back to the tip, then pushed forward again.
His hand found the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair, his thumb brushing the shell of my ear.
As I sucked my way further down his shaft, I realized something. I pulled off with a wet pop, gasping, a string of spit and precum connecting my lower lip to his head. “I can’t—” I swallowed, catching my breath. “I can’t get it all. You’re too thick.”
Evan looked down at me, his chest rising and falling, his eyes half-lidded and dark. “Nobody can. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“I’m not worried. Just stating a fact.” The truth was, it was a challenge. And every part of me wanted to conquer it. I licked the underside, tracing the thick vein with the flat of my tongue. “I’ll work with what I can.”
“ I gotta warn you, though. When I bust, it’s a lot.”
I met his eyes and smirked. “The more the better.”
Evan laughed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I dove back in, working him with everything I had. Bobs that took him as deep as I could manage, my hand wrapping around what my mouth couldn’t reach.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that, pretty boy.”
My whole body shuddered, my cock jumping between my legs, untouched and leaking onto his comforter. I moaned around him, the vibration traveling up his shaft, and Evan’s fingers tightened in my hair.
“Shit, you’re good at this,” he muttered. “Where did you—fuck.”
I took him deeper, relaxing my jaw, and that’s when I felt it. The ache started at the hinge, a dull burn spreading through the joint. I’d been at this for a while now, and his girth was punishing. I tried to push through, but my jaw seized, and I winced around his shaft.
Evan’s hand stilled in my hair. “Hey. You’re hurting.”
I pulled off, working my jaw from side to side. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He propped himself up on his elbows and stared down at me with a furrowed brow. “Take a break.”
“I don’t want to stop.” The words came out raw, more honest than anything I’d said all night. Three years of sketching him, of fantasizing. Stopping now was a physical impossibility.
“I didn’t say stop.” He spread his legs wider, his balls falling between his thighs. “Suck on my balls. Give your jaw a rest.”
I stared at him, the request unexpected and weirdly tender.
“What?” He shifted, almost self-conscious. “I just…I’ve wondered what it feels like. No one has ever done that.”
“Never?”
“They usually go straight for the dick.”
Wanting to feed his curiosity, I dipped lower, inhaling the salty, musky scent of him before pressing my mouth to his left ball. I opened wide—the stretch less punishing than his cock—and took him into my mouth.
His legs instantly jerked, thighs clamping around my head for a split second before he caught himself and spread them again.
A moan tore out of him. “Oh, fuck. Oh, that’s—yeah. Keep doing that.”
I rolled it gently with my tongue, feeling its weight in my mouth, the heat pulsing against my palate.
His thigh muscles were trembling against my cheeks.
I released it with a slow, wet pull of suction that made him hiss and moved to the right one, the skin of his scrotum dragging against my lips.
This one hung slightly higher, and I tilted my head, chasing it, before drawing it in.
Evan’s hand slammed flat against the mattress.
“Tommy.” My name punched out of him. His hips bucked involuntarily, his cock bobbing against my forehead, smearing precum across my skin.