Page 2 of Two for Roughing

He expected it to piss Howard off even more, get his whole body to flush as dark red as his hair.

He didn’t expect Howard to go vise-tight, shooting off all over the bedspread without a hand on his cock.

Damir swore.

Howard’s whole body pulsed rhythmically around him.

Damir let himself take what he’d been wanting since he’d first sunk inside of Howard’s incredible body, pushing into the clenching heat harder and faster until he notched in as deep as he could go. When he came, his hips kept rolling. Howard whimpered under him, each new movement making him cringe, but he could take it. Damir was too wrapped up in the pleasure to stop. Every thrust sent sparks down his spine and through his balls, and he shot so hard he was afraid the condom might burst with it.

When he pulled out afterward, Howard collapsed in a heap on the bed.

Rude.

“So,” Damir said, striving for a pleasant tone. He winced as he got off his knees and to his feet. A long fuck after a full game of hockey was a lot for the joints, even at the ripe old age of twenty-five. “Are you going to apologize?”

The lump on top of the bed groaned.

Damir went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He used one of the hotel hand towels to wash the sweat from under his arms and his groin. After some consideration, he dipped the other towel under water as well and took it out with him.

Howard remained exactly where Damir had left him, face down on the good side of the bed. Had he passed out?

Damir poked him in the side.

Howard rolled over with a groan.

When he saw the wet towel, he grabbed for it, then wiped at the sticky, already-drying trails of come covering his belly.

There went Damir’s plan to dab the worst of the mess off the sheets. He added a zero to the tip he’d planned on leaving for housekeeping.

“Thanks,” Howard muttered, dropping the towel by the side of the bed.

“So you do have manners.” Damir picked the towel up pointedly and tossed it in the direction of the bathroom.

“Whatever,” Howard said. “You enjoyed that.”

Damir would have to be blind, deaf, and also dead not to enjoy fucking someone as responsive and (apparently) kinky as Howard. “Nonetheless, you owe me an apology.”

Howard rolled his eyes like the teenager he was, which made Damir feel less good about the sex they’d just had. He might be of legal age, but nineteen was quite young.

“Sorry I called you out on a stupid Insta post, man,” Howard said, finally, “but you’re the one who punched me.”

A bruise had formed right over one of Howard’s high, delicate cheekbones, still red but likely to turn dark and ugly soon. It matched the fingerprint-shaped smudges at his hips. A part of Damir he wasn’t proud of salivated at the sight of his marks on Howard’s skin.

He took a breath to steady himself. “I apologize. The way you said it was…worrying.”

Howard’s exact words on the ice, right before Damir lost the faceoff and punched him, were, “The women of Chicago can count themselves lucky you’re not into their pussies.” Vulgar enough for standard hockey chirping, but it also sounded as if Howard knew something.

Howard snorted. “Yeah, I didn’t realize how you would take it until I had your fist in my face. Maybe play it cooler next time.”

“I sincerely hope,” Damir said through gritted teeth, “there will not be a next time.” A moment later, the full impact of Howard’s words caught up with him. “Wait, you mean you turned up here because my reaction to your terrible chirp made you think I might be open to—”

“Fucking me blind? Yeah, pretty much.”

“That was incredibly risky.” Damir could have been like most other hockey players, in which case he would have probably punched Howard in a few other unsavory places.

“Paid off, didn’t it?” Howard made for the edge of the bed, wincing a little.

A tiny part of Damir felt bad for going so hard on him. A much larger part purred with pride.