Him

Forty minutes later I have Jamie’s dick in my mouth and I’m stroking his prostate like a champion. He’s writhing and begging. “Give me more,” he pants. “Give me the D. You know you want to.”

I release him with a pop, and practically swallow my own tongue. The casual way he’s asked me to fuck just blows my mind. “I don’t know,” I stammer.

He opens one heated eye and looks at me. “Christ. Sometimes it feels like you’ve got your whole arm up there, anyway. How is it so different?”

Because it just is.

Don’t get me wrong—I want inside that fine ass of his more than I want my next breath. But I’m also afraid. It’s not a familiar sensation. I never used to care about the consequences of my actions. But if we do this, I won’t just be fucking Jamie. It will mean something to me. And chances are, it won’t to him.

For him, it’ll be another little experiment he can take with him before he goes off and settles down with some girl.

He’s watching me now, waiting for me to decide. And while he waits he’s gently jacking himself and staring into my eyes.

Holy shit, I’m going to do it.

I’m going to fuck the only man I’ve ever loved.

I can hardly breathe as I reach for the lube. Then I realize I need a condom too, so I climb off the bed in search of my duffel bag. I stashed a whole box of them in there, though I’m not entirely sure why. When I took the job at camp, it was for the sole purpose of spending time with Jamie, not to go on some kind of sex spree with the gay locals.

I never thought I’d be opening this box. With Jamie. For Jamie.

“Are you sure?” I ask thickly.

He nods. Those brown eyes burn with hunger. They shine with trust. I memorize that expression, the way he looks lying there at my mercy, big and hard and rippling with masculine power.

I take my time with him, more generous than usual with the lube. Fuck, I don’t want to hurt him, and I absolutely don’t want him to hate this. I can’t help but remember my first time, how cheap it made me feel, being used by a guy who didn’t give a shit whether I enjoyed myself or not.

I want this to be so good for Jamie.

“One finger won’t be enough this time.” My voice is so gravelly it stings my throat. “You’ll need to get used to more before I…uh…”

He sounds as raspy-voiced as I do. “You’ll stop if I don’t like it?”

My heart squeezes. “Of course.” I lean over him and plant a reassuring kiss on his lips, then wink at him. “Just say ballsack if you want me to stop.”

A wave of laughter shudders through him. “Oh shit. I totally forgot about that.”

I laugh too as I think about the ridiculous code word we made up when we were fourteen. I’m not sure who came up with it—who am I kidding? It was obviously me—but we’d used it during our wrestling phase. We decided MMA was the coolest shit ever and spent hours in the gym practicing our “moves.” Except half the time when one of us tapped out, the other wouldn’t notice, so we devised a safe word.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day Pat walked into the gym and found us—me, flat on my stomach with Jamie’s knee digging into the back of my neck, while I yelled “Ballsack!” over and over again.

“Ready to come harder than you’ve ever come in your life?” I ask solemnly, lifting one of his knees up.

He smiles. “You sure you want to put that much pressure on yourself, dude?”

“No pressure. Just fact. Science has proven it.”

Now he snickers, but the sound dies when the tip of my finger circles his hole. His ass cheeks instantly clench. Not in fear, but anticipation. I see it in his eyes, a raw gleam of heat, before he lifts up his other knee and all but puts himself on display for me.

Jesus. Nope, not gonna survive this.

I tease and caress for several long moments before slipping my finger inside. My other hand grips his erection. I’m selfish, but I don’t want him to come until I’m buried inside him, so I don’t take him in my mouth or jerk him as hard as I know he wants. Slow, featherlight strokes are all he gets as I work my finger into his tight hole.

When a second finger joins the party, his brows draw together. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead. Mine, too. Loosening him up is one of the hottest things I’ve ever done. It takes all my concentration. Stroking, teasing, twisting, getting him ready for me.

At three fingers, he moans loud enough to wake the dead, and I release his erection to press my palm to his mouth. “Quiet, baby.”

“Wes…” He’s squirming now, pushing his ass against my probing fingers. Every time I connect with his prostate, he pants out a breath. “I need more.”

He’s beautiful. Goddamn beautiful. And I’m so hard it hurts. My heartbeat takes off like it’s on a breakaway as I tear open the condom packet with my teeth. I cover myself with one hand, then pour lube on the condom to get the latex even slicker. My fingers continue to torment Jamie’s ass.

“You ready for it?” I rasp.

His lips part on a shaky breath. He nods.

Gripping my shaft, I position myself between his big thighs. My breathing is equally unsteady. Hell, my hand is trembling around my cock as if I’ve never done this before. But I haven’t done this. Not with someone I love.

The head of my cock nudges his hole. He tenses again, clenching to deny me entrance.

I find his erection and stroke my fist up its length. “Breathe,” I whisper. “Relax for me.”

His throat dips. Then he lets out another breath.

I push forward again, and this time I’m able to ease in. Just the tip, but holy hell, the pressure is incredible. He’s hot and tight, squeezing me into oblivion.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck.” It’s all he seems capable of saying as my cock tunnels deeper. Jamie’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy.

If I last more than five strokes, it’ll be a miracle. Then again, we are in Lake Placid, which just happens to be Miracle Central.

His erection pulsates in my fist, but I don’t stroke it. Not yet. Not until he begs me to. “Jamie…you doing good?”

He moans in response.

I’m all the way in now, and my dick is in heaven. I’m in heaven. I lean forward and cover his torso with mine, my elbows on either side of his head as I bend down to kiss him. Then I start to move.

“Oh… God…” He whispers the words into my lips and I swallow them up with another tongue-tangling kiss.

I fuck him slowly, letting him get used to the sensation, but Jamie Canning is a master at adapting. It’s him who wraps his arms around me, who hooks his legs around my ass. It’s him who starts rocking up to meet my every thrust, and him who says, “Faster, Wes” as I desperately try to go slow.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” I mumble.

“Wanna come,” he mumbles back.

I smile when he snakes one hand between the tight seal of our bodies, trying to find his cock. He’s burning up, his face and chest flushed with desire. When he bears down on my ass and groans in frustration, I take pity on my man and rise to my knees again, yanking his hips to pull him closer.

The new angle makes him curse. His fingers seek out his erection, but I gently bat them away. “My job, baby. I make you come.”

I withdraw until just my cockhead remains inside him. Our gazes lock. His breathing quickens.

Then I jack his dick in a long, hard pump at the same time I slam back in.

I have to give him credit—he manages to stay quiet this time. He bites his lip to keep from groaning, his gorgeous features strained. He’s close. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the urgency with which he grinds his ass against my groin.

I’m covered in sweat. My own release is imminent and I want so badly to prolong it, but that’s like passing the puck to Gretzky and asking him not to take a shot. There’s no stopping the orgasm. It sizzles in my balls and ripples through my shaft, and I come while still jacking Jamie’s cock.

My world is reduced to the man beneath me. I nearly act out a scene right out of a chick flick and shout “I love you!” while I shudder in release. But I fight the temptation and focus on getting Jamie where he needs to go. My dick remains rock-hard despite the mind-blowing climax. I keep fucking him, keep thrusting forward as my hand works his erection.

“Oh…yessss…”

Sheer bliss rolls through me when his release soaks my fingertips. He comes on a strangled cry. And keeps coming. And then comes some more.

I guess nobody can say he didn’t enjoy himself.

When he finally goes still, I collapse on his sticky chest and growl in his ear. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He clings to me, his big palms pressed to my damp back.

We lie that way a long time. I’m just drifting on my own happiness. I lead a big life, and it’s a hell of a ride. But there aren’t many moments like this. I want to bottle it and carry it everywhere I go.

Finally Jamie speaks. “Do you think anyone’s still sick?”

“Wha?” There are only two people who exist to me right now, so I have no idea what he’s asking.

“I was just hoping they got it all out on the way home.”

He’s talking about the drunk teens who took half a fucking hour to walk home tonight. We had to keep stopping while they upchucked. “They’re fine,” I murmur. I kiss Jamie’s sweaty neck, and he tastes like heaven.

“Should we clean up?” he asks.

I can’t hold on to this moment any longer. It won’t stretch and stay with me no matter how badly I want it to. “Yeah. You want to go first?”

“You go ahead.”

I take my sticky self into the bathroom for a sixty-second shower. When I get back to the room, Jamie departs for his own shower. I stare at my bed, cursing its size. The twin beds are built into the wall, so the only times I’ve pushed them together have been in my imagination.

Sometimes we fall asleep together, but it’s a really tight fit. I have an idea, though. Actually I’ve thought of this before, but I’m too chicken to bring it up. Fuck it, though. The summer is half over.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

My mattress slides off the wooden frame when I give it a tug. I drop it on the floor beside my bed. There’s just enough room left for Jamie to do the same.

Standing there staring down at my mattress, I feel exposed in a way I haven’t ever felt before. Jamie and I fool around, but we don’t talk about it. I don’t ask him for anything except orgasms.

It has to be that way. I’m heading to Toronto in a month, where I’ve vowed to keep my head down and play the best hockey those fuckers have ever seen. My rookie year is going to be spotless—no scandals, no shenanigans.

It’s shocking, but my dad and I are actually in agreement about something for once in our sorry excuse of a relationship: flashing my sexuality around is not a good idea right now.

Which is why it terrifies me that I’m becoming so attached to Canning.

Says the guy who’s already stupidly, disgustingly in love with him…

I am, and always have been. I love everything about him. His quiet strength, his dry humor, his carefree approach to life that contrasts with his controlled manner on the ice. That sexy-as-sin body…

I’ve made sure to keep my feelings for him under wraps, though. He thinks we’re just messing around. Good-time Wes just having some fun. But I’ve changed the game for myself tonight. And if I let him know how much I want him beside me in bed, that’s changing it for him, too…

Which is why I’m just standing here in my underwear, arguing with myself about whether or not I should have thrown a mattress on the floor.

The door opens behind me, and I’m so busted.

Jamie towels off his hair. He looks down at the mattress. “Never thought of that,” he says. The towel lands on our unused desk chair, and then he yanks his mattress down, too.

My face heats as I go to switch off the light. It’s hard to move around the room with the floor space eaten up with mattresses.

Jamie gets into bed on his side, and I lie down too. I wrap an arm around his waist and stroke his bare belly with my hand. “You okay?” I murmur. As if I’ve changed our sleeping arrangement to comfort him.

As if.

“I’m going to be sore, aren’t I?” he asks.

I hesitate. “Maybe a little. Sorry.”

He picks up my hand and kisses the palm. “Totally worth it.”

Now I’m grinning in the dark. I hold him as close as I dare. Even if my entire life goes to shit before breakfast tomorrow, I’ll always have this night.