Page 48 of Bad Pucking Roommate

“Not like in the playoffs.” I force myself to take measured breaths, slowing my heartbeat and regaining enough control that I no longer feel the urge to rock my hips forward as Justus licks and kisses my shaft. “The atmosphere, the energy—good and bad depending on whether you’re on home ice—it’s all consuming. So loud it’s almost quiet, because you can’t actually hear anything. And even though your heart is racing, you can feel every heartbeat, like it’s pumping in slow motion despite the fact you’re jittery and anxious.”

Sort of how I can feel my cock throbbing inside his hot mouth.

Justus’s eyes fall shut, an almost dreamy smile on his lips as he sinks lower, taking my balls in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them between gentle sucks, humming appreciatively, as if he’s the one being pleasured. My fingers thread affectionately through his hair as I fall silent, savoring the way his touch makes me feel aroused and content at the same time.

With a firm pull on my sac, Justus releases me. “Tell me about winning.” He licks and kisses all over my length as tenderly as I imagine he’d kiss my lips. For a brief second, I want that. His soft, full lips on mine. But that would be the equivalent of admitting this is no longer just sex, so I quickly dismiss that desire.

I close my eyes, pulling up the memory as Justus sucks me into his warm mouth. “The final game takes forever even though it’s over in an instant. From the playing of the anthem to the final buzzer, your heartbeat never slows down, you never fully catch your breath.” I choke down a groan as I feel Justus’s head bob leisurely between my legs, the gentle suction teasing yet sating my aching cock. “When you get scored on, it unfolds in slow motion, and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. But when you score, it happens so fast you can’t even say how you did it. Was your shot on target or did it rebound? Did you see an opening, or did you just get lucky?”

Justus moans around my length as he takes me deeper, and I open my eyes to see an expression of absolute bliss on his face. My heart lurches in my chest, but I hold my breath until the erratic beat passes and continue talking.

“When it’s finally over, and you’ve come out on top, all the fatigue and pain and sacrifice vanish, like it was never even there. Your body starts to vibrate, like it can’t contain the energy trapped inside even though you shouldn’t have any left. And your face hurts from smiling, so much that you actually try not to, but you can’t stop it any more than you can stop breathing.”

As I try to put the experience of winning the cup into words, it hits me that what I felt on that day is similar to what I feel now. Not carbon copy similar, but the clash of emotions is eerily familiar. Feeling totally relaxed while still buzzing with restless energy, aroused yet content, my heart full to bursting even though I’m pretending it’s not.

Prior to this moment right here, I’ve only felt that strange mix of emotions one time, on the happiest day of my life. Is it really possible to feel the same way about a person as I do about winning the cup?

The magnitude of that thought is too heavy to contemplate, especially now that Justus is no longer worshiping my cock. He’s actively spurring me toward release, head spearing rhythmically over my shaft as he takes me further down his throat.

Warm, wet heat surrounds me, the pressure and friction combining in a sinful mix of desire and lust. My hips start to pump upward, chasing the recesses of his mouth. He moans around my length, the kind of satisfied hum you make when eating a favorite meal, and it makes my balls draw up tight.

Flexing my fingers against his scalp, I try to give him a warning. “Justus. Baby, I—”

The endearment I’m not supposed to use spills off my tongue half a second before he swallows around my cock, and I blow like a volcano. Electric tingles ricochet through me, stretching to the furthest reaches of my body while I gasp and moan like I’m possessed by some sort of hedonistic nirvana. Spurt after spurt of my never-ending release shoots into Justus’s mouth, dribbling along my shaft when he can’t keep up. But he doesn’t let me go, just keeps sucking on me until I’ve nothing left to give, and my dick is too spent to twitch any more.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

As I start to deflate, still inside his mouth, I realize my hand has a death-grip on Justus’s hair, and I let go like I’ve been scalded, massaging his scalp with gentle strokes. “I’m sorry. I’msosorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He slides his tongue over my soft cock as he releases me, capturing what he didn’t swallow. “You didn’t.”

“But your head. Your concussion.”

“It’s been days since that hit. I’m fine. And a little hair pulling isn’t going to make the headache come back.”

“It could. I wasn’t coherent enough to pay attention to how hard I was holding you.”

“I made you lose your mind, huh?” I swear his eye actually twinkles as he says that.

“Fuck yeah, you did. Come here.” I pull him up my body until he’s tucked against my side, head resting on my chest. “I really am sorry.” I tease the hair along the back of his neck. “I could make it up to you, if you promise to hold still and just enjoy.” I stroke my free hand over his rigid shaft.

“I could—”

The antique ring tone I know belongs to his parents cuts him off, and with a sweet smile he rolls off me to answer. But that smile quickly fades as his skin seems to grow even more pale, and when he reaches for my hand, gripping it like it’s a tether, I have a sinking feeling I know what that call is about.

Justus bobs his head a few times, says he will, and ends the call. Turning to me with tears streaming down his face, his mouth opens though no words come out. Instinctively I reach out and wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him to me so he’s nestled against my chest.

“It’s okay.” My fingers sift through his hair as I hold his shaking form. “I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

Justus clings to me as the sobs wrench through his body, and even though I’m not sure he can hear me whispering, I don’t stop, telling him I’m here, and I’ll take care of him. By the time he’s shed his last tear, some twenty minutes later, my chest is drenched, and my arms are stiff from holding him so tight. But I don’t relax my grip. I can’t.

“He’s gone. My grandpa’s gone.” Justus confirms what I suspected.

“I know.”

“What do I do now?” He sniffs.

“Exactly what you’ve been doing all along. You play with your heart. You keep sharing his wisdom with us. And you make us all better just by knowing you.”

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