Page 76 of Iced Out Mate

“Don’t you dare stop.”

He laughed once, breathless. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

I pushed back against him, wanting every bit of closeness I could get. I wanted all of him. Wanted to feel him lose whatever careful control he still had left.

“Come on,” I whispered. “I want it.”

His breath hitched. I knew he was getting close, same as I was.

“Dylan.”

“I mean it.” I turned my head enough that my lips brushed his cheek. “Give it to me. Fill me up with your cum. Leave me dripping.”

He started to fuck me hard, going in balls deep. We were both filling the hotel room with our moans. I held onto the back of his head, his cock throbbing inside me. I could tell he was close—closer, closer… “Oh fuck, I’m going to come,” I shouted. He answered with a low growl as he stilled behind me, buried to the hilt, exploding inside me as I covered the sheets in my cum.

It felt never-ending and all-encompassing and everything I ever fucking wanted and more.

And I had it. I had him. I had my fated mate, and I never wanted to let go.

“Holy fuck,” I said with a chuckle. My body felt like jell-o. I could hardly form a thought with how fried my brain was. It was the best feeling in the fucking world.

Miles kissed the back of my neck, tenderly, his cock still twitching inside me. He held me like that for a long moment. I looked out the window at the Chicago skyline with a wide grin on my face. “I love you, Dyl,” he said against the back of my neck, following it up with some more kisses.

“I love you, too, baby.”

My phone vibrated on the nightstand just then. I didn’t even separate myself from Miles. Just reached for it and unlocked it, reading it while Miles still filled me with his cock.

“It’s my cousin,” I said, still smiling. He had been in town for the game yesterday. We’d already met up and got through the awkwardness that was years of separation, and it all happened in seemingly minutes. It was natural talking to my cousin again. “He wants to meet downstairs for coffee. Has some big news apparently.”

“Go,” Miles said, pulling himself out of me. I immediately wanted him back inside. “I need to shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“You sure?” I said, turning over, kissing Miles. “I could use a round two.”

“When we get back up here then. You can fuck me.”

“Perfect,” I said, already feeling my dick twitching back to life. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Miles stood up and walked to the bathroom, his dick still dripping, his ass looking like a fucking treat. I couldn’t wait.

But I would have to. I got up and cleaned up with a wet towel before putting on some black athletic shorts and a Bobcats sweatshirt. I grabbed the room key and headed down to the lobby, where Benji was sat at a table by the bar.

He waved me over with a friendly smile. I tried not to think about the fact that I was still leaking a bit from my early morning fun.

“Sup, bro,” Benji said as I joined him, zero tension between us.

I was so glad it was so easy, as if no time between us had passed at all. He had immediately apologized to me when we first met up at a nearby pizza place, telling me that he regrets not reaching out to me but that he’d been so affected by all the toxic bullshit that happened in our family that he ended up just wanting to avoid it all. He agreed it wasn’t the healthiest course of action (especially according to his therapist) but it’s how he dealt with things. He alluded to some more chaos in his life but didn’t really delve too deeply into it and I didn’t want to pry. There would be plenty of time now to reconnect and unpack all the bullshit that had happened in both our lives over the past years of being apart.

Today was about celebrating, and not just me.

“Well, what happened?” I asked, excited at how wide Benji was beaming.

He looked just like his younger self, his youthfulness not seeming to be touched by the passing of time and stressors of life. He had that same cheek-to-cheek smile and the smooth skin and the bushy brows and the kind eyes, sharpened by the icy blue color. His vitiligo—which was something that had bothered him when we were younger—didn’t appear to bug him at all anymore. He used to hate wearing sleeveless shirts and shorts because it showed off the patchwork of symmetrical white and tan skin on both his arms and legs, but today he wore a black sleeveless shirt and shorts that ended pretty high above the knee, putting his frankly beautiful skin out on full display. I was proud of him for owning something that made him so unique.

“I got traded,” he said with a wide grin.

“Oh shit, no way?” I was pleasantly shocked. “What team?”