Page 45 of Beautifully Conflicted

Except for the fact he might have reverted to his default setting and gone back to hating me.

I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

I rap my fist against the brick red door three times and wait, trying not to rock back and forth from heel to toe so I don’t look too nervous. Turns out, I was right to be on edge, since Bennet’s his usual growly self when he opens the door. In gray sweatpants and nothing else.

The man’s chest rivals mine, which is pretty fantastic if I do say so myself, and that’s not ego talking. I’m a football player, it’s my jobto be ripped.

“Aiden’s not here.” Bennet crosses his arms, making those smooth pecs plump even more as he takes up the full width of the door so I can’t sneak by.

That works in my favor considering the main purpose of my visit, which I may have deliberately timed for this exact moment, since Aiden texted to invite me snowboarding with his roommates, and I declined knowing I’d have several hours with Bennet if I made it through the door.

“I didn’t come to see Aiden.”

His eyes track my tongue as I lick my lips, and he wets his own before he growls, “What do you want?”

“To see if you’re feeling better.” My eyes inadvertently drop to Bennet’s waist, and the sexy as hell ‘V’ pointing to nirvana. I get momentarily distracted, gnawing on my bottom lip as I imagine tracing that ridge below his waistband. Then it twitches, like he’s flexing, and I bite down to keep from moaning aloud.

The curt clearing of his throat has my eyes snapping up to meet his, which are an impossibly light shade of blue, blinding almost, in the bright sun reflecting off the snow.

“Mostly,” he grunts. “Is that all?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, turn around, and walk away. Then I catch a slight crack in his icy gaze, a hint of yearning quickly masked by his stoic glare. It’s there and gone so fast I’d think I imagined it if I wasn’t specifically looking for it. Or really any sign that what he said in the locker room is true, even if he doesn’t remember it.

“Nope.” I pop the ‘P’ since it’s hard to contain my excitement. “I’m here to suck your dick.”

Those intoxicating eyes blow wide before narrowing to little slits, nearly blocking the blue entirely. “Are you fucking kidding me rightnow? Who shows up unannounced and asks to play with their teammate’s junk?”

“You wanted me to do it in the locker room, but I said we should wait until you weren’t sick.”

Bennet’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, again, the only clue that he’s got a vague recollection of that conversation. Then he doubles down. “Bullshit. I would never ask you to suck me off.”

I bite down on my cheek to contain the smile trying to break free, which I’m fairly certain would result in his fist connecting with my jaw. But it’s damn hard to hide how much I like it when he goes all Lucy on me.

Forcing most of the amusement out of my voice I say, “Yeah, you did seem worried you might not remember asking me to blow you, so I promised to remind you. We should probably go inside though. As much as I want your steel pipe in my mouth I don’t want to get stuck there, so it’d be better if we get Little B warmed up first.”

“Stop calling my dick Little B.”

“You want me to name it something else? I’m game, but I’ll need to see it first for inspiration.” My eyes take a slow trip down his body, resting between his legs for an exaggerated second, then rise back up to meet his.

“I’m not showing you my dick.” The hard line of Bennet’s jaw says I’m testing his patience, but the tiny goosebumps pebbling his chest say he’s intrigued. Or cold, but I like intrigued better.

“You don’t have to put it in my mouth. You can just let me look and I’ll come up with a more appropriate name for it.” I boldly reach forward to drag my finger over the bulge in his pants, closing my eyes on a sigh as he sucks in a ragged breath.

“Why would I do that?” He holds eerily still, like he can force his body not to react to my touch if he doesn’t move. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t work, and his cock grows fuller with each pass of my finger.

His resolve is impressive—few people can hold themselves immobile and upright when someone else’s hand is caressing their cock—which gives me an idea.

“To settle this gay thing once and for all. Let me get you off. If you’re as bored with it when I’m done as you seem to be right now, I won’t try to get in your pants again.”

Aside from the steady, almost methodical rise and fall of Bennet’s chest, he remains utterly still while my fingers dance over his length. On the outside. But this close, I can feel the gears spinning behind those sapphire eyes, and I know the poise he’s projecting is just a facade.

There’s a war raging inside him, and I’m at an unfair advantage since he confessed as much in the locker room and likely doesn’t remember it. I’m using his own words to back him into a corner, which might be a little underhanded, but it might just be the push he needs to confront whatever it is he’s struggling with. And besides, it’s not like I didn’t leave him with options.

My proposal can give him the physical release he wants while sparing him the need to ask for or even admit what he desires. At the same time, I’m also giving him a way to push me aside forever, if he can maintain his composure. Win, win.

Of course, there’s always the chance he takes me up on this and realizes he likes it, or me, and finds that he can’t kick me to the curb afterward. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that that’s the outcome I’m hoping for. So, I’ll just keep petting his cock while he keeps pretending to be oblivious until one of us folds.

That takes longer than I’m anticipating. Whatever he couldn’t bring himself to confess the other day is still weighing on him, so much so that he calmly, almost rationally, lets me feel him up for over thirty Mississippi’s.

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