Page 20 of Crossed Lines

“Oh, yeah?” He takes me in his hand and slicks me with lube, peppering my neck with kisses. “Is this gross, Luke?”

Pleasure explodes through me and my eyes roll back into my head, lashes fluttering at the sensation. His hot, tight fist. How he slides up and twists a little near the head, thumbing my slit and gathering slick precome.

I writhe in his lap, wanting to stitch our bodies together. He works me slowly, gently, a stark contrast to our first time on thebalcony. Trying to think past the mounting heat in my groin, I take his cock in my lubed hand and follow his lead.

I must be good, because Spencer bites out a groan and throws his head back. I feel a rush of pride and tighten my grip just like he seems to like it, to the point of almost-pain. Gripping his thighs with mine, I pump my hips against his, sliding our cocks together.

“You’re perfect,” Spencer says, gasping a little. “I never thought—”

He cuts himself off, knocking away my hand and gripping us both in his. I keen against his neck, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself not to come too early. Whatever he was going to say doesn’t matter, because I know how he feels. I never thought having sex—with my best friend of all people—could be like this, an overwhelming rush of soft, mushy feelings mingled with hot yearning. I want him so bad it hurts.

I’m almost shaking with pleasure, my mind and senses full of Spencer Hall. If I could meld into his skin and become one with him, I would.

Spencer cups my face, nosing my cheek before pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of my mouth. It’s almost too much. His hand feels amazing around both of us, thumb flicking over the head of my cock and running up a vein on the side.

“I’m close,” I say into his mouth.

He quickens his strokes until his hand is a blur over our lengths. All I can do is grip his shoulders and hold on, heat prickling under my armpits. The car smells of sex and sweat and the sweet orange of his cologne.

I’m so focused on the heightening pleasure I don’t notice the hand sneaking down the back of my shorts until a finger strokes over my entrance.

The shock is enough to send me over the edge. Spencer licks into my mouth, swallowing my loud, curling moans like water.I shake against him, rutting into the soft heat of his palm like a toy, chasing my orgasm.

He works me through it with a bruising grip, gaze intense as he watches me come undone. It only makes it hotter.

I collapse against him, spent, and watch languidly as he curls my hand around his length. He glances up at me, a question clear in his eyes. My heart clenches.

“Use me,” I say, nodding. “Fuck my hand, Spence. I want you to feel good.”

Those have to be the filthiest words I’ve ever spoken, but Spencer seems to appreciate them. He groans, deep and rumbling, and grips my thighs like they tether him to this world. I tighten my hold around his cock, greedily taking in the sharp snaps of his hips into my fist. He jostles me with each thrust, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Watching him unravel beneath me is all that matters.

Hot ropes of cum spill over my hand and I work him through his orgasm, gaze flicking from his open mouth to the way his eyes are squeezed shut. He settles against the car seat, chest heaving as he stares at me.

“Fuck, Luke.” He laughs at the car roof, shaking his head in a daze.

A smile plays on my lips. “I know.”

We sit like that for a moment, taking each other in, and all thoughts of soccer and the semi-finals couldn’t be further away from my mind.

7

Luke

Evening sun warms my face, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of Spencer’s bare chest.

I shift a little on the picnic blanket, careful not to let sand on the dusty rose fabric, and bury my face deeper into his pecs.

After cleaning us up, he’d brought out a picnic blanket, some of my favorite snacks, and an old soccer ball, leading us closer to the water’s edge where we set up shop. Playing soccer in the sand is almost impossible, but that didn’t stop me from smoking his ass a few times.

He’d torn off both of our shirts before dragging me into the waves. Despite the late July heat, the water was freezing, but it was worth it to kiss the salt from his lips.

A strong arm tightens around my back, pulling me close enough to press a soft kiss to my temple. With his free hand, Spencer unlaces a familiar pair of cleats.

I’ve never seen him so relaxed. The soft slap of the ocean against the sandy beach is soothing, a steady rhythm to the racing beat of my heart.

“Why do you need those?” I ask, watching him clean the surface with care rivaled only by how he touches me. “You’re always amazing on the pitch.”

“I don’t know. It’s comforting, I guess.” He shakes his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “Started when I was in high school. I’d collect my old cleats and save their shoelaces, like a reminder I’d done something with my life.”

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