Page 47 of Studs Up
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I didn’t sleep. Nolan slept like the dead. He was also a bed hog, star fishing his legs and arms. He slept on his stomach and breathed slowly and deeply. Thank god he was asleep in his own bed. There wasn’t room for me.
I had never wanted something so badly in my life. But the consequences were too much to risk. He was sexy, and his body did things to me that were criminal. The orgasm had been incredible, but the way he touched me after, dragging that finger down my body, nearly broke my brain.
It couldn’t work. None of it. I should have stuck to my fragile resolve and never let him touch me.
It wasn’t just touching, though, how the tingles spread through my body when his husky voice murmured in my ear. That nearly sent me over the edge. Or those eyes watching me in the mirror as he sucked on my neck.
I groaned and rolled over so I wasn’t watching him. I wanted him so bad it hurt my bones.
But I wanted an MLS Cup, a chance at the World Cup, and I wanted my fucking career. I wanted to be left alone and not have to fear my phone or my sexuality.
I buried my face into my pillow and tried very hard not to cry until the alarm went off at six am.
I got to the shower first as Nolan grunted his way awake. But it didn’t take long for him to step in behind me.
Now would be a great time to tell him that we couldn’t do this anymore, but his hands slid around my waist and up my chest and held me close to him, and fuck if it wasn’t everything.
I turned my head, fighting for the strength to tell him why this was a bad idea, but his lips found mine, and I was making out with the biggest asshole in the league.
Somewhere in the moment, his tongue slid into my mouth, he had found the soap, and a slick hand roamed my body and found my cock.
“Fuck,” I hissed as he started to stroke. “Nolan.”
He hummed, rough and graveled in my ear. “I love when you say my name like that.”
This was so bad. So bad, and it felt so fucking good. Distracted by the hand stroking my cock I wasn’t paying attention to his other hand until two fingers started circling my hole.
“Fuck,” I shouted, slapping my hands on the wall.
“Shhh,” he whispered in my ear.
I shuddered. For the first time in so fucking long, I felt safe. Just for this moment, there were no threats or fears as his fingers pressed and circled, and the other hand stroked until I came spraying all over the tile.
I was suddenly jello, but he didn’t let me fall as he turned me in his arms and held me tight to his chest.
There were kisses on my brow and pressed to my temple. He washed me and sent me on my way with a spank on my ass.
Who the fuck was the man with me in the shower? Because he couldn’t possibly be real.
It wasn’t till I dried off and dressed that I realized this wasn’t the same kind of fucking around I’d had in the past.
When he came out of the bathroom, buck ass naked and gorgeous, using the towel to dry his hair, he saw me staring.
“What?”
“I didn’t get you off,” I said.
“Yeah, and?”
“But you got me off,” I sputtered. This was new. Very new. I never had a partner who didn’t expect an orgasm after giving me one.
He pulled out his boxer briefs and pulled them on.
“This isn’t tit for tat, Holden,” he said. He walked over to me, slid his hand into my hair, and tightened it into a fist, forcing me to look at him right in the eyes. “I enjoyed what we did in there.”
He kissed me, let me go, and finished dressing. I swayed like a love sick teen. Oh, I was so fucked.
