Page 43 of Play With Me
“Hey, you know, this is none of my business, what’s up with you and Colton, but know, if you ever want to talk with someone, I have a group chat you could join. It’s a bunch of other queer athletes. It’s called Love the Game.”
“No thanks. Right now, I don’t need another group chat.”
“Got it. But the offer is there if you ever need it.”
“Thanks, man.”
His lips twitch, and he focuses back on his crocheting. I’m left to push the door open and make my way to Colton’s bedroom.
When I step inside, he’s waiting for me near the open window, a cigarette in his hand. When he sees me, his eyes flash, and he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth.
“Took you long enough. Had to have a smoke to calm myself down.”
“I came here when you told me to.”
He stubs the cigarette out and then hops onto the ground, moving toward me, smelling like pine and smoke.
“I’ve been resisting you all fucking day. The way I want you.”
He kisses me roughly, and it has me dropping the items in my hands to the ground. They go with a clatter, but neither of us pays any attention to it. He just slots his leg between mine and drags his thigh up my cock.
I’m instantly hard.
“You clean?”
“Yeah. Showered before I came.”
He grins against my mouth and then rips me out of my clothes. I’m naked in seconds, my body being shoved onto the mattress.
“Don’t think I missed that you brought the plugs. I’m gonna stick one inside of you, Witkoff, and watch as you enjoy it.”
“Fuck off.”
“How about I fuck you instead? Hm?”
He flips me over, and my face is smashed into the mattress as he spreads my cheeks. I let him too. I don’t even fight him. He massages my ass cheeks and groans as he watches my hole flex around nothing but air.
His face presses into my ass, and I feel his tongue slide up and down my crack. My hips buck forward, my fingers fisting the sheets. They smell like him, everything ishim.
A desperate, wild sound reverberates inside of me, and I can’t tell whether it’s me or him making that noise, but then he moans, and I know he’s the one making those sounds. He’s feasting on my ass.
“So good,” he murmurs, diving back in and rimming me. It’s a flick of his tongue around my hole before he pushes inside. It hurts, aches, and I do nothing but push back against him, wanting it deeper, wanting more.
He gives it to me, his tongue flicking in and out of me, fucking me.
Oh god, he’s fucking me.
I groan, reaching in front of me to grab my aching, waiting cock. I stroke it roughly as he continues his torture. I can’t stand it. It’s too much, too overwhelming. But I don’t truly know the meaning of that until he slides a finger inside my wet, sloppy hole and finds my prostate.
I’ve read about how good it can be, a deep dive leading me to wonder if I’d ever be brave enough to try it. But now I don’t need to wonder. I gasp, my vision whiting out, my legs shaking as if I’ve just run the field over and over. It’s…oh fuck, it’s good. It’s more than good. It’s something I’ll never be able to get over.
He chuckles as he flicks his finger against it, massaging it, his tongue pushing inside once more. I’m left almost weeping, my whines meeting my ears. Desperate, unhinged, feral.
He doesn’t let up. He knows he’s wrecking me. He fucking knows it, and doesn’t stop. He only pushes harder, and when I come, I scream. Broken, needy, wild.
I flop onto the bed, unable to even keep myself upright. I’m shaking—legs, arms and chest. I’m vibrating. My cheeks are wet, my cock still spurting as he works me over the edge. A continual fall, an endless descent into whatever this is.
A name. I need a fucking name for this.
