Page 36 of A Loser by Christmas
I can’t lie, him being clumsy with want makes me weak at the knees. So does him hopping to get his shoes off and losing his balance. Calum takes us both down onto my creaking mattress, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
He’s heavy, and I love it. He’s hot too, which translates into goosebumps. My nipples tighten the way Lito Dixon will never witness outside of my YouTube channel. Calum lifts upto study what a photographer last mentioned. There’s nothing sleazy about his thumb brushing a dark tip illuminated by an incubator, and yes, this cabiniscold, but his touch is the cause of my shiver.
He gives a rough order.
“Get under the covers.”
I’m tempted to issue amake-mechallenge, but he isn’t done talking.
“Can’t stop thinking about you at the wheel of that boat. Keeping it right where Reece needed. I know the strength that takes. You hauling him back too? Fucking epic.”
So is getting to do this again after what his busy calendar had made me think might end up being a one-off. Nothing feels one-and-done about us.Nothing.Not the way he cups my face to tilt it nor his head lowering to kiss my lips for the first time since a video played on a loop behind him.
I could kiss him back forever.
I want to.
That’s wild. None of my past boat-show encounters were like this. They meant getting off quick and moving on even faster.
That was before him.
Calum settles his weight on me, and a missing piece clicks into place. This slow grind coupled with never-ending kissing is a first for me. So is my body being mapped like he needs to lock away the shape of someone far less muscular than he is. “So fucking strong.”
His mouth presses that contrary opinion into my chest, my belly, the hollow of my hip.He works his way down my body, and I have no idea where my camera landed, but if it caught that praise, I’ll never delete it. Fuck it. Going forward, Calum will be my good-sex benchmark.
Maybe I say so.
“Yeah?” His head rises. Just enough light filters through gaps in my tented blankets to show me a whole lot of reputation-ruining sweetness. “I’m doing okay?”
“What?” I can’t think clearly. He rocks against me, and there’s no blood left in my brain. It’s all pooled in my pelvis. In my dick, which has never been harder. I’m too slow to process that I’m sharing my bed with an overachiever whose breath now stutters, hot and damp, and so close to my hard-on, which is where he pauses.
I pull back the blanket to let in more light and, just like that, I see him for what he might be—a same-sex beginner.
“Hey. You don’t have to go all in right away.”
“I want to.” He gets up on his hands and knees above me and wets his lips. “I do.”
Iwilldelete what he says next so, so quietly. I’ll wipe this footage, then hunt down whoever made his jaw clench like it does now.
“This shouldn’t be hard. You did it to me. Fuck knows I’ve been called a cocksucker enough times before a puck drop.”
“Hey.”
He looks up.
“Fuck those losers.”
He grins, and that’s better. So is the intense way he watches me wet a fingertip. I rub that slickness over the head of my own dick, which he copies all while haloed with incubator gold.
My belly pulls taut at the slow circling he mimics, and tonight’s cold has nothing to do with a tremble that won’t stop once he lifts his finger to lick it, maybe assessing how I taste. My chest seizes like the pull-out mechanism of this bed used to until he comes to a decision.
Calum does what Dad and I stood shoulder to shoulder once to witness in a sales booth.He commits.
Goes all in.
Shoots his shot and almost kills me.
He engulfs the head of my dick in warmth and wetness, and I send up a prayer to every single Christmas angel lighting up this city. That prayer is silent, yet Calum pays such close attention it’s like he hears eachdon’t stopandjust like thatI’m thinking. I know it when his eyes close and his head bobs for what feels like forever.
