Page 29 of Betting Brett

He starts the shower, and I take a moment to admire him now as the morning sun washes over him from the high bathroom window, making his abs shine, and his light brown pubes look like spun gold. I follow him into the shower, the warm cascade of water enveloping us, steam rising and fogging the glass doors. Brett’s hands are instantly on me, tracing the lines and curves of my body, reacquainting himself with the terrain of my skin. The night before was a revelation, but the morning light brings a new, raw clarity. We’re not just friends crossing a line; we’re something more, something that’s been building for years, unspoken but always present.

“I’ve been tested recently,” Brett murmurs against my neck, his lips tracing the line of my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the water raining down on us.

“Me too,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the sound of water splashing against the tile. The realization that there’s nothing between us, no barriers needed, adds an edge to the hunger in his eyes and the fire licking at my core.

His hands are insistent but not rushed. We have time, a luxury we’ve never really had before. Every touch is amplified by the knowledge that this isn’t a one-time thing, a line crossed that we could step back over. We’re in uncharted territory, and every touch, every kiss, is mapping the landscape of a relationship we’ve yet actually to define. Best friends? Definitely. More than that? Yes, but how much more?

His fingers explore, slipping between my thighs and pressing against my still-sensitive hole. I gasp in pleasure, and the sound echoes off the bathroom tiles, a testament to the potency of his touch. He’s watching me, eyes dark, pupils dilated with desire. Every reaction, every moan, is being noted, catalogued for future reference. I used to have to imagine what Brett sounded like when he was turned on, but now I know, and I treasure the knowledge like gold.

I’m still open for him, and he can feel it. When he pushes a finger inside me, it’s a question and my body answers by inviting him in. The stretch is delicious, a reminder of how good he feels inside me, of the pleasure we found together. When he adds a second finger, I’m more than ready, the slight burn giving way to pulsating pleasure. He’s hitting that spot inside me, the one that makes my vision blur, that reduces the world to this moment, this touch.

I rest my head on his shoulder, hands on the small of his back as I rub against him. “That’s it, Brett, that feels so good. Oh fuck.”

“Yeah? God, you’re so fucking tight, Andy.”

“Keep going. Right there.”

“Shit, you’ve got me so hard.” He throbs against me as if he needs to emphasize it.

The feel of his cock unwinds me. Before I can even think about it, I speak, “I need you back inside me,” I say, the words torn from me by desire.

He’s as lost in this as I am, as undone by this newfound intimacy. He slowly pulls his finger out and turns me around, aligning himself with me, the head of his cock pressing against me. I push back against him, an invitation, a plea. He looks around wildly and quickly grabs my conditioner, rubbing it across his length and then my hole, slipping a finger inside before replacing it with his thick cock.

He enters me slowly, the stretch more pronounced without the barrier of a condom. I can feel every inch of him, the veins that texture his cock, the pulse of his need. He’s filling me, claiming me in a way that’s as emotional as it is physical.

Our hands are pressed against the side of the shower next to each other, his framing mine. Every thrust is a shared revelation. I shout into the water, and the sound echoes in the enclosed space. I briefly wonder if my neighbors can hear and quickly realize I don’t care.

The world is reduced to this moment, to the sound of our moans echoing off the tiles, to the feel of his cock driving into me, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind my closed eyes. We’re spiraling, the pleasure building. I fist my own cock, jerking myself off, not just tip-toeing toward the edge but barreling for it.

When the climax hits, it’s seismic, a shattering of the walls we’ve built, the roles we’ve played. We’re not just friends, not just lovers. We’re something more, something indefinable. His fingers dig hard into my hips as he bites my neck, unloading inside me. The sensation is enough to make me explode all over the shower, my world spinning and my vision going black for a moment from the intensity.

As the pleasure ebbs, we’re left breathless, the water washing over us. Though he pulls out of me carefully, I instantly feel a deep emptiness. I turn around and kiss him, pressing our flushed and wet bodies together, ignoring the water dripping into my eyes.

“I hate how we waited so long to do this,” Brett says, still catching his breath.

“We’ve got a lot of missed time to make up for.”

“Good,” he says, playfully rubbing my sensitive dick.

“I guess we should probably order in lunch and dinner because I don’t plan on putting on a single stitch of clothes.”

Brett chuckles. “As much as I want to do that with you, I actually planned a surprise lunch for us today.” He smiles down at me, looking like fucking Henry Cavill and Chris Hemsworth mashed together. My knees almost buckle on the spot.

“That sounds great,” I say, kissing him. “Then we can spend the rest of the evening naked and fucking.”

“Perfect,” Brett says. We finish cleaning up and somehow pry ourselves off each other long enough to get dressed.

The drive to the park is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with years of friendship and trust. Brett’s hand rests on the seat between us, playing idly with my fingers. My other arm rests on the open window of his truck, the wind blowing through my hair.

As we pull into the park, memories flood me. I haven’t been here since I moved back. Brett parks the truck, and we step out into the warm embrace of the mid-day sun. The light filters through the browning leaves, casting dappled shadows on the lush green grass.

“This place,” Brett says with a shake of his head, “damn, it brings back a lot of memories.”

I nod, the echo of our younger selves, clad in football gear, laughter ringing through the air. “Remember those brutal, endless practice sessions?” I ask. A smile tugs at my lips, remembering how good Brett looked in his practice gear.

Brett laughs, the sound rich and smooth, like warm honey. “How could I forget? You running circles around everyone, me trying to catch my breath.”

I nudge him playfully. “Oh, please. You were the star quarterback. I was just trying to keep up.”

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