Page 55 of Studs Up
“You are a terrible person,” I mumbled when he decided we were done and turned off the water. Nolan had been very conscience not to rub our cocks together between our bodies. He hadn’t asked for an orgasm, implied he wanted one or needed one. He never touched himself as though his orgasm also hinged on my winning goal.
It meant something. Like he was in this with me, and I don’t know why I needed that so much, even if it was his stupid idea.
He left to dress, leaving me aching and leaking and ready to give up the day just to drag him to bed.
A wave of revelation hit me so hard that I almost stumbled back. I meant that. I was fully and completely ready to give up the game to stay in bed with him.
Oh no. Nope. Not doing that. I shook my head and reached for my competitive ego. I couldn’t give anything up for another man, even one who did things to me that turned me into soft jello. It was against the rules. Their rules and my rules.
But I wanted him so fucking bad. He was dressed in the room when I finally left the bathroom. I needed an orgasm to move on and get over this thing we had.
“I don’t like this game,” I crossed my arms. My erection hadn’t drained a drop of blood as I stood there naked, hoping I was far too tempting to wait until after the game. He ambled up to me and stopped when his body was a hair’s breadth away. He bent slightly and kissed me.
He didn’t place his hands on me or even touch me anywhere else. Not even his clothes were close enough to make contact. Just lips.
He pried my reluctant mouth open and slid his tongue inside. He kissed me until my arms fell to my sides. I was breathless and completely his. All the rest of my thoughts simply fell away.
“Get dressed Holden. You have a game to win.”
Jesus Fucking Christ. I was so unbelievably fucked.
Nolan
The game against Canada started slow. Testing each other out and finding weaknesses. Our weakness was on the left. Marcel wasn’t a match to their right back. They battled, and Marcel lost every time. It made the game lopsided and drew a lot of my attention.
Holden was having a good game when Alex could get him the ball. That meant Alex became the focus of Derrick Ennis’s attention. He tackled like he wanted to hurt someone.
Alex may irritate me personally, mostly for the interruptions, but he was a damn good mid, and he was schooling the hell out of Ennis. It was great, but it made him a target, and I kept my eye on it.
The first half turned into a battle in the last fifteen minutes, and Holden kept pushing hard for a goal. He was doing so well, Mirren wasn’t yelling at him. Mirren was, however, yelling at me because Marcel couldn’t hold the left side.
Despite all of Holden’s efforts, the half ended with no goals.
He didn’t give up and came out in the second half with a vengeance, and Holden was on a fucking mission to score. Apparently, he had been given the proper motivation.
Alex delivered a beautiful breakaway ball, slicing between Ennis and the right back, and Holden was sprinting. When he was a few yards out of the eighteen, Ennis caught up and slammed him into the ground. He didn’t even go for the ball. It was a hockey style body check. Holden bounced and tumbled on the turf.
An unprecedented rage overflowed in my veins. Seeing Holden on the ground without an exaggerated roll had me down the field in seconds. Ennis was hovering over Holden.
“Get up, princess,” he shouted. Holden did his job and stayed on the ground. “Come on. It was a love tap.”
The rest of the teams were surrounding Ennis and the ref. I put my body between Ennis and Holden.
“You’re a piece of shit, Ennis,” I bellowed. He took a step back, and I pursued. The training staff was jogging onto the field, and Alex was demanding a yellow, but the ref wasn’t even interested in calling a foul. It was chaos.
“Fuck you, Reed,” he laughed. Charlemagne got between us and pushed Ennis back.
“We don’t need to do that,” Charlemagne said. He turned to me. “Let it go.” He took my arm and pulled me away. “We’ll get him back by winning.”
Winning wouldn’t stop Ennis from being dangerous and I absolutely was not going to let it go.
The training staff checked Holden out and pulled him up.
“You good?” I asked. The seething rage was not quelled by Holden back on his feet. The limp was real. I had seen enough of Holden to know when he was in true pain and when he was being dramatic.
“Sunshine and rainbows,” he said with a wince and walked it off with a little shake to his ankle. I wanted to pummel Ennis into the ground.
The only choice I had was to walk away from Holden. We were still supposed to hate each other. One of my jobs as one of the bigger guys on the field was to use that presence to protect players in a coming together. So I did my job, and that was all I could do.
