Page 16 of Studs Up
He tackled me, and we tumbled together. His body landed on mine for a split second before he rolled off and jumped up. I laid on the ground for so long that the training staff came out, and I pretended my ankle got tweaked to give myself a moment to get my dick under control.
Now I was in a three hundred square foot room with the one man I couldn’t control myself around, and when he walked out of the shower in only a towel, I about lost my damn mind. In the tiny space, it was difficult not to stare. There wasn’t much to look at in the room, but his damp body with water droplets still clinging to his hair was right there like an offering.
He was all packed muscle, and when he dropped the towel to put on his boxer briefs, I gasped.
Why did his ass have to be so perfectly round? It was like this man was explicitly created to torture me. Curated with every feature I dreamed about.
There was an unrelenting desire to run my hands all over that perfect skin to feel his muscles work. It was almost too much, and I had to dig my fingers into my palms to keep from reaching for him. I would wager the cock on that man was so perfect I would be drooling to get my body anywhere near it.
He kept his back to me as he pulled his underwear up and that was a very, very good thing. I did not want to explain why I was drooling over his cock.
I never permitted myself to look at him in the locker room. And I absolutely couldn’t permit myself to do it now.
I had been so lost in fantasy and desire that I didn’t realize I was teetering on the edge of the bed until I was falling hopelessly off. The thud my body made when I hit the floor resounded in the silence.
I hoped in the one point two seconds I had been on the floor that Nolan was just as keen on ignoring me as much as I had wanted to ignore him. But alas, no. Nolan appeared around the bed in only his boxer briefs, crossed arms, and piercing eyes. Do not, for the love of god, look at the bulge.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He demanded.
You. You are what’s wrong with me, and put some fucking clothes on. I wanted to look away. I needed very much to look away because boxers did not have the structural integrity to hide my erection.
“Slid off the bed,” I mumbled.
“Is that some kind of condition you have? Falling off shit?”
“Does it matter?”Shoot me. Just fucking shoot me already.
Apparently, it didn’t because he didn’t say anything. To my utter horror, Nolan held out his hand. I took a second to look at the offering and consider whether it was a good idea to take it or not. The answer was a clear and absolute no. So, of course, I reached out and took his hand.
He pulled me up with no effort at all, and then I was standing there, inches from his mostly naked body, holding his hand and getting lost in those sapphire irises. The memory of being pinned by that body against the wall almost made me do something so fucking dumb that I had to clench my teeth and count the beats of my heart as a distraction.
“You are such a fucking mystery,” he muttered but hadn’t let my hand go.
“I’m a mystery to myself,” I said, nearly breathless. He would see my pulse betray me if he looked near my neck.
“You okay?”
“Um,” I licked my lips because I didn’t know what to say. His eyes were on my mouth, watching me be nervous and flustered. The desire to touch him was breaking through my defenses. I hallucinated, kissing him for a second. It was so real I stepped back. “Yeah.”
“Probably shouldn’t do that again.”
So much agreed.
“Yeah,” I said instead. He let my hand go, but the heat of him lingered.
“It’s your turn to shower.”
Thank fuck. Because I needed to jerk off before I came in my underwear in front of the man I couldn’t have. That would just be the pinnacle of embarrassment.
…
It starts with the eyes. The stares burned my skin. I felt them all over. I felt the flames of their judgment. They followed me, and they tormented me in total silence. No matter where I ran or where I hid, they were there. Thousands of them. Eyes of all colors were watching me. I couldn’t breathe. Then my phone buzzed. The stream of texts was like knives carving pieces out of me, and I couldn’t even scream.
The balance of my life was constantly tipping to disaster.
Then it’s Coach. “We’re gonna start Wilkins tonight.” Not Wilkins. No, no, no. My head pounded, and no matter how hard I tried or how many goals I scored, Wilkins replaced me.
More texts. Threat after threat. Taunting and dangling trophies over my head. I jumped and reached for them, but they were yanked away. Be a good boy, and you can have them.
