Page 35 of The Boyfriend Zone

"And now?" I barely dared to breathe.

"Now I'm tired of fighting," he murmured, leaning in until his forehead rested against mine. "So damn tired, Lucas."

And then he was kissing me, his lips soft but insistent against mine. I responded immediately, my hands coming up to rest lightly on his chest, careful to avoid his injured side.

The kiss stole my breath. The space between us vanished, replaced by a raw, desperate heat. His mouth was demanding, urgent, a claiming. I stumbled back against the cold metal lockers, the impact rattling faintly behind me, but I didn’t push him away. This raw need vibrating off him was something I’d only glimpsed before, a current running beneath the surface. Now it was a tidal wave.

His hands were rough, tangling in my hair, angling my head for a deeper kiss. I met his intensity, my own hands finding their way to his back, gripping the solid muscle beneath his practice shirt. It felt like a dam breaking, days of tension, sideways glances, unspoken sparks finally erupting.

"Sean," I gasped, breaking the kiss for a precious second of air. My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted out. "Someone could walk in." My voice was a ragged whisper, barely audible over the pounding in my own ears.

He pulled back just enough for me to see the dark intensity swirling in his eyes. He looked lost, consumed by whatever storm was raging inside him. He glanced briefly towards the main door, the flicker of caution barely registering before the predatory need took over again. He didn’t say anything. Instead, his hand closed around my wrist, strong and sure, his touch sending another jolt straight through me. He pulled me away from the relative openness of the bench area, his stride purposeful. My feet scrambled to keep up as he led me towards the back, past the sinks, towards the shower stalls in the back.

The air here was cooler, damper, smelling faintly of chlorine and soap. The white tiles seemed to amplify the sudden quiet, enclosing us. He pushed me against the cool, slick wall of a partition, pinning me there with the sheer intensity of his gaze. His eyes locked with mine, and then he slowly sank to his knees.

The world tilted. I watched, frozen, as his fingers fumbled for a moment with the button of my jeans, then the zip. The rasp of it lowering seemed deafening in the silence. Cool air hit my skin as he pushed the denim down my thighs. And then his head dipped lower, his hair brushing against my stomach. My hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, gripping him for balance, for reality.

His mouth closed over the head of my cock. A strangled gasp escaped me. It wasn't rough, not initially. It was discovering. His tongue swirled, hot and wet, mapping me, tasting me. Then the pressure increased, his lips sealing around my length as he took me deeper. Low groans rumbled in my chest, sounds I couldn’t hold back.

He knew what he was doing, the rhythmic slide of his mouth, the skillful flick of his tongue against sensitive spots sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling slightly, urging him on, even as part of me felt completely undone, exposed under his focused attention. It was overwhelming, sharp, electric. I felt myself nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

Suddenly, he pulled back. My breath came in ragged pants. I looked down at him, my vision hazy. He was looking up at me, his own breathing uneven, his lips glistening. There was a fierce, almost challenging glint in his eyes. He shifted slightly, then gestured downwards with a nod. It was my turn.

My mind felt sluggish, overloaded with sensation, but my body understood. Adrenaline mixed with arousal, creating a potent cocktail. I knelt before him on the cold tiles, my knees pressing against the damp floor. I pushed the fabric aside, my fingers closing around the thick, hard length of his dick. He felt impossibly hot, pulsing with life. Taking a deep breath, I took him into my mouth.

He tasted musky, intoxicating. I tried to mimic the things he’d done to my cock, the swirling tongue, the varying pressure, the deep slide of my throat taking his dick in. A low growl escaped him, and his good hand shot out, bracing against the tiled wall beside my head. His other hand fisted in my hair, anchoring me, guiding me, urging me on. His ass gave a slight involuntary thrust. I felt a surge of power, hearing the guttural sounds he made, feeling the way his body responded to my touch.

We fell into a desperate rhythm, pulling back only to switch, one kneeling and sucking while the other stood, braced against the cool tile, lost in sensation. The air grew heavy, thick with the sounds of our ragged breathing, the wet sounds of mouths on dicks. It wasn't gentle or slow; it was frantic, almost savage, fueled by everything we hadn't said, everything we hadn't done until now. The tension ratcheted up again, unbearably tight.

Sean pulled me back to my feet, his eyes blazing. He backed me against the wall again, his mouth crashing down on mine while his hand wrapped around my slick cock, his fingers working me with a ruthless speed that left me breathless. It was too much. A cry tore from my throat as the pleasure crested, shattering through me in wave after intense wave. My naked body convulsed against his, legs trembling.

My release seemed to trigger his own. With a final, guttural groan that vibrated against my lips, he shuddered, finding his own powerful climax against my stomach.

For a long moment, we just clung to each other, breathless, sweat and cum-slicked skin sticking together. Reality slowly seeped back in – the chill of the tiles, the faint echo of sounds from the outside world, the risk we’d just taken. Hastily, almost awkwardly, we grabbed nearby towels, cleaning ourselves off. The movements were practical, wiping away the evidence, yet achingly intimate. We dressed in near silence, the only sound the quiet zip of flies, the rustle of clothes.

Standing fully dressed again, the charged energy still hummed between us. Sean led me to the bench area at the front of the locker room, closer to the entrance. He then stepped closer, his gaze searching mine, questions hanging unasked in the air. He leaned in, and his lips met mine in one final, deep kiss. This one wasn’t frantic. It was slower, imbued with the raw memory of what had just passed between us, a confirmation, maybe even a promise.

We were so lost in the moment that we didn't hear the approaching voices until it was too late. The door banged open, and some laughing players walked in, stopping short at the sight of us springing apart.

Time seemed to freeze as we all stared at each other.

"Uh, sorry," Jensen said after an awkward pause. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't," Sean said quickly, his voice unnaturally high. "We were just... Lucas was helping me with an interview. For the paper."

"Right," the forward nodded skeptically. "An interview. Cool."

They moved past us to their lockers, stealing curious glances our way. I couldn't tell if they'd seen the kiss or just our close proximity, but either way, the moment was broken.

Sean had turned away, busying himself with his duffel bag, his shoulders tense again. I could almost see the walls going back up, brick by brick.

"I should go," I said quietly. "Let you finish up here."

Sean nodded without looking at me, his earlier vulnerability completely masked now. "Yeah. Thanks for the interview."

"Sean—"

"I'll text you," he cut me off, still not meeting my eyes. "Later."

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