17. BILSON

SEVENTEEN

BILSON

I can’t remember the last time I let go and had this much fun. Killer’s had a big night too, yapping away while trying to see outside the window as Miles does donuts. I can only assume he’s yelling at Miles to be more careful.

It tires him out, and now, as we drive home at close to 3:00 a.m., Killer settles on my lap and goes to sleep.

“Poor guy is tuckered out,” Miles says.

“What about you? Did you burn off your excess energy enough to go to sleep yet? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I’m no spring chicken; I need sufficient sleep to be as awesome as I am.”

“Damn. I’d hate to see you on no sleep if this is as awesome as you get.”

“Fuck you.” I laugh.

“Nah. We already played that game.”

And there he goes bringing it up again. I can’t tell if he does it to test me or if he’s hinting at wanting to do it again, and I think I’m too scared to ask. Mainly because if it’s the first, calling him on it might make things weird. If it’s option number two, wanting another go, there’s no way I’m going to turn it down.

It’s taken us this long to get comfortable with it—to joke about it—and while there have been moments of awkwardness about our hookup, I’d say we moved past it pretty unscathed. Team dynamics haven’t changed. We’re still the same as we have been out on the ice. Our games haven’t been noticeably affected.

If we do go there again, will that change? Or will we sink into more comfort surrounding it?

Miles pulls into my street and then into my driveway, but his hand lingers on the keys in the ignition.

We idle for a few seconds before he looks over at me.

“Hypothetically,” I say at the exact same time he lets out, “I’m still not tired.”

I smile. “Of course you aren’t.”

Whether he realizes he’s doing it or not, those big puppy eyes of his are almost impossible to say no to.

“Are you really not tired, or are you using that as an excuse to come inside?” I ask.

“Actually, I was kind of hoping to use it as an excuse for you to … come inside.”

It takes a second to register what he’s saying. “Smooth, Rook.”

“I like to think so.”

I want to say yes. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t seem to get it out.

Miles holds up his hand. “You can say no, and we’ll pretend I didn’t bring it up, but⁠—”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” I blurt.

He looks relieved.

“But at the same time, we got away with it the first time. We’re still friends. The team doesn’t know. No one knows. Which brings me back to my hypothetical question. If we were to go there again, what’s to stop us from doing it again and again and again? By which point, the more we do it, the riskier it becomes. We get sloppy and make a comment in front of someone else. We mix the physical with emotional, which I’m fucking known for. I can’t keep feelings out of sex, and I love you as a friend, but I don’t want to fall in love with you. No offense.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself there, aren’t you?”

“Have you met me? It’s what I do. I don’t go around marrying everyone for the hell of it. I’m known to fall hard and fast. The last thing I need is another divorce.”

He pulls back. “Now we’re getting married? Dude, chill.”

I run a hand over my head. “I’m not saying that, but I’m scared of letting this situation get out of my control.”

“Cody, look at me.”

Cody. Not CB. Not Bilson. Cody. I shift in my seat and turn to him.

“When you see me, what do you see? What am I to you?”

“A friend. A teammate.”

He nods slowly. “Good. What else?”

“Someone I want to stick my dick in?”

“Is that it?”

I look at him. Really look at him. From his floppy blond hair to his bright eyes and easy smile that gives him that cocky edge. “I see someone who has the ability to make our careers implode if what we did ever gets out.”

Miles finally turns off the car. “Okay, one, you give sex way too much credit. There are queer dudes in the league. You’re friends with all of them. Their careers didn’t take a hit when they came out or when any of them announced they were a couple.” He holds up his hand. “And I’m not saying we’re a couple or will be or anything like that. Just that if a little sex between teammates got out there, it wouldn’t be a big deal for you, personally or professionally. Argument number two: not once did you say in there that when you look at me, you see the potential of falling in love. You’re more worried about the scandal of us sleeping together than the risk of falling for me. I can be your friend. Your teammate. And the person you stick your dick into.”

When he puts it like that … I can’t deny that the majority of my thoughts have been around what fucking Miles would do to the team.

“And just so we’re clear here, when I look at you, I see someone whose career I’ve admired for a long time. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would mess that up.”

“What else do you see?” I throw his question back at him, hoping he doesn’t psychoanalyze me too deeply.

He doesn’t disappoint. “A giant walking, talking strap-on. I can’t stop thinking about your dick.”

I want to laugh, but I can’t. I’m too turned on. I open the door. “Go to my bedroom and get yourself ready while I put Killer in the laundry room.”

“Poor guy probably thinks we’re punishing him.”

“Would you prefer he watched from his place on my pillow?”

Miles shudders. “Fair point. That would be much more traumatic for him. You, laundry room. Me, bedroom.”

It’s practically a race to the front door, and Miles even holds Killer for me so I can fetch my keys out of my tight pocket, only made tighter by my cock trying to escape my jeans.

His hand lands suddenly on my forearm. “We’re still not telling anyone though. Right?”

“Right.” I’ll agree to anything right now.

As soon as the door’s open, Killer’s back in my arms, and Miles is stripping off his clothes as he walks down the hallway to my bedroom.

Killer whines as he watches Miles walk away, and I begin to worry that Killer has adopted Miles as much as Miles has adopted him.

“Traitor.” I put Killer in the laundry room, where he has food and a bed set up. I top up his water and give him a treat to occupy him until he falls back asleep.

He’ll be fine in there. It’s like his den. His safe space. While he prefers to sleep on my pillow next to me, he doesn’t hate being put in the laundry room.

By the time he’s settled, I head toward my bedroom, stripping off my jacket, shoes and socks, and my shirt as I go.

I’m so not prepared for the sight I walk in on.

Miles Olsen, naked on my bed on his hands and knees with one of his hands reaching behind him and prepping his hole for me. The light is completely on, not just a sliver of it coming from the bathroom like last time.

I don’t think he’s noticed me yet. He has his eyes closed, and as he fingers himself, he lets out a noise that makes my cock leak.

The first time, it was lights off and as impersonal as possible, but I can’t deny the way his deep masculine sounds cemented in my brain.

I reach for the light switch to turn it off but hesitate because I’m under no delusion about Miles. I wasn’t the first time we did this either. We might have pretended we were imagining someone else, a woman, but I wasn’t.

I drop my hand and finish getting undressed while I watch Miles get himself ready. He still hasn’t acknowledged me, but he has to know I’m here.

“Good enough. Hurry up and get over here so you can fill me up.”

Yep. He knows I’ve been watching him this whole time.

I approach the bed and spot the condom next to the bottle of lube.

Miles has his ass in the air as he leans forward on his elbows, his long, muscular body before me. I don’t waste any time in suiting up or lathering myself in lube, but apparently, I’m still too slow for him.

“Come on, CB. Fuck me already.”

“You’re so fucking desperate,” I rasp.

“So, so desperate.”

I step up behind him but make sure I enter him slowly. I don’t trust that he’s prepped himself enough with how impatient he’s being. His ass is so tight, and I can only work myself in about halfway.

“Breathe,” I say.

“I’m good. I’m good.” He doesn’t sound good.

I pull out of him.

“No, wait.” He tries to reach behind him for me.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I grab more lube and cover my fingers in it.

I press my fingers inside him, searching for that spot that drove him crazy last time. He relaxes for me, lets me in, and this time, when I pull out of him, he makes a needy noise at the back of his throat.

I replace my fingers with my cock and slide in a lot easier now. We both let out a moan, and this is what it’s about.

This is the point of what we’re doing. It has nothing to do with hockey, with being friends, or anything else. It’s about getting off.

It only takes a few thrusts for him to start trembling.

His ass surrounds my cock. So hot. So tight.

As soon as he’s adjusted completely to my size, I can’t hold back. He feels too good.

My hands bite into his skin, gripping his hips and pulling him back to meet my every thrust.

There’s no way I can last long when his body takes me so easily, but with how he’s trembling, begging for more without words, I get the feeling I won’t have to last long. I only have to last longer than him.

“You gonna come for me, Rook?”

Miles whimpers, breathy and desperate, and then reaches for his cock, frantically jerking himself off.

The muscles in his back tighten, his ass squeezes around my dick, and warmth floods my entire body.

“I’m coming,” he cries.

That’s what I need.

He grunts and pushes back. I’m balls-deep inside of him and can’t hold back anymore. While he writhes and breathes through his orgasm, I unleash, and it only takes a few more thrusts before I follow him over the edge.

Pleasure spreads through my body, a ripple that turns into a wave. I don’t let him go until I’m completely empty. The second I soften my hold, Miles collapses on top of my bed, and it takes all my strength to stay standing and not fall on top of him.

My vision blurs, and breathing is hard, but fucking hell, that was amazing.

I stumble my way into the bathroom and deal with the condom and then throw on a fresh pair of boxers to go get us bottles of water from the fridge.

Before I can head back to the bedroom though, Miles steps out in his underwear and follows the trail of clothes he left on his way in.

“Water?” I hold out the bottle.

“Thanks.” He uncaps it and takes a sip and then throws on his pants and shirt.

“You heading home?” I stupidly ask. Of course he’s heading home. This isn’t a slumber party.

“Yep. Just in time to get about four hours of sleep before we have to be at the practice rink.”

“We’re going to hate ourselves.”

Miles smiles at me. “Nah. Can’t hate something that makes us feel that good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As easy as that, Miles leaves as if we didn’t just fuck each other’s brains out.

Maybe this could work after all.