Page 11 of Cheap Shot

Crawford opened his mouth—presumably to argue—but Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “I’ll leave my phone on the kitchen counter upstairs, out of reach but within earshot, and that’s as much as I’m willing to compromise.” He turned to go. “And lock the fucking front door behind you before you come up.”

As Luke twisted the old-fashioned dead bolt to lock the front door of the shop, he had no idea why he’d agreed to this.

There was no way inhellit was a good idea to get his pants down around this guy. The possibility of this going sideways was way too fucking high.

Only, he’d come this far already, right? And heneededthis.

He could still feel that buzz under his skin and he knew he wouldn’t sleep until he got off. He wouldn’t play well in practice tomorrow and it might drag out for a few days of shitty play and bad sleep and … he was doing this for hockey, honestly.

So, he followed Vintage Jersey Guy down the hall and through a door that led to a narrow back stairwell.

As Crawford twisted his shoulders sideways to get up the stairs that led to the guy’s apartment, he had his doubts that what the guy said about having plenty of money was true. If this narrow hallway was any indication, he probably lived in a shithole studio.

But when Luke followed the guy inside, he blinked.Huh. The place wasn’t half-bad.

Oh, it was on the small side, no question about that. But there was a clean and tidy living room, a small dining area, and kitchen visible, along with a hallway that Luke assumed led to a bedroom and bathroom.

“You want a beer?”

Luke looked over toward the kitchen and scowled at the sight of the stupid jersey. “No.”

The reminder of who Vintage Jersey Guy was soured Luke’s mood, so rather than check out the apartment, he tossed his jacket on the leather couch, dropped onto the cushion next to it, then reached for his belt buckle.

Time to get down to business.

The guy snorted and for a second, Luke wondered if he’d said the last part aloud.

“Hey. What’s your name, anyway, man?” Luke asked. “I mean, I can keep calling you Vintage Jersey Guy in my head, I guess, but …”

“Sebastian Breckon,” he said, glaring down at Luke.

“Huh.” Luke looked him up and down. He didn’t know what a guy named Sebastian was supposed to look like, but he wasn’t sure this was it with his dark curly hair, olive skin tone, dark eyes, and square jaw covered in stubble.

Well, at least he didn’t have an ugly face. Shame about the personality.

“Okay. I’m Luke. You can call me Crawford.”

With a huff of laughter, the guy—Sebastian, apparently—dropped to his knees on the carpet at Luke’s feet.

“Can you at least take the fucking jersey off?” Luke asked. “It’s really killing the mood here.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but he pulled it off, tossing it on the coffee table nearby. After that, he leaned in, not hesitating to get Luke’s belt open, his fly undone, or his dick out.

And he wasted no time getting his cock in his mouth either.

One moment, Luke was thinking that the apartment air was a little chilly, and the next, the top of his dick was smothered in wet heat.

Luke reached for Sebastian’s head without thinking, burying his hand in thick, soft hair that wrapped around his fingers, his eyes closing as a shudder rolled through his body.

He wasn’t hard yet, but the deep, wet suction made the blood rush to his cock, leaving his head spinning.

It wouldn’t take long at this rate.

Fuck, the guy—Sebastian—hadn’t been kidding about how much he liked to suck dick either. He was really going at it already, gripping the base and working his mouth over Luke in a steady rhythm.

“C’mon,” Luke said, spreading his thighs a little wider so he could thrust up into Sebastian’s mouth. He took it like a champ too, adjusting his angle and taking Luke deeper. “You can do better than that. It’s like you’re not even trying.”

He refused to give the guy the satisfaction of praising him. Sebastian liked to chirp? Fine, Luke could chirp his dick-sucking skills.