Zeke gave a breathless laugh. “I’m not doing crunches to stare at my asshole. Fuck me good, cowboy.”
“Just for that.” I grabbed his hips and eased halfway out, thrust home hard.
“Ah! Yeah.”
Again… Again… I tried to keep the rhythm slow and even, the motions deep, but Zeke writhed and groaned, grabbing for his dick as I fucked him. He jacked himself, his jaw dropped open, face flushed. Watching him lit up my insides like a firecracker. Things got fast and hard and messy, and to hell with slow. I fucked him over and over, holding him still while I drove every hot, hard inch of me up inside him.Now, and now, and faster,harder, nownownow—“Tell me you’re close,” I begged, sweat damp on my face. “God, tell me.”
“So close. Don’t stop. Don’t aah…!” Spunk shot from Zeke’s cock and dripped through his fingers, turning the pumping of his hand to a slurping, liquidy?—
“Jesus!” I jammed myself into Zeke so hard I was halfway to his throat and came deep inside him, shaken and blinded by the force of that pleasure, clinging to his hips to keep myself anchored in space. “Oh God.” Aftershocks shuddered through me. I sucked air between clenched teeth, teetering on that perfect high, every nerve on fire. Then the pleasure ebbed, slipping down bit by bit into a warm, mellow, comfortable place.
I sagged forward and Zeke caught me, guiding me down against him as his legs slipped away from my hips. His cum was sticky between us, but I was too far gone to care. I laid my head on his shoulder, turning just enough to kiss his bare skin. “Fuck, that was good.”
“Yeah.” He cupped my head against him. “So good.”
“Someone once told me ‘I love you’ doesn’t mean anything if you say it during sex.”
Zeke stiffened under me. “Is that what you believe?”
“No!” I bit his shoulder where I’d kissed it, hard enough to leave a red mark. “I really meant it. I don’t want you to think I was just fucking around.”
“Ah.” He relaxed again. “I meant it too.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to be fully out-out.” Although honestly, I’d been most worried about management finding out and putting a checkmark in the “points against” column. Coach knew, so management would too. The public could get fucked. “Or maybe I am.”
“Shh.” Zeke kissed my hair. “No rush. You have time to think it through.”
“And Smith. What happens next?”
“Jesus. You just fucked me into a puddle of goo. Literally and figuratively. Can we clean up and sleep and worry about it tomorrow?” He wrapped his arms around me, huffing a breath as my dick slipped out of him.
I needed to deal with the condom, and get us a cloth and clean us up, and yeah, sleep would’ve been good. But for a long time, I lay there, clinging to Zeke, the two of us smooshed into a sticky, melded blob, while the boundaries where I ended and he began were wonderfully obliterated. I’d never planned to let anyone get close to me, but Zeke was deep under my skin and in my heart, and I loved it. And him.
CHAPTER 22
ZEKE
I woke to the chirp of my alarm. A heavy weight pinned me to the bed, and flyaway red hair tickled my face. I freed an arm from under Callum to tap off the noise, then flexed the pins-and-needles out of my hand.
I should get up.
I didn’t want to. Lying here with Callum through the morning hours, with a day off and no need to stop touching him, would be perfect. Sadly, I had a kid brother who needed breakfast before heading to school, and while I meant to let him do that on his own more often, the morning after a police convention on his front lawn was not a good day to be lazy.
Working my way out from under Callum without waking him turned out to be easier than I expected. As in, he grunted and went right back to sleep. Well, he was entitled. He’d not only played sixty minutes of intense, losing hockey, but then faced hours of the kind of law enforcement action I was familiar with and he really wasn’t. No wonder he was wiped out. A new bruise I hadn’t noticed last night decorated one shoulder blade, and the dark circles under his eyes looked deeper than I wanted them.
Leaving him sleeping, I snuck into my bathroom for a cleanup, finding flaky spots that our delayed wet toweling lastnight— or early that morning— had missed. My ass ached in a very satisfying way, and I caught myself beginning to hum a pop song as I washed. God, that man out there made me a sappy mess. Emphasis on both thesappyand themess.
He said he loves me.Which made sappy a perfectly reasonable state of mind. Of course, his declaration happened after a lot of tension, and then some excellent tension-relief, but I couldn’t make myself doubt him. The shine in his blue eyes and the way he kissed me— and bit me— said it all. I chuckled, and hung the wet facecloth I’d used over the shower rail to dry.
Halfway down the stairs, faint sounds came to me from the kitchen. I felt bad that Jos was up first, worried about how unsettled a preteen had to be to get up early on a school day. But when I reached the kitchen doorway, it was Roy who turned from the stove, smiling at me. “Hey, you’re up. Good morning.” He gestured at a bowl on the counter. “You said pancakes, so I mixed up a batch. Ready to go whenever people are.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
He waved my remark away. “I get up early anyhow. Too stiff to lie around in bed, you know?” He did have a limp as he went to the refrigerator to get out the orange juice.
“Arthritis?” I asked.
“Yep. And a bad back. Don’t get old, son, it’s for the birds.” He hesitated. “Sorry, didn’t mean to call you son, here in your late father’s house.”
