Page 37 of A Loser by Christmas
I’m close.
Close? I’m holding on for grim death. Fighting, like he does on ice, only I battle an urge to fuck deeper into all that first-time wetness. Into his throat. I could shoot so hard and choke him. Holding back is almost impossible until his head lifts, a strand of saliva the last connection left between his mouth and where I need it.
“Good?”
He’s hoarse and husky, and I can’t tease him for that. Can’t do anything at all but nod.
“How about this?”
A spit-slick finger circles again. Not around my crown. He trails it down my shaft, my balls, then lower, with one of my legs hefted over a broad shoulder. He shoves away the blankets. Shoves my other leg out of the way too. Calum creates space, bullying my body exactly where he wants it, and I could cheer like an entire stadium of fans to see it.
He’s hoarse again, his gaze rising from where he holds me wide open. “How...?”
I find my voice again to coach him. “Slowly. That’s how.” I also find lube and condoms, almost knocking the incubator off the bench beside my bed in the process. Thank fuck for Calum’s lightning-fast reactions. For a second time, he saves that egg. He also does something to the incubator’s light setting—its warm glow brightens.
“Want to see you.”
He can look at me as much as he likes. And he does. Calum gets all kinds of up close and personal while taking instruction like a champ.
“Wet your finger again.”
“One?
“To start.”
He does, and I was wrong about him being hoarse already. His voice turns gritty in contrast to the slick slide of his touch.
“Fuck. Fuck. Valentin. You’re . . .”
His breathing shudders, eyes fixed on where I’m giving way to pressure. His gaze flicks up again to where I’m propped up on my elbows, and he drops a surprisingly sweet kiss to the inside of my thigh. “I won’t hurt you?”
I can’t speak. All I can do is shake my head, then gasp, “There.”
“There?” I guess my held breath gives him all the feedback he needs. “There,” he repeats, and he doesn’t just kiss my thigh again. He makes the cabin glitter around me by sucking my dick, pushing himself to take more, all while rubbing just right inside me, and there’s nothing amateur about that multitasking.
I’m locked in on dual sensations.
On him inside me and me inside him. His mouth is so warm. So wet. I barely notice the click of the lid on the lube or the touch of another finger. It registers on a delay. So does him stopping his first ever BJ.
My wet cock glistens, straining for more while he gets busy. Calum shifts me so light can shine exactly where he wants it, and I know that plenty of people have watched me get wet on YouTube. Three hundred thousand of them, Lito included. I’ve never been this closely studied. Calum pays so much attention to getting a second finger inside me. And to my reaction. My cock dripping precome onto my belly surely answers his next question.
“Still good?”
I can’t reply with any coherence. My breath catches, hitching with each knuckle, and not only because I usually take a while to warm up to this and just as often swerve away from it in boat-show bathrooms.
Tonight, I groan.
“Yeah,” he groans right back, and I always thought a marine apex predator would be the reason for me dying early. Turns outa hockey player is way more deadly. His head dips, and I add watching Calum lick up that shiny puddle from my treasure trail to a list of firsts this evening.
I fight again then, this time for English vocab. All I need are two words.
Fuck me.
That struggle is real and is just as well. It gives me the time to register what Calum shows me plain as day in a cabin lit by an incubator. His gaze lands on the strip of condoms, then skitters away in a reminder that yes, he’s a quick study, but he’s having a first of his own here.
“Trust me?”
Calum must do—he lets me take the wheel and steer by rolling over. I get busy with the lube and look over my shoulder to see him watching what I slick up.
