Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

Of course he’d pick up on it and say something. I shift beneath him, and his fingers stroke gently over my skin. His nose runs along my hairline, soft moan barely audible, and after only a minute of his attention, I need more.

“I’m ready, Ez.”

He straightens again, and I watch over my shoulder as he rolls on a condom. The sight of his long cock, swollen and dark purple, has me licking my lips.

He presses the blunt head to my opening, and a soft sound rumbles in his chest. Then he starts to push forward.

My fingers curl into the bedspread as I ease back, his cock splitting me open as he slides inside. It’s been so long, and I’ve missed this. I don’t like to bottom often, but when I do, with someone I trust, it feels out of this world incredible.

And as much as it unnerves me to recognize, I do trust Ezra. And not only when it comes to sex.

He bottoms out, and we both take a minute to breathe while I adjust and he probably tries not to come straight away. It’s always the problem I have the first few moments after entering him. Everything is so hypersensitive.

Speaking of hypersensitive, my dick doesn’t like this delay. “You can move.”

“Damn, you really struggle to let go, don’t you? What part of I’m in control did you not understand?”

“Then get on with—”

He pulls out and slams back inside, making my teeth knock.

Pleasure ripples through me. “Yesss, just like that.”

“Don’t worry, my magical dick’s got you. Let’s do it for the team.”

I want to point out that his dick has nothing to do with whether we win or lose and his whole theory is idiotic at best, but then he starts to move, and the thought of arguing goes out the window. Each of his movements is slow and steady, and when I try to push back and speed things up, he takes my hips and holds me in place.

“Give it up, Anton.”

“I will when you give me what I want.”

“Shocking to hear, I’m sure, but not everything is about what you want.”

Ouch, okay, that’s true, but tell it to my poor dick. “I need you to fuck me.”

“I am.”

I press back onto him. “Harder.”

“Anton.”

“Ezra. Fuck. Come on.”

His hands slide up my sides. “Let go.”

“Ezra.”

“I said let go.”

“Fuck …”

He waits, but I don’t finish that sentence. Instead, I try to do what he says, I try to let go.

Ezra goes back to his measured thrusts. Slow stroke in, then out. It’s driving me crazy. It’s not enough. The pace and his distance from me isn’t helping calm that neediness filling my chest.

“Damn, you’ve got some booty,” he says, pressing in deep and holding himself there. “You should see it like this.” He pulls back and slams inside. “The jiggle is addictive.”

And even when Ezra starts to pick up the pace, it’s still not enough to fill that spot inside me. The neediness. The longing for a connection deeper than cheap sex. Just this once.

It’s different from what this is supposed to be. New and foreign, and I don’t hate it, but it scares me.

“Ez …” Hold me, touch me … kiss me. Fuck. I don’t know how to ask for it. How to make him give me what I want.

I pull off him and flip over.

His hand immediately moves to cup my balls. “What are you—”

“Please.”

One needy, uncertain word and we catch eyes. He holds my stare for a second, then two.

Ezra’s mouth hitches with a smile. “Careful, almost sounds like you’re the one doing the begging.”

“If it gets me what I want, I’m not above it.”

“And what do you want?”

“You.”

His lips part, a range of emotions crossing his face. “You’ve got me.”

Ezra grabs my thighs and pushes them up before kneeling between my legs. He holds one thigh and plants the other hand on the bed before pushing back inside me. He looks down, watching as he slowly pulls out and eases back inside again, giving me that delicious friction but still not the connection I’m craving.

“Come here,” I say.

“Being bossy again?”

“Can you please come here?”

“Better.”

Ezra leans forward, trapping my cock between our abs and bringing us face-to-face. There’s an amused glint in his eyes I don’t like. “Now what do you want?”

I lick my lips as I look at his.

“There’s no way Anton Hayes wants to kiss me. We don’t do that.”

“And now you’ve made it weird again.”

He hums as his lips brush my jaw, then licks under my chin. “You want my tongue in your mouth. Nothing weird about it.”

“Ezra …”

“I am a fantastic kisser, you know. I totally get why you’d want to.”

“Ezra …”

“You might get addicted, and it’ll be kinda hard to skate in practice with our faces permanently meshed together though.”

“Now there’s a visual.”

His lips brush the corner of mine. I’m breathless, waiting. Needing. Not able to ask for it. It’s Ezra Palaszczuk, and he’s right. We don’t do this. I’m not even sure when that became a thing because I’ve never had issues kissing my hookups before. He’s in my space, sharing my breath, splitting my body open, and it’s this one small thing I can’t seem to do?