Page 68 of These Wicked Games
“Stop it!”
“Don’t you fucking come!” he growls.
My legs shake, and I clutch at the bed sheets next to me. With one swift move he rolls me onto my stomach. My ass hangs off the bed, and he reenters me without warning. I nearly scream into the mattress. I feel him move my cock between my legs, adjusting my knees on the edge of the bed. Oli is an evil bastard. He strokes my cock, and I try so fucking hard not to give in. His grip matched with the vibration of the cock ring is too much. “Fuck you’re beautiful,” Kuli purrs, planting one foot on the bed and changing the angle. This time I do scream, and my fingers white-knuckle the sheets as Oli brutalizes my prostate with each rough clap of skin. My ass is going to have bruises.
I reach for my cock between my legs, only to have Oli grab the back of my neck and shove me into the mattress. I panic. I can’t breathe. I inhale, not having any luck. “You touch that pretty cock and you won’t come for months.
Frustrated, I let go of it and the grip on my neck eases up. I gasp for air. A shiver rolls down my spine. I feel his thrusts get sloppy, harder, and his breaths quicken. “So fucking good,” I groan, giving him complete control over me. I’m his to do what he wants with. “It feels so good.”
“Gorgeous ass.” His palms come down hard over my flesh. I shout. Pleasure ripples and pulls at my stomach. He spanks meagain. Harder. Heat prickles along my skin. I’m going to come. I’m going to—“Oli please,” I beg. I don’t care how desperate I am. “Please.” Hot tears prick my eyes.
“You want another load?” He leans down by my ear. “You want to feel me dripping down your thighs?”
“Breed me!” Oli picks up speed before grunting, and heat floods my walls for the second time tonight. His hips piston in short hard snaps. My eyes roll back. “Please. I need . . .”
He takes mercy on me. “Come.”
I come so fucking hard and can’t stop coming as he fucks into me. My cock jerks between my legs. Untouched. Oli places a hand between my shoulder blades, holding me down, and bright spots dance in my vision. I pant, then protest when he slips out of me. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but breathe heavily like a pathetic mess. “Ah! Cold.”
“Just a wash cloth, calm down,” Oli laughs softly. “Drama queen.”
“Fuck you!” I spit, but it’s half-hearted. “What are you . . . Ohyessss.” His tongue soothes over my tender hole, and I’m boneless as he kisses, licks, and nips at the mess he’s made of me.
“Shh.” He nuzzles his face between my cheeks, giving me a gentle kiss. “So fucking pretty.” I can practically see the smile on his stupid cocky fucking face. “You took quite a beating tonight. So good for me.” He lays another wet kiss against my hole. I know he’s proud of himself, and maybe when I regain the ability to stand I will knee him in the balls.
I wait as he cleans me up then rolls me onto my back, and somehow I’m able to move myself up his bed to collapse. My ass is still spasming. Oli doesn’t protest, which is great, and I have nosmartass words for him. He’s fucked them all out of me. I know the smug bastard is pleased with himself. There’s no mention of me staying tonight, either. I just get comfortable in the bed and fall into his expecting arms.
He rolls over to turn the light off quickly before settling against me. I’m sticky and sore but I don’t want to get up. Instead I lie there, tucked into his arms, not daring a word. And I don’t comment on it when his arms wrap around me and the soft even sounds of his breathing lull me into my own peaceful oblivion.
nineteen
Oli
When I wake now, more often than not I feel for a warm weight against me. For the last few away games we’ve shared the same bed, and I hate to admit that now, when I’m home alone, I reach for him. It’s like my hands have a mind of their own, searching for him. Needing him. It doesn’t even faze me now.
No. What shocks me more is how much like home his weight feels against me.
When I wake up alone now I feel out of place and I don’t like it.
I could get used to this. I don’t open my eyes. I don’t need to. I can feel him pressed against me. His skin is warm and sweet smelling from the shower we took last night. He smells like me, but also like him—warm and sweet. My fingers slide down the chest pressed tight next to me. More and more I wonder what it wouldbe like to just expect Andre here in my bed every night. It’s an improbable thought, but it’s nice to think about.
Maybe he would move in with me . . . I’m losing my mind, I think.
I’ve let hatred ravage me all these years, and it’s taken this thing now with Andre for me to realize how much I’ve missed him. I have. He was my best friend. I always had so much shit to deal with all the time—so much stress and pressure—but with him none of that existed. We were just two guys playing a game.
My hand reaches out, and I smile when it lands on the soft skin of his ass. I touch him, tracing my fingers along the curve of his cheek.
He asked me last night if I believe him. I want to. When he told me he hadn’t seen the cup that day some of my rage disappeared. He didn’t see the cup; he didn’t know the labels had been switched. I believe him, or at least I want to. I really, really want to. That leaves a bigger issue, though. Who switched them, then? Or was it somehow an accident or oversight?
I’m not sure, but what I am sure of is that now I have him back, I really don’t want to let him go.
I lie here with my eyes closed. Andre doesn’t stir, and I let myself think back to last night. While I’d wished Andre would open up a bit more, I still got to know him a little better.
I’m curious about his life with Tripp; I feel like there’s something there he’s not telling me. Tripp showed up to practice and I haven’t seen him since, but I’d watched Andre during that practice. He’d looked . . . scared. Andre never talks about him, and whenever Tripp is brought up it’s like he folds into himself. If my father was an NHL legend, I’d probably never shut up about it.
“When I escaped . . .”What had he been about to say?
“I’m trying to sleep,” Andre groans. My palm slides over his cheek, dipping between them. “Stop touching me.”
