Page 78 of The Play

“Are we expecting company?” Deacon teased quietly, gesturing towards the bed.

“No, I, uh . . .” Grant flushed an even deeper red, his fingers tangling in the buttons of Deacon’s shirt as he attempted to get it open.

Deacon raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Grant grumbled. “I saw the bed the designer picked originally, and in a fit of optimism, told him it was too small. That someday I might want—”

“An NFL player in your bed?” Deacon grinned.

“How incredibly presumptuous of me,” Grant said, pulling Deacon’s shirt open the rest of the way, laying a palm on his bare chest.

Deacon shivered at the feel of them skin-to-skin for the first time.

“God,” Grant said, his voice hushed as his fingertips drifted downwards, tracing intoxicating, teasing patterns on his skin. “I used to watch you, back then, during games. You’d lift your shirt up, flashing your abs, and it was ridiculous how much I wanted you. Though I didn’t think you’d ever think of me this way.”

“I always thought of you this way. Sat down across from you that first day and thought, why’d I have to pick the hottest tutor on campus?”

Grant laughed, his hands pausing on the waistband of Deacon’s jeans. “You did not think that.”

Deacon began to pant as Grant didn’t go any further. Just stopped. He’d not begged anyone for anything in a very long time, but the please was right on the tip of his tongue.

“I did. I thought you were gorgeous,” Deacon said, tipping his forehead to rest on Grant’s. “And then I realized you were smart and funny and you gave a shit about me passing statistics.”

“Spoiler alert: I thought if you passed, you might stay my friend. Might let me continue to ogle you shamelessly when you showed up for tutoring a few times a week.”

“All you had to do was let me continue to shamelessly ogle you,” Deacon teased.

“Should’ve done this ages ago.”

“Years ago,” Deacon agreed, and they were kissing again, fiercely, ferociously, like the intensity might make up for the fact that they hadn’t.

Grant’s touch drifted lower, and Deacon groaned into his mouth as his palm pressed against his hard dick.

Pleasure shot through him in a dizzying rush and he leaned into it, wanting more. Wanting so much, he wasn’t sure what Grant gave him would ever be enough.

But he wasn’t just going to stand here and take.

He’d intended to have Grant spread out in front of him, naked and needy, and Deacon wasn’t going to be satisfied until that happened.

Gently, he pushed him back on the bed, Grant’s green eyes going hot and smoky as Deacon shucked his own shirt the rest of the way off and reached for Grant’s own, tugging it over his head.

“Shit,” Deacon ground out. He’d never seen anything more gorgeous in his whole life as Grant wiggled out of his jeans, leaving him in only a pair of dark green boxer briefs, clinging to his slender but strong thighs and to his cock, straining against the fabric.

“Come ’ere.” Grant beckoned, and it was the easiest decision he’d ever made to climb up on the bed, lips finding Grant’s skin.

He tasted like fir and lemon—his soap, maybe, and something also undefinable, something that was just Grant. Sometimes, when Deacon was feeling really weak, he’d stand a little too close, just to smell him.

There’d been moments when Deacon had believed that was all he’d ever get from him.

But he was here, with him now. The taste of him on his tongue, the muscles under all that smooth skin twitching with desire. The view of him, sprawled against the bed, painted across his eyelids.

He was never going to get enough—which meant he was going to need to make it good enough for Grant that he never wanted to go anywhere else.

That he’d be content, and happy even, for Deacon to touch him forever.

His lips drifted lower, sliding along the dark brown hairs of Grant’s happy trail, leading right to the waistband of his underwear.

“Oh, God, please,” Grant begged. His hands found Deacon’s hair and tangled in it, trying to push him closer to where his cock twitched against the cotton fabric, a spot of precome soaking through it.

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