Page 60 of Shots on Net

“Me, too,” he agrees, and hands me an oyster. “And I want you to succeed, and get signed by a team, and fulfill all of your dreams…”

“But,” I laugh.

“But, I’m going to miss you so badly when you go. I miss you already, and you haven’t even left yet.”

I know what he means. When I think about the possibility of being signed by a team on the other side of the country, I feel sick. Hell, I could be signed by a Canadian team. We would go weeks, if not months, without seeing one another; he’ll be tied to South Carolina until he finishes school and I’ll be on the road. But if there is one thing, I know it’s that we are solid, he and I. We’ve got what it takes to make it long-term.

When we get home, Zeke puts an arm around my waist as we walk up the stairs. Instead of peeling off toward his own room, he eyes the open doorway of mine.

“Want some company?” He asks.

“Always.”

We go into my room and I go through the motions of getting ready for bed. This isn’t the first night he’s spent in my bed, so I don’t read anything into it. It’s not until I’m crawling under the sheets beside him that I note the look on his face.

“What?” I ask, settling on my side so I can look at him.

“Are you ready for butt stuff?” He asks, grinning suggestively. I laugh, and he scoots closer to me until our noses are nearly touching.

Instead of answering, I place a hand on the side of his face, fingers tangling in his hair, and kiss him. He makes a small sound and kisses me back, harder. It takes no time at all for my blood to get pumping, and yes, yes, I am very ready for butt stuff. Gently, I direct him onto his back without pulling our mouths apart. He makes another sound—closer to a moan this time—when I put my hand flat on his stomach. I’m already painfully hard, and it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had sex; I want him so bad.

We tear our mouths away from one another long enough to sit up and shed our clothes. The sheets have been kicked down to the end of the bed. I rip my shirt off and toss it over the bed, intending to stop there until I see Zeke working his pants off as best he can from a seated position. He’s left his boxers on, so I follow suit and do the same. My hands tingle with the urge to touch him. When he throws his pants over the side of the bed and looks at me, I damn near tackle him; his back hits the mattress with a soft fwump, and he laughs into my mouth. Reaching down, I put a hand to his leg and slide it up under the edge of his boxers until I can thumb at the juncture of his thigh. He moans and pushes his hips upward, erection brushing my stomach. I break my mouth away from his and suck in a much-needed breath of air.

“Jesus,” I mumble. I’m so focused on where my own hand is that it takes me a moment to realize where Zeke’s have wandered. He’s got both inside my briefs, fingers trailing gently over the slope of my ass. I repeat: “Jesus.”

I feel a little dizzy. Lack of oxygen from all the kissing, and the sudden exposure of so much of his skin have me faint with possibility. I feel like I’ve been waiting a very long time for this, and now that we’re here I don’t know what to do. I kiss him, pressing him hard into the mattress and using my hold on his leg to stretch my thumb just far enough that I can graze his dick. He pulls his mouth away from mine with a gasp.

“Naked,” he says. His dirty blonde hair is fanned across the pillow and his face is flushed. “We need to be naked, like, right now.”

Kissing my way down his narrow chest, I pause and look up at him when I reach his waistband. He raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say Well? Get on with it. Another kiss to his navel and I step off the end of the bed as I slide his boxers off. I try not to make a big show of staring—not wanting to make him uncomfortable—but it’s not easy. I tug my own underwear off, foot catching and almost tripping me up; I want to put my mouth on him so badly I’m salivating. Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, I get my briefs off and climb back on the bed.

“Breathe,” Zeke reminds me, quietly. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath; I suck in a lungful of air, and lean down to kiss him. He loves kissing.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, between kisses, and then immediately flush with embarrassment. Zeke makes a low humming noise, and arches his hips again; without the cotton of his boxers between us, there is only the slide of his skin on mine.

Reaching a hand between our bodies, I wrap my fingers around his length in a gentle grip. I need him to tell me exactly what he wants to do, because I’ll never be able to decide. I want to do all the things.

“What do you want to do?” My lips brush his as I speak, sending little tickles of pleasure zinging through me.

“I want your mouth on me and your fingers inside me, and then I want to do the same thing to you,” he says, clearly and without a trace of embarrassment. I swear to god, I nearly come from the words alone.

Letting go of his dick, I shift so I can reach over to the nightstand and open the drawer. Reaching in for the lube, I jolt when I feel Zeke run his fingertips down my stomach and along the underside of my shaft. I look at him and he grins at me.

“Sorry. Just admiring.”

“Admire away,” I tell him, and he laughs.

We forget about the presence of the lube for a while, content to kiss and touch for an unmeasured time. I’ve never spent so much time on foreplay before. From the way I feel right now, I’m wondering if I’ve been having sex wrong all this time. It has never felt this good. By the time I reach for the lube, Zeke’s skin is salty with sweat and his breathing is ragged. There isn’t an inch of skin on either of our bodies that hasn’t been touched. I feel like I’m on fire.

I lift one of his legs and straddle the other, still keeping the great majority of my weight off of him. I stop kissing him just long enough to coat a finger with lube, and then I’m back, tongue tangling with his as I slide my hand between his legs. I torment him a bit, running my finger along his crease to tease the nerves into action. Pressing the tip of my finger inside him, I get only to the second knuckle before he tightens around me.

I’m getting dizzy again, from lack of oxygen to my brain, so I detour down his neck. There is a spot just below his jaw that is extra sensitive; I’m going to suck on it. He relaxes enough for me to inch my finger a little further, but the second I start moving he tenses up again.

“Did you know that, uhm, oysters can change their sex?” He asks. It takes me a long time to process the words, my brain already being pulled in multiple directions between the warmth of his body and the way his skin tastes.

“Mm,” is the best I can manage in return. His hands are coasting along my back, the touch so light it tickles. He hasn’t relaxed; if I pushed my finger any further inside him it would hurt, even with the addition of lube. I wait, teasing the sensitive skin of his taint with my thumb and biting lightly at his collarbone.

“Uhm, and a…,” he breathes out hard, and his fingers tighten around my shoulder blades, “juvenile oyster is called a spat.”

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