Don’t You Dare

As much as I enjoy playing ball, sometimes I really hate the travel schedule. It’s not like I didn’t understand what I was getting into when I signed with Foltyn College. Just like I know if I end up going pro, it’ll only get worse. I’ll be on the road half the season, sometimes two weeks straight without sleeping in my own bed.

It’s never been much of a thought or issue before now, though.

Then again, I’ve never really had much of a reason to want to be in my own bed. Or someone else’s bed back home, either. But now that things between me and Pen are escalating—in all the best ways—I’d rather have the comfort of his nearness and regular sexy time over weekend travel for baseball.

To even think that is literally…insane. That seems to be my mantra when it comes to this whole situation, but I honestly can’t come up with a better way to describe it. Pure insanity.

And sure, I don’t like being away from Aspen for more than a day or two at a time, but I’ve always just attributed that to our slightly unhealthy level of codependency. Of always being near each other since I was born, which is the fault of no one but our parents.

It’s never been anything more than that.

Yet I can already tell that the discomfort in my chest while I’m away from him this time is completely different. It’s not the normal damn, I wish he was here feeling I used to get whenever I’d leave. It’s an ache of longing, and it’s deeply unsettling. Especially considering I shouldn’t miss him already. Truly miss him.

I haven’t even left Portland, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him at all, let alone pining for the moment I’m back in our dorm room with him.

And as I sit and wait for the rest of my team to board the plane, I’m annoyed to find myself checking my phone constantly for a text from him. Or maybe a Snapchat. Something to let me know I’m on his mind the way he seems to be on mine.

Seriously, what is that shit?

Finally, I just give into the urge to hear from him and shoot him a text first…only to type out close to ten different things before settling on the most obvious opening.

Me: Hi.

Jesus Christ, I’ve turned into a thirteen-year-old girl, I think as I stare at the message, waiting for it to show up as read.

It takes a couple minutes, but soon enough it does, and the three little dots reveal him typing a response.

Pen: Hi yourself. Everything good?

I realize my error when I read the message. Of course he’d think something’s wrong. I never send him texts randomly like this. We rarely text at all, usually going for the easier option to FaceTime if we’re not in class. There’s not really another option for us right now, though, otherwise I definitely would’ve just done that instead.

Apparently sucking his dick has turned me into a stage-five clinger.

I stare at the screen and wonder how to respond without being completely obvious about what I’m wanting from him. Which…I don’t even think I know what that is.

His attention, I guess?

Ugh.

As I think about how to answer him and keep the conversation going, a dangerous yet alluring idea starts to take root in the back of my brain. It’s stupid, seeing as I’m on a plane full of my coaches and teammates, and he’s probably walking to his boring-as-hell architectural history class right now.

But…

Fuck it. I type out the response, baiting the line for him to latch on to.

Me: Yep. Waiting on the plane. Bored out of my mind.

Pen: Listen to your crap music. Do some homework. Read a book. You know how to do that last one, right?

It takes a lot for me to ignore his barb for my hatred of reading, but I’m sorry I’m not one of those unicorn people like him who see a movie in my head as I read. All I see are words on a page, and they never fail to put me to sleep.

Fucking sue me.

Me: Or we could play a game.

I smirk, typing out another text and sending it before I can think better of it.

Me: Don’t you dare?

The dots appear and disappear for a few minutes, and I chuckle to myself as I wait for his response to pop up on the screen. Finally, he settles on a single word.

Pen: Always.

And just like that, I know I’ve got him. Hook, line, and sinker.

Me: I dare you to finally fulfill your end of the bargain. You know, the one you conveniently forgot because you were too busy talking filthy through the wall?

It’s a risky move, asking him to do this when I know he’s in public. But I love getting under his skin, and I have no doubt in my mind that this will get him good and fired up. Which is why I’m surprised at his reply.

Pen: Fine. I’ll be back to the dorm in an hour.

Me: Nope. Right now. Five minutes, like last time.

Pen: I’m about to walk into a lecture.

Me: Your point?

Pen: Are you insane? Do you want me to be arrested for public indecency?

Ah, there we go. There’s the reaction I was waiting for.

Glancing around to make sure none of my teammates are paying me any attention, I chuckle softly and reply.

Me: It doesn’t have to be bare.

Pen: Still a fucking problem when there are 200 people sitting around me. And it’s not like listening to Hendrickson talking about the Baroque period gets me all hot and bothered.

Me: Sit in the back row, AirPods in, and watch my video. I know you still have it.

His lack of denial about the video makes me preen in my seat when I read his response.

Pen: You’ve actually lost your mind.

Me: Are you about to bitch out of a dare? For the first time in the history of DYD?

I can practically see the steam blowing out of Aspen’s ears. I know he’s gotta be pissed since he already said yes to the dare. But pushing his buttons—and his limits—is one of my favorite things to do. And this is one time I actually have zero faith he’ll go through with a dare.

Aspen might have the sexy bad-boy persona down to a T, but I know him better than anyone. There’s no way he’ll give in to sending me a dick pic in the middle of class.

Pen: I don’t negotiate with terrorists.

Me: Do it and I’ll send another video. Tonight. After the game.

Fuck, just thinking about sending him something else has my cock twitching behind my zipper.

Pen: If I do this, I want more than a video.

Me: Now we’re talking. Whatever you want, it’s yours.

Pen: Promises, promises, baby.

The term of endearment at the end of his last text sends my stomach into backflips, which ends up being more confusing than this attraction I have for him. But I ignore it, watching as the dots appear and disappear some more before they’re gone entirely.

Shit.

After a couple minutes, they’re still not back, and worry starts to niggle in the back of my mind. I didn’t think taunting him would make him go dark on me. I thought he’d just tell me to fuck off or something.

Letting out a deep breath, I glance around the plane again. Most of the guys have boarded, we’re just waiting on a few stragglers before we can get ready for takeoff.

When five minutes have come and gone with still no response from Aspen, I’m about ready to turn my phone into airplane mode and worry for the entire flight that I did something to mess this up already. Crossed some sort of boundary line we haven’t really defined yet.

Then my phone vibrates in my palm, and when I look down, I’m speechless. Actually, I think I might be imagining things, because…there’s an image waiting for me.

There’s no way he did it. Not in the middle of class.

My heart hammers as my fingers open the message.

No way in fucking he—

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, sliding down a little in my seat, so anyone behind me can’t see if they looked over the backrest. At least Avery is sitting a few rows in front of me, and I don’t have to worry about him being the one to see it.

The shot is aimed at Pen’s crotch, I’d recognize those black jeans that hug his ass so perfectly anywhere. It’s slightly showing the row of seats in front of him too, further proof he’s actually in the lecture hall while sending this. His leather jacket is tossed on the seat beside him, a pack of Marlboro’s sticking out of the inner pocket. Even his backpack makes an appearance next to his knee.

But what catches my attention is nothing other than the beautiful, hard outline of his cock beneath his jeans. Jeans he absolutely needs to buy more of because holy mother of God, I think I can even make out the ridge of the tip as I stare at the outline.

Pen: Just thinking about you in that video gets me so fucking hard.

My dick twitches again, thickening behind my dress slacks. Knowing he got hard just thinking about me? I can’t even describe the way it makes me feel.

Powerful, for one. A feeling I’m not used to having when it comes to Aspen Kohl.

Me: God, now I’m gonna be thinking about your dick the entire flight to Phoenix.

Pen: No one’s fault but yours. Just know you’re taking care of this the minute you walk in that door Sunday night.

Is that supposed to be a threat? All it sounds like is an invitation I’m more than happy to accept.

Me: Believe me, I can’t fucking wait.

Pen: Me either, baby.

That zing happens again when I read the last word, but it’s short lived when the pilot calls over the intercom that we’re getting ready for takeoff.

Me: Hate to cut this short, but we’re about to take off. Call you after the game.

After waiting a couple seconds to at least see him read the message, I switch my phone into airplane mode and settle into my seat.

I didn’t really think my dare through all that well, because that picture only ensures I’m horny as shit the entire flight to Phoenix. Which is almost unbearable as it is for someone who hates to fly without adding something between a half-chub and full-fledged boner to the mix. Especially in a suit.

It only gets worse when I switch my phone to airplane mode as I wait for the pilot to let us deplane, only for two more images to pop up in our text thread.

My jaw drops—actually fucking drops open—and I’m left completely speechless.

Because there, on my screen, is a pic of Pen in his bed, positioned to show the cut lines of his abs and torso…and his hard cock in hand. There’s a bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip, blue veins popping out of the sides from beneath his fingers.

Holy shit.

I might not have been on the receiving end of a dick pic before, but I sure as hell have taken and sent them. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better one in my life.

Then again, Pen has an eye for taking pictures. I’m not surprised he found the perfect lighting and angle to create the holy grail of cock photography.

The second image is nearly identical, but this time, the skin beneath his palm looks slick with lube, and there’s a pool of cum resting on his abs. It makes my mouth water, and I’m hit with the urge to lick that salty liquid from his skin before tasting the rest of him.

If only I wasn’t in fucking Phoenix for the next forty-eight hours.

After saving both images to a locked folder in my phone, I scroll down and read the text he sent after.

Pen: Couldn’t stop thinking about that damn video and had to put myself outta my misery. Still as sexy as it was the first time. Too bad my hand doesn’t feel nearly as good as your mouth.

Goddamnit.

Quickly, I pull up the keyboard and type out my response before everyone starts getting up and moving.

Me: I’ve never needed to rub one out as bad as I do right now. Thanks for that.

The issue is, there’s no way I’ll be able to. We’re going straight to the field from the airport, and hell if I’m gonna jack off in the locker room with my entire team around. I might like to live on the edge, but I’m not stupid.

My phone dings with another text from him.

Pen: Ask and you shall receive. You only have yourself to blame.

Me: I asked for a pic, not torture.

Pen: Semantics 😉