Page 12 of Crossed Lines

Spencer notices, just like he notices everything else about me. As if he can read my thoughts, his expression sharpens. He pats his thigh.Come here.

I waste no time kicking my pants off the full way and getting unsteadily to my feet. I’m in his lap before I have time to think what a profoundly stupid idea this is, but all common sense has been thrown to the wind. I’ve never been this turned on, never felt this aching need before in my life.

Spencer has awoken something in me, and I don’t know whether to run away or dive headfirst into the feeling.

His body is warm and solid beneath me and it’s almost enough for me to blow right there. Smirking, he lines our hips up and presses our cocks together, base to tip. My eyes roll into the back of my head. The slide is slick and wet from precome, and a needy whine spills from my lips at the feeling.

Spencer strokes my bare thigh. “You like that?”

“Shut up.” I mean to sound serious, but my voice is too high, too needy.

He laughs, that stupid gorgeous chuckle that reminds me of chocolate, then wraps a large hand around the back of my neck. Tugging me closer, he captures my mouth with his. Kissing him is just as good as it was earlier, maybe even better now that I’m less nervous. His lips are soft but rough from years of biting, and work magic against mine. I sigh, clutching his arms.

Our cocks drag together, trapped between our stomachs. The feeling of another person against me, aman,is overwhelming. Way better than my own hand.

Spencer takes both of us in his palm, long fingers wrapping around our cocks, and I make a broken sound into his mouth. He pulls back, nosing my jaw as I try to catch my breath. My lungs are burning, like the rest of my body.

“That’s it, Luke. Let go for me.”

It’s enough to send me over the edge. White, hot pleasure shoots through me and I pant against him, ropes of come spilling over his stomach and staining my shirt. Damn, I’ll have to wash that later.

Spencer sucks on my earlobe like it's a lollipop. “Looks like I won.”

I slap his chest, barely hearing his delighted chuckle over the fuzzy haze in my ears. For a moment, I’d forgotten all about the bet.

“Asshole.”

“An asshole who just gave you the best orgasm of your life.”

Cocooned in Spencer’s arms, my limbs feel like lead. I have to force myself to gingerly climb off his lap and grab my clothes.

“Not that it means anything.” I can’t look him in the eyes, so instead I focus my attention on hiding my ass from the open night air. “It was all for the bet, right?”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his gaze on me like twin flames scorching my back. My stomach clenches. Whatever this is, I don’t want it to ruin our friendship. I can’t afford to be distracted this summer season, not when my dad’s counting on me to win what he couldn’t.

The sound of a zipper closing echoes behind me. He’s putting on his clothes, erasing the evidence of this night.

“You’re right,” Spencer says finally. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

All he does is repeat exactly what I said.

For some reason, I hate it.

*

Training the next morning is an escalating disaster.

For two and a half hours, I go through the motions of practice but all I can think about is Spencer's hand on my cock.

We haven’t spoken since yesterday night. I woke up this morning to an empty apartment and the shriek of my alarm piercing my hangover. The asshole hadn’t bothered waking me up before he left, but there was a glass of water and two painkillers on my nightstand.

I don’t know if I should be mad or confused.

Most of my time on the pitch is spent watching Spencer. He’s wearing his old jersey, the one that’s a size too small. Itstretches across his broad chest, defining his strong shoulders and muscled back.

The urge to touch him again, feel his hot skin against mine, is almost overwhelming. What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s not like Spencer’s any better. His kicking form is off all morning, but nobody dares to correct him when his face is set in a permanent scowl like a warning sign.

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