Chapter 8

Two things jolt me awake.

The hand on my dick and the scent of beer on Sammy’s breath.

“Fuck.” I jerk my hips upward, chasing his hand.

“Did I wake you?” the asshole says with a chuckle. His voice is an octave deeper than usual, and like always when he wakes me like this—or when we stumble into a room with a locked door together—his words start to unravel me.

There’s no playing it cool when I push into his firm grip, a shaky exhale escaping me. “Uhm… nope?”

Sammy can wake me this way anytime he wants.

It’s a problem, and I’m a glutton for punishment. But as heat whips around my body as he licks a wet trail up my neck, not stopping his attention to my cock, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

I angle my head and am rewarded with his soft lips meeting mine. It’s like I can finally breathe, something I’ve struggled to do all night. With his lips sloping against mine, I sigh into the connection, chasing his tongue.

I don’t even care that Sammy can no longer do two things at once—too lost in the kiss. His lips on mine are worth the neglect of my dick.

It’s been seven long, frustrating, painful days of not being together like this. Seven days of not partying. After losing the game against Doncaster, Coach has been riding our asses. That’s meant no wild nights out—or in. No drinking.

His body presses against me. Naked flesh, hard muscles, and the perfect weight that just does it for me.

Wrapping my arms around him, I groan.

Fuck, I love it when he’s like this. Horny and hard, rocking against me. With his velvety steel cock brushing against mine just so, I’m already leaking and close to blowing my load.

But it’s his “I missed you” that he presses against my mouth that has my heart aching.

But I’ll play his game. I always will.

“Just climb up here and feed me.”

Because fuck yes, I want his cock in my mouth. Want to swallow him down. Hear his cries. His desperate pleas.

And thank fuck for soundproof rooms. I have no idea why the previous tenant locked this room down tight, but it’s times like these, I’m hella glad they did.

I need him to unravel, and even though we’ll pretend this never happened tomorrow, I need him to share this with me.

Sammy smiles against my lips but doesn’t move straightaway. Instead, he laps at my mouth, gently fucking me with his tongue. It’s slow and languid, almost decadent.

And I’m here for it, holding him close and letting him set the pace.

Our bodies gyrate as our lips mold together, a slow dance that makes it hard not to overthink. But Sammy like this, not racing to the finish line, not attacking my mouth with a speed and ferocity that usually has me blowing in ten minutes, means he’s dealing with some sort of feels. And while I wish those special feels were about me, I know he took a call from his dad today.

It explains why he talked the guys into attending a party, even though we have training tomorrow.

His soft groan against my lips sends fresh sparks of lust through me, pulling my focus to the familiar hard body grinding against me.

“You going to let me fuck your throat?” he pants against my lips.

With a nod, I move my hands to his tight ass, squeezing, eager for him to do just that.

Whether Sammy knows it or not, I’ll give him everything he wants and needs. Always. Without conditions. Without negotiations or the need for him to beg.

He leans up, and I can finally take him in, my eyes fully adjusting to the small night-light I may or may not always have on for situations like this: when Sammy stumbles into my room at whatever o’clock it may be.

“But don’t blow.” His eyes are wide and full of heat as he speaks. “I want you to wait until you’ve swallowed my load so you can come on my tongue.”

“Fuck.” A bolt of desire zaps me in the balls. It’s as painful as it sounds, but fuck if it doesn’t get me going.

I dig my fingers into his hips and practically drag him up my body. His balls scrape up my chest, and with the way a soft groan spills past Sammy’s lips, he’s eager for every touch.

Once he’s straddling my shoulders, I adjust my pillow and angle my head back. I want him to fuck my throat raw. The rasp when I wake will be the reminder that tonight really happened. And as much as Sammy may act like nothing’s changed, I know damn well, every time he hears my gravelly voice, his dick will chub.

I wet my lips. “Feed it to me.” My gaze is connected to his rather than on his cock that’s a lick away from my mouth.

With blown pupils and a stuttering breath, Sammy palms his dick before lifting a little and painting my lips with his precum.

Fuck, I love this part.

Sticky and tangy, his precum hardens my dick even more. The taste has become one of my favorites over the past seven months—because yeah, that’s how long this has been going on.

Seven months of what started as the both of us being shitfaced and sort of falling into each other. First, our mouths collided, and then our hands and tongues roamed. Now sucking and then finger- and tonguefucking are what keep me awake at night, desperately hoping Sammy will seek me out.

It’s been a long time since I’ve needed booze. Honestly, after the first time, I stopped getting drunk, not wanting to miss out on a single memory of us being together.

“You’re so fucking hot, your lips glistening like this, sweetheart.” Sammy bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flaring as he finally feeds me his dick.

I open my mouth wide, letting him dip inside. The underside of his cock strokes my tongue. He’s heavy, weighted just right.

I wait until he’s dipped in and out two, three times, his lips parting with soft groans and his eyes never straying from my face. Like this, he’s open, letting me see how eager he is for me. Desperate even.

I slowly reach for the lube stuffed under my pillow—for reasons—and withdraw it. The move is deliberate, giving Sammy enough time to say no if he wants. When his eyelids lower even farther and he rises a little more, his ass an offering, I make quick work of opening the cap and slicking my fingers.

The whole time, Sammy gently slides in and out of my mouth. He doesn’t press too far in, not while I’m doing this. He knows the drill. Just like the fact that I’m a fucking whiz at doing all this without a single glance.

Burying my fingers in his ass is another of my favorite things. My tongue a little ahead of that.

I dream of it being my cock buried deep inside him, but we’ve yet to cross that boundary, and as I angle my fingers around and dip into the crease of his ass, I don’t want to think about the possibility of Sammy never being ready.

This is enough. It has to be.

My fingertip breaches his hole. Sammy’s chin drops to his chest, his dick jerking in my mouth. His soft sigh is all contentment, and his leaning back, pulling out of my mouth until just the tip remains as he sinks onto my digit, is all acceptance.

My dick throbs, enjoying every single thing about Sammy letting go.

Not a chance I’ll come, though. The visual of my jizz on his tongue while I have the taste of him in my mouth is too perfect to miss out on. Plus, from experience, it’s hot as fuck.

I slide in a second finger, filling him. He’s snug and tight and oh so hot. It’s also what he needs to start fucking my mouth in earnest while I bury my fingers in his channel, matching his speed.

Each gasp that passes his lips is one I capture. Savor. That I’ll absolutely keep for spank-bank material. I relax my throat and push deep, urging him to take what he wants.

His moan is feral. A garble of pleas, a litany of “Fuck… so good… your mouth… fuck… more” falls from his lips. And as his cock finally catches the back of my throat, a tingle at the base of my spine lets me know this is close to being over.

It’s all so easy, so perfect. So fucking right.

I swallow around his dick, wanting him to lose his mind and release. I fucking crave it. Am desperate for the way I can make him unravel.

I pull back, needing air, my vision blurring. But I’m far from done.

Tugging my fingers out of him, I get far too much joy at his whimper. It’s one of loss.

He fucking loves this.

I reward him with a third finger, pushing all three inside him as far as they can go at this angle. This time, I search out his prostate, that perfect spot that I’ve been avoiding, knowing he likes me working up to it and leaving it till the very last second.

And since my balls are tight and sparks are dancing in my eyes—from the lack of oxygen as well as being turned on—I need him to come.

I suck and bob and fingerfuck him. A slight crook of my fingers, and he jolts.

A long, sinful moan pours out of him. An erratic push of his hips follows before he turns rigid.

Sammy throws his head back and releases into my mouth. As he spills into my throat, I manage to swallow before easing him away, my fingers still inside him.

I suck him gently, teasing out the last of his spurts. I lick and caress, savoring his taste and the moment, committing the way his channel pulses around my fingers to memory.

“Fuck, Bentley.”

My name is a croaked gasp. Another favorite. I have so many—everything in my life is becoming more and more Sammy-centric.

I don’t want it any other way.

“Let me taste you.”

I groan and ease out of him as he removes his softening cock from my aching mouth.

He shifts down, hand immediately going to my rock-hard dick. My moan is instant. And when I lose his hand for a second, I hold my breath, knowing what he’s doing and wishing I could see.

His slick palm connects with my dick.

Why the fuck is that so hot?

With the lube from his ass all over my cock, I greet his mouth with a desperate kiss.

He chases his cum, just like I knew he would.

This kiss is hot and dirty, all tongue and teeth, Sammy’s hand unrelenting as he jerks me off.

I’m close. So fucking close.

Thrusting my hips in time with his movements, I cup the back of his head, not wanting this kiss, this hand job, or this night to end. But with my head buzzing and desire skating across my skin at the speed of a basketball soaring across a court, this is going to be over far too soon.

Just one more minute.

Our tongues tangle, our lips pressing and nipping, mouths working seamlessly as though we’ve spent forever doing this.

Fuck, Sammy is everything.

He’s sin and sex and light and joy.

“Oh fuck.” I gasp the words against his mouth.

His grin is immediate, and even though I lose his lips, it’s worth it when, in barely a second, he clamps his mouth around my cock, sucks once, and I spiral, shooting my load while I skyrocket into the stratosphere.

I come long and hard, and Sammy, I’ll give it to him—not only my cum but my respect—he doesn’t shy away. He’s anything but selfish when it comes to getting off.

Every single time, we’re left sated and wrung out.

A final shudder ripples through me. After seven months of doing this, Sammy can read every nuance of my body, so he pulls away, but not before dotting a kiss on the inside of my thigh.

I close my eyes at the contact. At the tenderness.

Try as I might not to wish it was like this all the time, emotion rushes to the surface.

But I can’t let it spill over.

“That was fucking epic.”

He’s sober. All pretend slurs have gone. The only thing in his gaze is sated lust.

We both know it, but tomorrow, we’ll pretend otherwise.

“The best way to be woken up.” I mean every word, but my tone is teasing.

Sammy is my best friend, but he’s not ready to hear the truth. I don’t know if he ever will be. If he’ll ever be able to reconcile his fear to accept us.

I want to be okay with that. Need to be.

I don’t want to lose this, but even more, I don’t want to lose my best friend.

I can’t.

He’s too important, but fuck if this isn’t getting harder to take.

And right on cue: “Fuck, I’m drunk. I need to get my ass in bed before I pass out.”

Since he’s not looking at me, I pull my lips in between my teeth, swallowing my disappointment. He doesn’t need to see it. I know what this is. What this means. Expecting more and bringing feelings into the equation was never part of the deal.

Have we talked about any of this and made an actual deal? That’s a big fat no.

But Sammy’s my guy. My best friend since the first day of basketball training at Brixham U.

For over three years, we’ve had countless discussions without saying a single word. It’s a gift and a curse.

As Sammy eases off the bed, I school my features and give a fake-as-fuck yawn.

Keep playing the game.

It’s the only way to stop my chest from gaping wide open.

“Those last shots will do it.” I smirk.

I did absolutely zero shots tonight. We both know it.

“The golden cream apples….” He bounces his eyebrows. “My best recipe yet.” He tugs on a pair of his shorts that live by the door. And yes, by the end of tomorrow, they’ll be sitting in the exact same place, just waiting for the next time he wants to make a quick exit without dressing in his jeans.

“You keep telling yourself that.” I roll my eyes. Sammy really does have the worst shot-creation ideas. “Now get your ass to bed before you end up sleeping in my doorway.” I give him the free pass—I always do—just like when we’re on the court.

And like the good small forward he is, he takes it effortlessly, burps for good measure, then turns and waves at me from over his head.

The silent room is stifling. The scents of sex and longing seep into my pores.

Am I an idiot for inhaling it and wishing I could bottle it up to wear on the days Sammy is “just” my best friend?

Clenching my jaw, I punch my pillow, trying to get it comfortable while taking my frustration out on the feathers.

Yeah, I’m an idiot.

But I’ve made my peace with that, so in a few hours, I’ll wake up, smile, joke, go to classes, and act like my heart doesn’t beat for Sammy.

I’ve only myself to blame, and months ago, I decided to stay the course.

No way I’m backing away from him now.