Page 92 of Flagrant Foul
The sound I’m making shifts gears, dropping an octave and becoming distinctly throaty.
Sev hums and drags a hand down my chest, searing my skin as he does it. He untucks my towel, holding it open for a moment before letting it drop to the floor. He doesn’t say a word, but a dark glint in his eyes lets me know that his mood has shifted too.
We look at each other, frozen. We both dare the other to make the first move.
The air between us grows static, fizzing against my skin and making me tingle.
In the end, it’s hard to say who moves first. Could be him. Could be me. I honestly couldn’t say. One moment, we’re staring each other down, and the next, I’m clawing at the waistband of his pants and he has a hand tightly curled around my dick. The second we touch,it’s on. It’s fireworks and explosives. Pinwheels and rockets.Our bodies slam together as we grunt and snap at each other.
Hands grabbing.
Teeth biting.
Sev comes up for air before I do and uses what little presence of mind he has to push me against the wall. Icy tile blasts me from behind, chilling me and setting me on fire as he wrangles both of our dicks into a firm handful.
“Hold on to the towel rack,” he tells me.
I obey without blinking.
I hold on to the narrow metal pole behind me and jut my cock forward, hissing as my shaft butts against the hard swell of his cockhead. As always, when our dicks touch, something beautiful happens. A buzz. A blur that makes my nerve endings sing. Sev’s hand moves up and down, slowly, until he’s eked out enough precum from both of us to allow his hand to glide easily.
He starts jacking us hard and fast, pausing once to reach up and swipe his fingers under my tongue, finding the saliva that pools there and using it as lube.
It’s messy and frenetic. Desperate and wanton. A frantic frotting session that feels like a first time.
Both of us breathe through our mouths, stealing blistering kisses and inhaling air from the other’s lungs.
Our orgasms build with dazzling speed.
It feels like a first time, but it’s not. We’ve wanted each other for years. We’ve waited. We’ve fought it. We’ve pined.
And it was worth it. Worth the wait. Worth the pain. Because when we touch, it’s magic.
Sev knows my body so well now that he recognizes the tell-tale signs of my climax before I do. He grabs a towel off the rack behind me and offers it to me with seconds to spare. I bunch one end and mash it against his lips as I shove the other end into my mouth and bite down.
Two shattering climaxes ring out at the same time.
“Is it true that Ben’s here?”
“Is he in the crowd?”
“Is he really here?”
The locker room is abuzz, and there’s only one topic dominating conversation: Ben Stirling.
Coach waits until we settle and cracks a smile the likes of which are seldom seen on him. “It’s official, gentlemen. Ben Stirling is out there—and he’s waiting for you to get your asses onto that ice and remind the Vipers what this team is made of.”
There’s a roar from players and coaches alike. We huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm. Sev stands in the center of us with every eye in the room on him. He’s dressed and ready. Hair tied back. Helmet tucked under one arm. He turns slowly, meeting the gaze of each player and holding it for a second, making every man in the room feel seen. His eyes land on mine, and they soften. Tiny creases appear at the corners and tell me everything I’ve ever wanted to know.
I see love written all over him, and I know he sees it too when he looks at me.
You’re ready,I tell him.You can do this.
His Adam’s apple hitches, sticking briefly before sliding back into place.
He flicks his eyes down and back up again.
He takes a long, smooth breath that seems to suck all the air out of the room.
