Page 25 of Crease Collision

“Shh.” He grasps my hips with his big hands. “Let me do this for you.”

“You don’t have to,” I manage, but my cock is already throbbing.

“I want to.” He looks up at me from under his blond eyelashes, where the tiny droplets of water shimmer. “I have wanted to taste you since our first night.”

Before I can respond, he licks a long stripe along my cock. Then he raises his eyebrows, like he’s asking a question.

“Fuck yes,” I whisper because there is no way in hell I could turn this down.

In a second, his mouth is on me. I brace one hand against the wall and tangle the fingers of the other in his long hair. The strands are wet, and I love how they feel.

He takes me deeper, and my cry echoes off the tile. It’s been so long since anyone’s sucked me off.

“Don’t stop,” I say. “Feels fucking awesome.”

His soft moans ignite a flash of heat in my gut.

“Oskar,” I croak, and he takes me so deep I hit the back of his throat. Instead of gagging, he adjusts, and his throat does something that makes me weak in the legs. Then he’s sucking again, working his tongue across the bottom of my shaft.

Water drips into my eyes, blurring the sight of him kneeling in front of me. I’m making broken, needy sounds that betray how close I already am.

His hands grip my hips harder, holding me steady as he changes gears. The predictable rhythm disappears, and I groan as my mind searches for a pattern, something to hold on to, anything to ease the fiery chaos in my mind and body. But his mouth is hot and wet, sucking and licking, pulling all my defenses away. Each movement sends new waves of pleasure through me, building until I’m shaking all over.

“Gonna… Fuck!” He hums around me, and the vibration pushes me over the edge.

I shout as my orgasm barrels into me, then again with every heavy shot I pump into his mouth. I’m loud, but I’m not embarrassed. I made more noise every time he fucked me.

When I stop spurting, I sag against the wall. He stays on his knees, looking up at me. The deep blue of his eyes stirs something deep inside. I sink to the floor and pull him into a kiss. He wraps his arms around me, and I notice I’m shaking.

“Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he says, his voice rough.

“No.” I draw back enough to see his face. “It was definitely mine too.”

“Watch this,” he says, wrapping his hand around his cock.

I’m torn between watching him jerk off and staring into his eyes, so I go back and forth. He starts moaning, and my dick twitches even though it’s way too soon to get hard again.

“Fuck!” he cries as he shoots all over the floor. Each volley hits with an audible thump.

As I watch him lost in ecstasy, I realize this is more than I bargained for. Oskar is dangerous, but as he cups my face, smearing cum on my cheek, I don’t care. At least for now.

I wake very sweaty. Oskar could make a living as a heat generator. He’s snoring near my ear, just loud enough to reassure me he’s still there.

It’s amazing to have a man wrapped around me because he wants to be. That’s new, and it drives home how different Oskar is from the guys I’ve been hooking up with for years.

But there’s something else I keep coming back to. At Strawberry Fields, when he cried and told me about Gunnar, he didn’t make a big thing of it. He let it happen, wiped his face, and said he’d be fine.

I didn’t do much but keep my hand on his back.

And he let me.

I want more of this. Sex, of course, but not only that. I want more of feeling special. More talking and laughing, more carefree moments when my life doesn’t seem so different from anyone else’s.

Not too much, though. There was a time I talked and laughed with my ex, and I can’t let myself forget what happened.

Even if I were open to the risk of Oskar hurting me, it would never work. Life will get busy next month when I go to training camp, and during the season, the schedule is frantic. Nine months of practices, home games, road trips, and appearances. It never stops.