Page 90 of Forbidden Hockey
An immediate blush blossoms on his cheeks. “I’m wearing sweatpants, but nothing underneath. Not gonna lie, I was fucking hopeful.”
“Hmmm, can’t decide if that’s naughty or something I should reward you for.”
“Do I get a vote?”
“What do you think?”
He groans. My inner sadist smiles. But he’s waited long enough. “Show me how my other cock’s doing without me there to tame it.”
Dirk’s breath hitches. Man, I want to take that from him, his breath. It belongs to me. He’s careful not to touch his cock as he pulls the joggers away from his rippling wall of abs and nestles the elastic waistband under his balls.
“Good fucking boy. I didn’t say you could touch it, and you didn’t.” He bites his lip, and that’s my undoing. “Do you have some lube nearby?”
The sheepish look combined with his beautiful blush is something I wish I could capture in a bottle.
“Look, I said I was hopeful, okay?” He pulls a bottle of lube from somewhere close by but off-camera.
“You must need this orgasm. Tell me how much you need it, baby, and I’ll let you touch.”
He exhales a breath slowly as if he’s afraid it’ll somehow ghost across his erect cock. “Trav, I fucking need you. You. What I need is for you to fuck me so hard that I forget what year it is. But since I can’t have that, I need just a little relief. I need it so bad, Trav. I ache for you every damn day. Please, may I please have permission to touch it?”
His dick looks like it’s been battling an erection before he called. It’s tinged red, the vein up the front sporting a pump, the head glistening with pre-cum.
“Okay, permission granted. Use the lube. Show me what I do to you, Dirk.”
His hand closes around his cock. It’s long, jutting out from neatly trimmed hair I wish I could bury my nose in. I imagine his scent and growl.
“Faster,” I demand. “Don’t drag it out. I wanna hear how bad you need me.”
He fists himself, lube squelching, mouth hanging open. I love him like this, debasing himself for me. I lick my lips and ignore the ache in my groin—this is about him. A broken moan rips from his lungs.
“Fuck, Trav, I can’t?—”
“You can. You still don’t have permission.”
Dirk curses under his breath. I pretend not to hear him.
“You’re thinking about my mouth, huh? Or maybe it’s my cock, pounding the fuck outta that tight ass?”
He whimpers, eyes begging me to put him outta his misery.Soon, pretty boy.
“You’re beautiful like this. So pretty, just for me.”
He moans and pants, slowing his strokes, making them longer until he’s trembling. He ruts into his hand like he can’t help himself, his sanity abducted by need.
“Stroking your cock because I told you to—I let you.”
His powerful glutes squeeze, and he bites down on his lip, flinching. Fuck would I love to be the one biting on his lip.
“Good fucking, boy. Let it ache, let it burn. You need it so bad, don’t you?”
“So, un…believ—ahhh—ably bad. Please, Trav.Please.”
His voice is the right octave of “I’m gonna die soon” I’m looking for, but there’s a problem: his eyes are squeezed shut.
“Look at me when you come. This orgasm is mine just like you are.”
Dirk’s gaze snaps to mine.
