Page 47 of Shiver
As I did earlier in the week, I move up his body. This time, I straddle his chest so I can rub one out right over his face. I stare at him. The way his eyes are wide and hungry. How blown his pupils are, suffocating all hints of gray in his irises. The way his chest heaves as he anticipates my orgasm.
When my name forms on his lips and he opens for me, the tip of his tongue touching the underside of my cock, I let go. I cover his face and he moans. He opens his mouth wider, inviting me there. So I press the end of my dick to his tongue and grunt loudly as my balls tighten uncomfortably.
I spill into his mouth with force. Egon grunts, chokes, but swallows much of it. His mouth momentarily closes tighter around me to do so. “Fuck,” I hiss, losing more of my load into his hungry mouth. I only meant to give him a taste. Not force him to drink me. But fuck, with the way he keeps swallowing around me, trapping the head of my dick in his mouth when he does and pressing his tongue to my slit, I can’t stop myself from giving him the rest.
Every. Last. Fucking. Drop.
The look of bliss on his face will forever be burned in my mind.
SIXTEEN
EGON
As strange asit might be, my mind finally calms the fuck down after being in Rake’s bed again. I mean, I’ve been in his bed all week. But once his mouth has been on me and his finger up my ass making me see fucking stars, everything else seems so inconsequential.
That’s obviously not the case. There will be a reaction to me suddenly shacking up with a man. Like, really shacking up. Not crashing on the couch, but in his bed with his hot, heavy body pressed against mine. His mouth on mine. My cock in his mouth.
I’ve wanted to touch him for days now, but I can’t seem to bring myself to ask. I’m terrified I’m going to suck at it. What if I touch him wrong? What if he doesn’t like what I do?
These are now the thoughts that plague me. No longer am I questioning who the fuck I am because I can’t bring myself to care. Anything that feels this good can’t possibly be wrong, regardless of what others might say or feel about it.
That doesn’t mean I’ve said anything to anyone. I feel like before I bring myself to do that, I need to make sure Rake is on the same play as me. It’s a hot mess when your teammates are playing a completely different game than the one you are. This is too important for a misunderstanding.
But I’m also not ready for that pressure or that discussion yet. So I don’t bring it up. I don’t ask what we’re doing or where this is going, and I don’t ask to touch him.
Instead, I focus on everything that I normally do. Classes. Hockey. Studying.
I return to Rake’s room every evening where he feeds me, helps me study, and then we climb into bed. I’d like to say that it’s a fuck fest from that point until the wee hours of the morning, but it’s not. If I’m really insistent, Rake will jerk me off while he commands my mouth and I squirm desperately under him. Then he cleans me with soft strokes, wraps me in his arms, and tells me to go to sleep.
Because I’m a good boy, I do.
It took me far too long to realize that I can likely get off just from listening to him tell me what a good boy I am. Even if whatever it is he’s praising is something ridiculous, like how I wake up with my hair every which way. If he’s telling me I’m good at looking like that, my dick is excited.
I’m not sure what this says about me. Or why that hunger is so deeply ingrained that I barely recognize I’m having a visceral reaction until I’m almost panting for him. Even reading it in a text has my dick twitching and my heart racing.
A hand slapping on my bike makes me jump and I glare at Caulder as he moves by. He’s grinning, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he climbs onto the bike next to me.
“Man, I just signed with an agent,” he tells me.
I smile back at him. Stretching across the space between us, I slap his arm. “Hell yeah, man. Nice!”
“Which agent?” Valenti asks from where he’s sitting on a bench across from us.
“Rigo Veyenna,” he says. “He’s signed some huge names this year, so I’m stoked that he was interested in me.”
“Shit, yeah he has. That’s awesome,” I say.
“Didn’t he just take on the gay football player?” Valenti asks.
Caulder shrugs. “Which one?”
Valenti raises his brow, his expression echoing mine that asks, ‘There’s more than one’?
“I only know of Ryan Echinnak. Is there another?” Valenti asks.
Caulder snorts. “He might be the only one who’s made headlines because he just married his husband, but there are plenty of others. In all sports. Even if they’re not out.”
“Really?” Jipson asks as he pauses to lean against one of the machines in front of us. “I think I can count them all on one hand.” He’s frowning, but I don’t think it’s in disapproval so much as he’s trying to recall names.
