Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“You want my load inside of you?” I lubed my fingers and pushed two inside of him again. I knelt behind him, his perfect ass on display, body so fucking banging, hole open for me, and his heavy balls hanging.
“Unless I get too bored first. Are you going to fuck me or what?”
Another chuckle fell from my lips. I had so damn much fun with the prickly asshole. Once my cock was slicked up, I thrust into him, filling him with my swollen cock.
“Fuck yes!” he called out, my groin smacking against his ass as I took out what felt like a lifetime of want on his hole.
My fingers dug into his hips. The muscles of his back contracted as he met me, thrust for thrust, fucking himself on my cock. He was so hot and tight that I wanted to shoot right then, give him my release, and then push it back into him with my fingers all night.
But as hot as this was, I needed more.
“What the hell, Tuck?” he complained when I pulled out.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby. Lay down.”
I maneuvered him so he was partway on his side and also kind of on his stomach. His bottom leg was stretched down, so I took his top one and bent it, pushing it up closer to his torso. Holding his ass open, I watched as my bare cock breached him, fought to contain myself so I didn’t blow my load before he got to come.
Once I was buried in his tight ass again, I leaned down, Patrick’s head to the side so I could take his mouth while I fucked him. We kissed like we were starving for each other, me drilling into him like my life depended on it.
I was sensitive and already teetering on the edge, body primed to spill inside of him, but it still wasn’t enough, wasn’t what I needed to give him, so without pulling out of him, I tugged him with me until we were both on our knees, Patrick’s back against me. He turned his head to make out with me again, swiping his tongue against mine.
Wrapping an arm around his body, I fisted his cock, stroking it in unison with my thrusts inside of his body.
Patrick gasped, pulled back just enough for our mouths to part, before his body went rigid, a ragged puff of breath pushing past his lips and against mine. His hole tightened around my cock, pulsing and throbbing while his release shot against the bed, sliding between my fingers, and I used it for more lube to stroke him.
It spurred my own release to spill from my balls, jetting into his hole and filling him with my pleasure.
We came down from our high together, with me pulling him into my arms. “Say it,” I whispered close to his ear. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
“And who do I belong to?” I asked next.
“You’re mine, too.”
Yeah, I really was.
We fell asleep stuck together with cum and sex, and I fucking loved it. I took his ass again once during the night while Patrick sucked and licked at my neck again, making more of his marks on my skin.
“I want to cook you breakfast,” I told him the next morning when we woke up. He frowned cutely, and I kissed the expression off his face. “Remember? I take care of what’s mine, baby.” He deserved someone looking out for him.
He nodded, and we put on underwear before going downstairs. I’d be leaving soon, so I didn’t have a whole lot of time. I’d miss my flight if I had to, even though it would get me a hefty fine from Coach.
“What do you want?”
“You don’t have to make me breakfast.”
“Sit down and shut up.” I winked and made myself at home, looking through his kitchen and fridge.
As I started omelets, he asked, “What are we doing?”
“We’re boyfriends having breakfast after a night of incredible sex.”
“Boyfriends?”
“Yes,” I replied simply. “Didn’t we spell all of this out last night?” He nodded slowly, brown hair sex mussed with stubble along his jaw. “I told my family about you.”
“What?” He blanched.
“Not that it’s Patrick Whitt, but when I flew out here on Christmas, I told them it was because of a guy I’m into. I’m playing for keeps.”
“Jesus. You’re like a bulldozer sometimes.”
“Are you complaining?” I pumped my brows.
“No. I like it. How are we going to do this? Where the fuck do we go from here?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “For now, we have breakfast.” I set his plate in front of him at the bar. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
I didn’t have a better answer than that.
PART THREE
Overtime
This section picks up where the False Start timeline ends and continues into a fresh season.
17
WHITT
Early July
We almost always ended with breakfast, alternating who cooked. Tucker was better at it than me, hands down, but he’d shown me how to bake bacon in the oven to give it a texture we both moaned over and then use the bacon grease to fry the eggs.