Page 104 of Melting the Ice

“I . . .I can’t . . .” Brody groaned. “I’m so fucking close. You keep doing that and I’m gonna—”

“Exactly,” Dean said. And he thrust not necessarily harder, but more insistently, faster and better, right against that spot, over and over, until Brody was hanging on to control by his fingertips, and they were slipping.

“You wanna come?” Dean asked.

Brody half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Yes.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this, so goddamn pretty.”

“I gotta . . .” Brody panted. He couldn’t fuck against the mattress. But he could against Dean’s fingers, so he did, pushing back, until Dean was groaning too.

“Touch yourself,” Dean finally murmured, “I’m touching myself.”

Brody craned his neck, right before he put a hand on his aching cock and saw that Dean was telling the truth. He’d opened his jeans, shoved them around his knees, and had his hand, big and rough, around his own cock, stroking it hard, face twisted at the pleasure, as Brody fucked his fingers.

Brody froze then exploded, barely getting a hand around himself before he was clenching hard in orgasm.

“Shit,shit.” Brody heard Dean’s exclamation, feeling hot stripes of come falling over his back.

For a second, Brody just floated along in inescapable pleasure.

Heard Dean murmur, as he leaned over him, “Don’t move, I’m gonna clean you up.”

Then there was a damp cloth, wiping off his back.

Dean turned him over and he wiped his front, and they both looked down at the wet patch on Dean’s comforter.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Dean said.

“Okay, I won’t,” Brody said. He patted the bed next to him. “We can work around the wet spot.” He nearly suggested they move over tohisbed. And spend the night there, too.

They hadn’t done that yet—spend the night together.

Dean or Brody had always retreated to their own bed, after their experimenting.

But Brody didn’t want to leave. Even if they had to work around the wet spot.

He wanted to lie here, forever, with Dean gazing at him like he wasn’t wrong, wasn’t losing his mind, like he was perfect and shiny and amazing.

Like he really was that pretty boy Dean liked to call him.

Chapter Fourteen

It was drizzling andcold, a typical November day in Portland, which was why it was bizarre that Brody was sweating, practically right through his T-shirt. He’d already shed his sweatshirt, and when he had, Ramsey had shot him a weird look.

“What is your deal?” Ramsey asked when they took their seats.

Brody told himself, firmly, to stop squirming. He shoved his fists into the balled-up sweatshirt on his lap.

“Good seats, huh?” Brody said. He gazed out onto Harrington Field. It was his third year here, yet he’d never gone to a football game. But then he’d never had a reason to, before.

Ramsey still looked concerned. “Yeah, though I don’t know why we couldn’t have just sat in the student section.”

“You know how hard those tickets are to come by? Besides, this way we didn’t have to fight for a spot, or deal with all that rowdy shit,” Brody said.

Ramsey’s dubiousness deepened. “Yeah, ’cause it’s not gonna get rowdy around here.” He glanced around them. And yep, the whole section was full of bros and their wives in theirmid-twenties to early thirties, most of them flushed like they’d spent the last four hours “tailgating.” Brody had learned that was mostly a polite euphemism for drinking a lot, because you couldn’t buy booze at the stadium itself.

“It’s okay to be enthusiastic about your alma mater,” Brody said, not even sure why he was defending these guys who were clearly only here to try to recapture even an afternoon of what their youth had felt like.

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