Page 39 of The Fall
Right here. I slither down, kneel between his legs, and take him into my mouth, as deep as I can.
The feel of him on my tongue is indescribable. I pull back slowly, dragging my lips along his cock, savoring the salt-sweet taste of him. I swirl my tongue around his head, tracing the ridge, dipping into the slit.
“Fuck, Torey...”
I look up through my lashes as I take him in again, centimeter by agonizing centimeter. His pupils are blown. I hollow my cheeks and suck. His head falls back, the tendons in his neck standing out.
I slide my hands up his thighs. His muscles quiver beneath my touch. Each time I take him deeper, until his head brushes the back of my throat. I pull off with an obscene pop, my lips swollen and wet. I need to catch my breath.
He cries out. He’s glistening and desperate, and Ilovethat I can shatter his control.
I lick a long, slow stripe from base to tip, then take only his head between my lips, sucking while my hand works his shaft. I hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue, lose myself in the slide and suction, revel in the feel of him gliding over my tongue. I moan around him, press my tongue flat against the underside.
He’s gasping, whispering my name over and over. He’s close.
How good am I at this? How much can I take? I hum and take him deeper, swallow him all the way down.
He shatters on a silent scream and floods my mouth.
Apparently I’m pretty good.
And I fucking love it. I swallow greedily, taking every drop, everything he can give me. He trembles and twitches, pants and moans, as I keep sucking him dry.
When he tugs me up, I melt into his arms as he kisses me, chasing his taste on my tongue. We trade lazy kisses back and forth, basking in the afterglow until he rolls us, tucking me into his side with my head pillowed on his chest. I burrow closer, tangling our legs.
It scares me how deep this love runs when I have no memory of how we got here. Every atom of me is oriented toward him. He is my North Star.
This is what it feels like to be cherished, to be wanted for everything you are and everything you aren’t yet, but could be, if only?—
If only has arrived, though. I’m here, I’m living it. This is my life, my beautiful, wondrous, amazing life. With Blair.
The missing pieces don’t matter. The uncertainty and the fear—all of it falls away. This is everything.
I’m complete.
The ice is calling me and I’m ready to answer.
Our locker room in Philadelphia is on fire. The guys are buzzing around me, taping sticks and lacing up skates. The stench of sweat and ripe gear fills the room, mixing with the sound of torn tape and our pump-up jams. It’s a smell I’ve missed, a smell that reminds me of home, of where I belong.
Hollow’s shouting something to Axel. Hawks is beatboxing. Divot and Simmer are stretching, but their stretching looks like they’re trying to breakdance in skates. It all rolls through me, wave after wave after wave. I’m part of it, part of this family.
“Kicks, you good?” Hawks asks, bumping my shoulder with his.
“Yeah, man. Ready to get out there.” I lace up my skates, but my eyes are wandering.
There he is, pulling his jersey over his head in the middle of a bubble of defensemen. Blair’s stall sits a few down—far enough that we won’t get caught staring, close enough that I feel him. He’s a tide, constantly pulling me in.
His searing blues meet mine. Our gazes hold?—
Desire. That’s the first thing that breaks over me. The memories from earlier, before the game. God, the taste of him isstill on my tongue. He’s everywhere, even when he’s not beside me. He breathes with me, every inhale and every exhale.
He smiles, that slow smile that unmoors my world. His gaze sears straight to my heart. Heat skims under my skin, restless. I drop to one knee, fidget with my skate laces. Tie them, retie them.
This feeling rushes through me: fire and ice, flying and free fall, thunder and silence. I can’t define it, can’t describe it. It’s Blair, it’s the game, it’s this team. It’s everything, a whole year compressed into these breaths, my own life right in front of me, waiting for me to step inside it.
It’s a primal need: to be on the ice with Blair, to match him stride for stride, to be there for every pass, every check, every goddamn breath. To bewithhim.
Coach strides in. “All right, boys, listen up!” His voice cuts through the chatter, silencing everyone. “We’ve got a big one tonight. Philly’s hungry, but we’re hungrier. Go out there and make ‘em pay.” He runs through the lines. “Emerson, you’re with Simmer. Novak, you’re with Divot.” A pause. He looks at me. “Kicks, you’re centering Calle’s line.”
