Page 71 of Shots on Net

He lifts his head. “Yeah,” he says, grimacing apologetically.

Gently, I guide his mouth to mine with a hand on the back of his head. I can’t get enough of the taste of him. “Alright, let’s get up.”

He climbs off of me, and goes immediately to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Giving him time to clean up, I strip the bed. Truthfully, it wouldn’t bother me to sleep on the soiled sheet, but I don’t think Zeke would appreciate rolling over in the middle of the night and touching a wet spot from stray lube. Easier to just get a clean blanket.

Shoving everything into the laundry basket, I toss a clean sheet over the bed and call it good. I’m walking into the bathroom just as Zeke is coming out. He’s got a towel in his hand and smiles when he sees me, tipping his chin up to look at me. Holding out a hand for the towel, I lean down to kiss him despite the fact that my lips are sore and swollen from all the kissing we’ve been doing today. Totally fucking worth it.

I have to tug on the towel to get him to let go of it. I raise my eyebrows at him and he huffs. “I was going to do it.”

Propping a foot up on the toilet seat, I clean between my legs first. Zeke, worried about doing harm, used way too much lube. I glance over to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall and watching me. My stomach takes less effort to clean; when I’m done, I wash my hands and eye his reflection in the mirror. He’s watching me very closely.

“Zeke.” He stops looking at my ass and brings his gaze to mine.

“Sorry. I was just making sure you were moving okay.”

“I’m okay,” I tell him, exasperated. Turning around, I let him lead the way back into bed.

“Yeah, you say that, but last time you bottomed, you came home and very obviously was hurt. So, sue me for being concerned.” He pulls the clean blanket over us and looks at it, startled and temporarily distracted. “Oh. Did you change the sheets?”

“Yes. And last time was…different. You didn’t hurt me. Thank god you don’t have a barbed penis.” He gives a hoot of delighted laughter, elbowing me in the ribs. I grin. Nobody finds me as funny as he does. He snuggles into me, pulling my arm over the top of him before I can do it myself.

“Do you want another penis fact?” He sounds delighted, already excited to tell me.

“Oh lord. Yes, alright, hit me with a penis fact. God help me.”

“Echidnas have a four-headed penis.” He drops this bomb and then pauses, grinning maniacally. “Only two heads are used at a time, though. The females have a dual branched reproductive system. And then the next time the little guy mates, he uses the other half of his penis.”

“I don’t even know what an echidna is.”

“It’s a spiny little thing.” He cups his hands, showing me it’s size. “They’re cute.”

“Except for their monster dicks.”

He snorts. “Google it.”

“I’m not going to Google echidna penis, Zeke. Can you imagine the sort of spam I’d get after that?”

He devolves into delighted laughter. I smile, watching him. I’m feeling pleasantly sleepy, after the long drive and the evening activities. Perhaps I’ll try and convince him to sleep in tomorrow; spend a little time warm in bed in the morning, instead of going our separate ways to the gym and the library. Abruptly, I think of the missed calls waiting for me on my phone, downstairs. I feel bad for leaving Coach waiting.

“What is it?”

“I need to go grab my phone,” I tell him, thinking regretfully of the fact that I’ll have to leave the bed. “Coach Mackenzie called me. I should probably text him.”

“You should,” Zeke says, immediately. “He might be worried, if you don’t.”

Sighing, I slip out of the bed and lean over him for a quick kiss. I head downstairs, snatching up my phone and noting that there are now two missed calls from Coach. Cringing, I listen to the first voicemail.

Carter. You should be heading back by now, so call me once you get home. I want to make some changes to your training schedule; nothing major, just a few things Anthony suggested for you. I hope everything went okay with your family. Call me.

The second voicemail is more terse, and I can perfectly envision the look on Coach’s face as he left it.

I’m assuming you haven’t called me back because your generation is allergic to speaking on the phone. So, if calling is too hard for you, send me a text message, or a smoke signal, or a damn carrier pigeon.

Smiling, I head back upstairs. Flicking the light off on my way into the room, I fit myself back against Zeke and replay the voicemail for him. He bites his lip.

“You’re in trouble,” he remarks.

Coach answers on the first ring when I call him back. “Carter,” he snaps.

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