Rowan was mouthing wetly at the jersey now, ruining it for any use other than as lingerie for Rowan. Jordy pulled it up enough to uncover his dripping cock and fisted it, swiping his thumb over the head on the upstroke and squeezing the way Rowan liked.
Rowan clutched at Jordy’s shoulders and screwed his eyes shut, and for the first time, Jordy saw his whole beautiful face as he came wailing on Jordy’s dick.
The sight of it was a punch to the gut. Jordy’s own orgasm caught him off guard. Instinct took hold, and he thrust his hips in hard, burying himself as deep as he could as he held Rowan to him, his face buried in Rowan’s neck.
They clutched each other as they rode out the aftershocks, muscles spasming and breaths gasping as they came down.
When he recovered, Jordy pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together. Sure his limbs could hold them both well enough, Jordy reached up to pull his jersey from between Rowan’s lips. Definitely ruined.
“Was it ev-everything you dreamed of?” Jordy gasped out.
Rowan huffed. His color was high. “And more.” Then he pulled Jordy in to a sloppy postorgasm kiss. “So,” he said, several filthy second later, “how do I dismount?”
Jordy barked a laugh. “Good question.” He reached down to grasp the condom and pull out. Then, with a glance over his shoulder, he spun and tumbled them onto the bed. Thank God for hockey training, because Jordy didn’t crush Rowan into the mattress but caught his weight long enough to untangle their limbs and roll to the side.
Then they were lying side by side and Rowan was laughing breathlessly. “Oh my God, I can’t believe we—I—we just did that. Also, I think I ruined your jersey.”
“Mmm, definitely.” Jordy rolled over and smushed a kiss to Rowan’s still rosy cheek. “You should keep it. Wear it again some time.” Then, because he was still kind of a coward, he rolled back and out of bed before Rowan could react.
Rowan joined him in the en suite before Jordy could return with a washcloth, which was probably for the best. The jersey might have taken the brunt of Rowan’s come, but he was still a glistening mess that no cloth could truly solve.
Once clean, they fell back into bed. Jordy didn’t ask and Rowan didn’t offer, it just sort of happened. Rowan detailed other sexual fantasies he’d previously thought unattainable and asked Jordy if he thought they could do this or that.
Jordy fell asleep with an arm thrown over Rowan’s ribs as he listened to Rowan lazily break down his favorite parts of “theice hockey sport,” most of which involved Jordy’s muscles and alternative uses thereof.
In the morning, Jordy woke to too much sun streaming through his open blinds, Rowan’s warm body still tucked into his own, and a text from his agent saying the Sheild’s GM wanted his no-trade list.
Third Period
ROWAN WOKEup to an unfamiliar ceiling and had a brief, half-panicked moment of wondering where he was.
Then he registered the muscle aches in his thighs, back, and shoulders, as well as the accompanying tenderness in his backside, and the night before flooded back to him.
Sothathappened. And it should happen again as soon as possible, or at least as soon as possible once Rowan had recovered enough that he could stand up without wincing.
The part that maybe should not have happened was when Rowan fell asleep in Jordy’s bed afterward. From the sunlight filtering past the curtains, it was still early enough that Kaira probably wasn’t awake, so he had time to get up and sneak out of Jordy’s room. Not that she would know any different, really; if he stole one of Jordy’s T-shirts and started walking around the house, there’d be no reason for her to suspect where he’d slept, and even if she did, it wasn’t like—
He stopped that train of thought. No sense borrowing more trouble than he already had.
So. Last night Jordy had fucked him into incoherence. In his bedroom. While Rowan wore his jersey. While Rowan used his jerseyas a gag.
That felt… possessive, in a pleasant way Rowan didn’t want to interrogate but probably should.
It might not mean anything beyond the obvious—that Jordy liked pretending, in the heat of the moment, that the people he fucked belonged to him. Rowan could hardly fault him for that.He’d enjoyed the fantasy too. The evidence of that was all over Jordy’s jersey.
But last night had felt different from their previous encounters in other ways too. For one, it was the first time Jordy had kissed him while they fucked. It was the first time they’d done this in Jordy’s room and not in Rowan’s temporary quarters downstairs, and the first time they’d actually spent the night together. So… maybe it did mean something.
Hadn’t they agreed weeks ago that a physical relationship was all they could have, and a temporary one at that? Rowan was putting down roots in Toronto. Every day he looked forward to his job. His bank balance informed him that he could begin looking for his own place very soon. Not a nasty basement apartment either but a proper one-bedroom, maybe even one with a balcony. A place of his own that he couldmakehis own—choose his furniture, paint his walls. Do his bathroom in a Parisian theme if he wanted.
And Jordy might get traded at any minute. Rowan understood that. That was a risk. But all relationships had risks. The person you loved could get hit by a bus, or turn out to be a serial killer. Or just an asshole. Rowan had dated enough of those.
And he was pretty sure Jordy wasn’t an asshole, and a serial killer wouldn’t have invited Rowan to live in his house and catch him.
Okay, now Rowan was going around his head in meaningless tangents to avoid coming to the conclusion that he had feelings for Jordy and maybe he should just… take the risk. Jordy might get traded—but he might not.
Did Rowan want to give up this life on a maybe?
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. First order of business was hauling himself out of bed.
