And suddenly that dream I had about him came floating back to me like some déjà vu. When he rocked a little against me, this delicious wave of euphoria swept through me. His hard cock rubbing against mine was…fuck. It was everything.
In one solid move, Girard flipped us so that I was on top, our groins and hips still connected. He loosened his hold on my wrists, which were now pinned between us, and I could’ve easily pushed away from him and bolted out the door. But I didn’t move, pretending a bit longer because…well, because I was weak and desperate and crazy about him. So fucking crazy about him.
“There. You’re in control now. Do whatever you want. Even if you need to leave.”
Everything was blurring together in my brain—him and us and how badly I wanted him—and before I could think it through, I had my head buried in his neck and I was thrusting wildly against him, trying to feel that same euphoria again.
And there it was, stars floating in front of my eyes, the scent of his sweaty skin surrounding me as he groaned and swore into my hair.
But something was missing, and I was absolutely frantic for it.
“Please touch me,” I pleaded into his throat. “If you don’t fucking touch me, I might—”
“Shh, I’m here.” His fingers danced down my spine, then dug into my lower back, holding me right there against him as our cocks aligned. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel him, really feel him.
I lifted up, my still too numb fingers fumbling to unbutton and unzip my jeans. Girard’s hands reached down to do the same, and when we finally got our jeans pushed down our thighs, there it was…flesh against flesh, stiff cocks rubbing together, and I moaned into his neck, never wanting this all-consuming feeling of pure bliss to leave me. This was it, everything I’d been waiting for, dreaming of. His hands were the right pressure against me, sometimes holding me firmly, sometimes brushing over the bare skin of my ass as his soft lips feathered against my ear, telling me how damned much he wanted me.
It only took a few more thrusts before my eyes rolled back and my jizz was spurting between us like a fountain of pent-up longing. When I felt his body stiffen and heard the deep groan reverberating against the side of my head, I knew that our come was mixing together on his stomach, and there was something about the visual that made me feel like I wasn’t in this alone.
I collapsed against Girard, my limbs giving out, feeling like dead weight. I didn’t remember much afterward except him rolling us to our sides, his warm breath against my ear saying good night, and a soft kiss on my head, unless I imagined it.
When I blinked open my eyes, it was morning, and I was alone in bed.
But I still smelled him on my sheets.
16
Girard
When I spotted Maclain walking ahead of me at the airport, it hit me that we’d be spending the next five days together in San Diego, some of it alone in a hotel room. Just the idea of being in close quarters again had my skin tingling all over.
Since the night he’d given in to his needs, things seemed different, like there was some new understanding between us. Not that we’d actually voiced it aloud. But since it was Maclain who’d used his body to get us off, he could no longer deny he was as attracted to me as I was to him. Somehow his fears and inhibitions had finally taken a back seat, and I would’ve been disappointed in him if he’d tried to deny it happened.
Instead, he’d acted normal at the next game and practice, outside of the staring every now and again, and I’d taken his cues and done the same. I admit his nonchalance stung a little, and even his text about our upcoming trip had been perfunctory. But I also knew feigning indifference was something we had to do to get through the season. Or at least until we settled some things between us.
As it stood now, our newfound attraction was a secret, and going to his room that night had been a risk, but a risk worth taking. I’d never been more keyed up in my entire life, and not only because he’d tried to push me or fight me or who knew what the hell that’d been about. It could’ve ended badly. But as it turned out, he was fighting himself even harder, and as we’d tussled around, a slow realization had taken hold, like a snapshot of images laid out in front of me, of what must’ve been going on inside him. Not everything became clearer, but enough to know he was hurting and lonely.