9. Chapter 7

I collapse onto the bench in the locker room after showering, my chest heaving and my muscles trembling with exhaustion. The game against Penn State was brutal. Took everything we all had to squeeze out a win.

"Want to tell us what's gotten into you?" Trembley stares at me while putting on his sneakers. "You were like the goddamn Punisher out there."

"It's Regionals. Not holding back."

My response garners eye rolls from him and Raiyne. I glare at the both of them, taking a deep, measured breath. "Got something to say?"

Leave it to Raiyne to stir the pot. "Seems like you're pissed because someone almost broke your play toy this morning."

My jaw clenches, a muscle near my eye twitching. I take a second to figure out how to play this, then keep my tone deliberately casual. "What can I say? Going against Reed always pushes me to be better—like a natural performance enhancer. Can"t have him benched when we face off against the Titans."

Yeah, they're not buying my bullshit.

Trembley stands, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "That the reason you damn near broke your hand? ‘Cause call me stupid, but then you'd be benched, right?"

I put my sweatshirt on then flick him off. "Between hockey and my family I've got enough on my plate. Don't need you two jackasses adding to it."

Raiyne opens his mouth to say something but backs off. As mischievous and menacing as my friend can be, I pulled the low-blow card, aka the mom card. His face pinches together and he lets out a huff.

"We're going for pizza. You coming?"

I shake my head. "Nah, gonna head back to the hotel. Ice my hand a bit." I know they mean well, but the last thing I want is to be around anyone, so I give a small nod and smile, then turn and head out.

Back at the hotel, I spot Petrov and his boyfriend leaving as I arrive. I should go and ice my hand, but this might be the only opportunity to check on Jackson, and I need to see him.

Need to make sure he"s okay. I just hope he's back in his old room, otherwise I have no idea where to look.

The elevator ride to Jackson"s floor feels like an eternity, my heart hammering against my ribs with every passing second. When I finally reach his door, I hesitate and stand in front of it for ten minutes, listening for any movement inside before I finally knock. A week ago, I'd be banging on it, cursing him out.

But now, I'm shuffling from foot-to-foot, talking myself up.

The door swings open and Jackson stands there, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and assessing. He"s wearing a pair of gray joggers that cling to his muscular thighs and a maroon T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. The sight of him makes my mouth go dry, my pulse picking up speed.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. "Can I come in?"

His eyes narrow, his head tilting to the side. "Why?"

"Wanted to see how you"re doing after that hit this morning." I shove my hands into my pockets, feeling awkward and exposed under his gaze.

"Why?" He leans against the doorframe, blocking me.

"Reed, stop being an asshole. I'm . . ."

This is a bad idea. But when I turn to walk away, he grabs my upper arm. The sleeve of his T-shirt shifts and I spot the bruises on his bicep, ones I left there from squeezing so hard the night before, and I damn near groan.

"Gonna come in your pants?"

My gaze shoots up and meets his, but he laughs and walks away, pushing the door open. An invitation. One I take.

"Guess you marked me with more than just your cum. Sneaky bastard."

I rub the back of my neck, unsure of how to respond, especially because my cock is starting to swell. Sex isn't why I came here, but goddamn if it's not on my mind now.

He half sits on the dresser, eyeing me. "You good?"

I blink a few times, forgetting how to speak.

Jackson just laughs. "Since when do you get all flustered?"

Clearing my throat, I stand taller. "Just came here to make sure you're okay. Don't want to accidentally kill you on the ice." He snorts, so I wave a dismissive hand in the air. "I said accidentally. Purposely killing you is still on the table."

Jackson pushes off the dresser with a slight wince. "Said I"m fine, Killian. You didn"t need to come check up on me."

"I know." I rake a hand through my hair, frustration welling up in my throat. "I just . . . I needed to see for myself."

Something flickers in his eyes, there and gone too fast to decipher, but then his gaze drops to my hand. He steps closer, his fingers brushing over the damaged skin and the touch sends a shiver down my spine. "You really did a number on the glass this morning."

"I couldn"t just stand there and watch him hurt you." The words slip out before I can stop them, too honest, too raw.

"You can"t say shit like that," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "Not when I"m trying to hate you."

I let out a shaky laugh, my hands coming up to grip his hips. "Think we"re a little past hate at this point."

He groans. "Didn't care to see your pretty face looking so distraught."

"So, you think I'm pretty? Is that what gets you all hard?"

Jesus, fuck. Where'd that come from?

As if someone else just invaded my body, I follow up with, "Or do you like the way my pierced cock feels. Bet you'd scream like a whore with it up your ass."

Jackson erases whatever distance is between us, grabbing my hair. "Listen, you jerk off. If anyone's screaming, it'll be you when I fuck you so hard you forget your damn name."

The scent of bergamot, rich oak, and sandalwood fills my nose and I inhale deeper. My cock is steeled, pulse thrumming in my ears. I lean in and bite his bottom lip, reaching down and palming his groin. "This all for me?"

"Think you can take all of it?" Between his tone and that sly smirk, he's mocking me.

"I'm bigger, and we both know it."

He yanks my head back by my hair, his teeth sinking into my neck. My hips buck against his thigh and I start grinding. He grunts low and pulls back, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. "Fuck, Blackwell, so goddamn needy."

And as if proving him right I grab his wrist, pulling it out of my hair, then slam my mouth down on his and moan against his lips.

He moves forward, backing me up to the bed, unbuttoning my jeans as we go. "This is such a bad idea."

"The worst," I agree just as Jackson grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and off. "We should stop."

"We should," he echoes, but his hands are everywhere, sliding over my chest, my arms, my back. His touch is electric, igniting sparks under my skin until I"m burning with it, aching for more.

He pushes me down onto the mattress, then I help him take my jeans off because fuck, while I'm not sure what I'm doing, right now, all I want to do is bury myself inside him and see the sounds my Jacob's ladder can rip from those pillowy lips.

Once my boxers are off and I'm on full display, his gaze rakes over me before he sheds his clothes. I catch the momentary fault when he removes his shirt, the way he winces.

He's injured.

It can't be that bad, though. Otherwise, he'd be kicking me out.

I sit up, scooting my knees under me, my cock pointing straight up. But instead of joining, he walks toward a bag in the corner and rifles through it, returning a moment later with a bottle of lube and condoms.

"Why do you have that?"

"Who said it's mine?" He tosses the items onto the bed, then lunges forward, attacking my mouth.

"Ugh, we're using Petrov's—"

His palm smacks my ass so hard I jerk forward, pressing myself into him. "Say another man's name again and see what happens."

I look right at him and in the sluttiest voice—or at least what I think a slutty voice would sound like—say, "Petrov."

Jackson's entire face turns furious, but when he moves, I twist to the side, then pull his knee out so he lands onto the mattress on his stomach. Quickly, I mount him, laying my full weight on him, my chest to his back.

I chuckle, nipping his ear. "Like I said, I'm going to be the one fucking you."

A growl tears from his throat. A literal growl. Like a goddamn wolf. I expect him to fight me, to try and flip me. Instead, he pushes his ass up into my cock and moans.

"Like that, baby."

Who the fuck am I right now? And why did I just call Jackson Reed baby?

He hides his face in a pillow and pushes against me again. This time I grind down, my cock sliding between his muscular cheeks. "Fuck, Reed. Are we really going to do this?"

Jackson turns his head, glaring at me over his shoulder. "You stop now and I will smash your skull into the wall until your brains spill all over the carpet."

I bite his shoulder, chuckling. "You say the most romantic things."

"Shut up, asshole."

My hips cant against Jackson, precum making his crack slippery. My breaths grow shallow, fingers digging into his hips. He writhes beneath me, most likely fucking into the bed. "Your cock aching, baby?"

His nails raking into the skin of my thighs as he scratches up, releasing the filthiest moan I've ever heard.

"Is that a yes?"

Instead of answering, the asshole turns and bites my forearm, hard, marking me yet again. I return the favor on his other shoulder.

Guess we've traded bruising one another with punches for doing it by biting.

When I sit up, the tiniest whimper escapes his lips and he buries his face into the pillow again. I swat his ass. "I heard that."

He holds up a hand and gives me the finger. Shaking my head, I reach over and grab the lube and condom. Clicking the top open, I slick my fingers up.

After our encounter the other day, I found myself on the internet hoping to find something about what I'm going through in regards to my sexuality, kinda even wished there was some sort of miracle answer out there.

Curiosity also got the better of me and I started reading about having sex with a man. It was a bit overwhelming, especially when it came to preparing for it. There were different opinions about so many things.

But I still found myself wanting to try . . . with Jackson.

Jackson looks over his shoulder at me, a deep flush covering his neck and cheeks, his pupils blown. His lips are pursed, a slightly angry look on his face. "Are you going to fuck me or just sit there like you're deciding what to order from the menu?"

I laugh so fucking hard I temporarily forget what we're about to do, then I look at him and quirk a brow. "Well, there are options."

"Blackwell!"

"Impatient much?" I spread him and my cock leaks an absurd amount of precum when my eyes fall on his clenching and unclenching hole.

My fingers slip between his cheeks, one pushing its way inside his body. When I meet resistance, I look up. Jackson's eyes are closed, mouth agape, fingers white knuckling the sheets.

"Want me to stop?"

"No."

After a few breaths, he relaxes and I push inside. He's smooth and warm. Different than a woman yet familiar. "Fuck, you're tight."

"Add another finger. Now. Work me open."

"I . . . how?"

He shakes his head, face buried in the pillow once again as he scoots his knees under him, opening up for me. "Don't know. Just do something. Now."

Pushing two fingers into him, I curl them and he pushes back, moaning loudly. My cock is painfully hard, aching to be inside him. When he starts fucking my fingers, I withdraw them, tear open the condom and roll it on, then slick it with lube.

His fingers tighten around the pillow as he arches, lifting his ass higher.

Seeing him like this snaps what little restraint I have. Grunting, I thrust inside Jackson hard enough to rip a strangled cry from him. It's barbaric, selfish even. His body is tense and shaking, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

"Fuck, sorry."

He doesn't say anything, just grips the pillow tighter. After a minute or two, he starts to squirm. I carefully pull out, then push back in, setting a steady pace.

My eyes close as I relish the feel of him, the way he squeezes my cock. Nothing's felt this good before, especially when he starts throwing his ass back into me.

"More . . . harder. Faster. Fuck me." Jackson continues to beg through gritted teeth, and while I try to comply, it"s not enough. He plants both hands on the mattress and uses it as leverage as he drives his ass back even more. "Killian! Fuck me, dammit! Fuck me so hard I can't talk!"

With a snarl, I reach around and grab his throat, pulling his back to my chest as I fuck into him. "Feel good, baby? This how you want it?"

"Harder!"

I bite, suck, and choke him as I give him what he wants until I'm railing into him like a feral beast strung out on crack. Reaching around, I grab his weeping cock and jerk him hard. "Fuck my fist. Get yourself off for me."

And he does, driving into my fist, then backward onto my cock. His hands clutch my forearm as I squeeze his throat, his moans and the sound of my hips slamming into his ass, filling the room.

"I'm . . . Kill . . . Oh, shit . . . Kill, Kill . . . coming!"

Jackson shouts and clenches around my cock, punching my own orgasm from my body. My hand leaves his throat and wraps around his chest, pulling him against mine as I hold on for my life while pure bliss floods my system. He locks up, a cry instantly dying on his lips.

I fuck into him, using him like a toy, grunting and shouting until I start emptying into the condom.

When my orgasm subsides, I soften my grip and pull free. "God, I've never fucked like that before."

He doesn't say anything and his body's still tense and shaking, sweat dripping down his spine.

"Hey, you okay?" This doesn't feel right. "Jackson?"

"I'm fine. Just . . . clean up and go. Alexei and Eli should be coming back."

When I grip his shoulder to turn him around, he pulls away. A lump starts to form in my throat, and when he continues to avoid looking at me I get up and go to the bathroom, taking care of the condom and cleaning up.

Jackson meets me at the door, shoving my clothes at me. His nostrils flare, eyes narrowed. But I catch the way his bottom lip trembles. "Jackson—"

"We fucked. Now leave."

"You're such an asshole." I snatch my clothes from him and get dressed. His chest heaves as if he's barely containing his anger so I don't even bother putting my shoes on. Pulling the door open, I sigh and turn back. "Are you okay? Did I—"

The bastard shoves me into the hall and I fall on my ass, the door closing. To make matters worse, Petrov and his boyfriend are a few feet away staring at me.

Fuck if I don't want go back inside and beat the ever-loving shit out of Jackson, but the way his lip trembled, I can't help but think I did something.

Hurt him somehow.

My throat tightens, and I lift myself up off the ground, then make my way to the elevator. Last thing I need is to lose my shit in front of Petrov, especially after he just watched me get tossed on my ass.

I smash the button for my floor, then punch the wall. Of all the people in the world, why did I have to want Jackson Reed?