Chapter 11
Evan had his shoes off and his shirt over his head before the hotel room door had even clicked shut behind us. His body was still humming from the game, muscles twitching under the cheap light.
Down the hall, the sound of the team heading out for a night of celebration filtered through the door. As we always did, Evan and I hung back. Tonight, the air was heavy with the knowledge that this was our last bit of shared solitude before the careful public distance snapped back into place.
A knot tightened in my gut. I wasn’t ready for it to be over.
“I smell like a horse,” Evan muttered, one arm draped over his eyes. “Seriously. I’m disgusting right now.”
I pulled my shirt off and tossed it onto my bed. “You’re hung like one, too,” I said, meeting his eye. “And I don’t mind the sweat.”
A few weeks ago, a comment like that would have died in my throat. It was crazy how things could change that quickly. How much braver I’d become around such a seemingly volatile man.
From under his arm, one blue eye slid over to me. His mouth twitched at the corner. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well.” He shifted his weight, spreading his legs wide. His shorts were already tented. He tucked his hands behind his head and settled back against the pillow. “Get over here, then.”
I crossed the gap between our beds and kneeled between his spread thighs. He radiated a furnace-like heat that blasted my face as I leaned in, the smell of sweat and exertion sharp in my nose as I tugged his shorts down.
His cock sprang free, already thick and flushed, slapping against his stomach. I wrapped my hand around the base and took him into my mouth. The first taste of him—salty skin and the sharp tang of precum—made my own cock pulse hard in my shorts.
Evan groaned, his abs tightening. “Fuck. Yeah, just like that.”
I worked him slow, getting him slick, my jaw stretching to accommodate his girth.
His hands stayed laced behind his head, body loose and receptive.
I remembered that when we did this last night, I learned that a little pressure with my thumb at the base made his thighs twitch.
And a swirl of my tongue around the head made his breath hitch.
Tonight, I did both.
“Take it,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I know you can, pretty boy.”
My throat convulsed around him. Drool ran down my chin and pooled on the sheets beneath us. His thighs squeezed tighter, holding my head in place as he pushed himself deep enough to make me choke on every third or fourth thrust.
I couldn’t breathe through my nose half the time, tears blurring my vision, and I didn’t care. Every gag, every choked gasp for air, pushed another dollop of precum out of my cock.
I had him for maybe two more minutes before he released my head.
I barely had time to catch my breath before he flipped us over.
His powerful thighs settled against my rib cage, and his meaty ass pressed down on my chest. Evan’s cock hung above my face, dripping spit and precum.
A drop landed on my bottom lip, and I licked it away without thinking.
“Let me in,” he said, fingers coaxing my jaw open.
A spike of pure panic shot through me, and my hands shot to his massive glutes. They flexed under my palms as he slid down my throat. I gripped hard, fingers digging into the dense muscle, holding on as he fucked my mouth with controlled, rolling thrusts.
Each stroke pushed him dangerously deep. I focused on breathing through my nose, on keeping my throat relaxed. As he pushed deeper, my fingers dug harder into his ass, a wordless command not to get carried away.
“Fuck, Tommy.” His voice was pitched higher than usual. “I’m so goddamn close already. Your throat is squeezing my cock.”
His hips stuttered, and then his hand was on my forehead, pushing me off his cock. The wet head dragged across my lips as he pulled back, and I gasped, sucking in air.
His large palm stayed pressed against my forehead, pinning me flat against the pillow. He stared down at me, chest heaving, his other hand wrapped around his shaft.
“Open your mouth.”
I opened wide as his fist worked his cock, fast and rough.
“Ready for my cum, pretty boy?”
I nodded eagerly and stuck out my tongue. His slit widened, and the first thick rope of cum shot straight down my throat. I flinched, but kept my mouth open as a second and third rope landed on my tongue. More kept shooting out of him, and my eyes rolled back as my mouth overflowed.
His thumb swiped across my bottom lip, smearing his spunk like chapstick. “You gonna swallow it all for me?”
I moaned, mouth full, wanting him to watch as the thick heat of him slid down my throat.
Evan’s face went slack, his eyes glazing over as he watched me swallow the last of him. His hand fell from my forehead to the pillow beside my head, his weight shifting as his body went boneless.
He shook his head and let out a rough exhale, rolling off me and flopping onto his back beside me. “I don’t know how you can stand that stuff, man.” He wiped his hand on the sheets. “But I’m glad you enjoy it.”
I lay there, breathing hard, ribs sore, throat raw, my cock still aching.
I’d swallowed for other guys before, a chore to be powered through.
But with Evan, it was different. The taste of him, the sheer volume hitting the back of my throat—I craved it.
Each swallow was proof that I was the one who could bring him to this.
“Whether I enjoy it or not,” I said, my voice hoarse, “it’s a grand finale every time. Watching you let go like that?” I turned my head to meet his eyes. “That’s the hottest part.”
His gaze softened for a fraction of a second before he caught himself and turned away. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat, his chest heaving with each slow recovery breath.
“Grand finale,” he repeated, and the corner of his mouth curled up. “You make it sound like fireworks.”
“I mean, the volume alone…”
“Shut up.” His hand found my thigh and squeezed once. “Your turn. Come here.”
I rolled toward him, and his hand slid up from the hard flex of my thigh to the bony ridge of my hip, pulling me up and over until I was almost on top of him.
His hands were calloused and huge—meant for breaking up double plays or hurling a baseball ninety miles per hour.
And yet he used them now to finish stripping me the rest of the way.
He hooked his fingers into my waistband and yanked my pants down to my knees, then shoved them off with a kick of his foot, so I was bare except for my socks.
My cock was sticking to my stomach. I wasn’t even embarrassed—Evan had lost any ability to make me self-conscious about my body, not after the things we’d done, not after the way he looked at me when he was in this mode.
He sat up slightly, eyes narrowed and jaw set, and when he said, “You’re a mess, pretty boy,” the words came out low and rough.
He ran his thumb deliberately through the precum pooling on my abs before circling it around my cock head, not even pretending to be gentle.
“Your fault,” I choked out, instantly breathless, and his mouth quirked up in a crooked half-grin.
He squeezed, just shy of too hard, then started jerking me off with the same unrelenting drive he brought to every fucking thing he did.
Each upstroke was fast and firm, his thumb catching the sensitive ridge beneath the head, slinging precum in sticky arcs above my navel.
I tried to reach for him, wanting to anchor myself to his shoulder, but he grabbed my wrist in his free hand and pinned it above my head, holding me in place.
The sudden helplessness made my hips jerk up involuntarily, my back arching off the cheap polyester spread.
“You like that?” he murmured. “Told you. You’re so fucking pretty like this.” He stroked me faster, not giving me a second to recover.
A whine built up in my throat, the kind I would have mocked anyone else for making, but now I could only gasp and tremble. My muscles locked up tight with the need to come.
Evan watched my face the whole time, his eyes laser-focused and a little soft at the edges, like something in him was just as close to falling apart.
He released my wrist and immediately slid his palm up to cradle my cheek, thumb stroking my jaw as he kept working my cock with the other hand. The split focus was devastating. No one had ever looked at me like this during sex. As if I were some rare animal he’d finally captured.
I was right there, teetering on the edge. I bit my own knuckle to keep from screaming, but Evan saw it, and grinned. “Let it out. I want to hear you.”
Some instinct in me snapped. My hips bucked hard, and I came in his fist with a broken, undignified wail, semen splattering up my chest and pooling over his fingers. He didn’t stop jerking me, not even as I thrashed and whimpered, the touch too much, electricity firing everywhere.
He relentlessly milked every spasm out of me until I finally had to grab his forearm and wrench his hand away.
I collapsed back onto the pillow, every muscle spent, feeling boneless in a way that was both humiliating and euphoric. My entire stomach was a disaster, streaked with sweat and come. Evan’s hand was glossy with it, and he let it drip down onto the sheets without much ceremony.
For a second, neither of us spoke. Then Evan leaned in and bit the shell of my ear, not hard enough to hurt, and then kissed it. The switch from brutal to gentle made my brain short-circuit.
I turned my face toward him on instinct, and he kissed me, open-mouthed and hungry. I groaned into it, biting his lower lip and wondering if he could taste himself on my tongue. If he even knew what he tasted like.
Evan laughed, the sound muffled between our mouths, and shifted until he was practically on top of me.
He pulled back, and the focus in his eyes was gone, replaced by warmth. “You’re fucking unreal, Tommy,” he said, whispering a secret only for me to hear.
I blinked, caught off-guard by the intimacy, and didn’t know what to say. So I kissed him again.
We lay side by side in the ringing quiet, the air thick with the smell of us.
“Last night here,” I said.
“Yep.” His voice was flat, but then I felt a faint pressure against my hand. His pinky hooked over mine. “Back to normal tomorrow.”
Normal. Where he walked past me on the quad, and I pretended I didn’t know the sound he made right before he came. Where pretty was a word he used for baseball.
“Two weeks until Liberty,” I said. “I’m sure you haven’t thought about it at all.”
His pinky tightened around mine. “Nope, not at all.”
We lay there for a while longer, neither of us moving to redress or separate.
The AC unit hummed its steady, rattling drone from the wall, and the muffled sound of someone’s TV bled through from the room next door.
Eventually, Evan’s pinky released mine, and he hauled himself up with a groan, padding to the bathroom.
I listened to the faucet run, the splash of water. When he came back, he tossed a damp washcloth at my chest without ceremony. “Clean yourself up.”
“Romantic.” I wiped myself down and balled up the cloth, tossing it toward the garbage can. It missed by a foot and landed on the carpet.
Evan pulled the covers back on his bed and slid under them, settling onto his back with one arm folded beneath his head. The sheet sat low on his hips, his bare chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was slowing toward sleep.
I got up, brushed my teeth, pulled on a clean pair of boxers, and climbed into my own bed. The sheets were cool against my skin, and I turned onto my side, facing him.
“You’re staring at me again,” Evan said without opening his eyes.
“You can’t even see me.”
“I can feel it.” One eye cracked open, that impossible blue catching the dim glow of the alarm clock. “You do this every time. I’m trying to sleep, and you’re over there running a whole documentary in your head.”
A flush crept up my neck. He wasn’t wrong. I spent half my life cataloging details, but he was the first person to ever call me out on it. I fell back on the usual deflection. “Maybe I’m just admiring the view.”
“The view is a sweaty guy in a hotel bed.”
“Exactly.”
He snorted. “Go to sleep, Tommy.”
“Fine.” I rolled onto my back and tried to stop my thoughts from running away from me.
“Hey,” he said, his voice thick and slurred with impending sleep. A pause stretched long enough that I thought he had passed out. Then, quieter: “Thanks. For the…you know.”
He didn’t just mean for getting him off. I knew that. He meant for this. For the room, the quiet, a place where there were no expectations.
I kept my voice even. “Anytime.”