CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

F inn

Obviously, the rest of the day is devoted to sex. Kissing Noah is my new favorite thing. I want to memorize each part of his body with my lips and tongue. He's been driving me crazy, and now I want to know him in the Biblical sense that would make my proper Episcopalian priest squirm.

We curl into the bed, sinking against the Egyptian cotton, as my eyes blink more and more until sleep is certainly going to overtake me, but that's totally because I came like a fiend and spent way too much of last night obsessing over Noah.

But I don't have to wonder any more what if or maybe one day. Noah is game. Noah wants to kiss me and have me lie beside his large muscular body as he strokes his hands over me while gazing at me in awe.

So when we wake from our nap, I get right to business. I didn't get to be a great hockey player by dawdling.

There are various sex acts I'm awesome at with women, and new male-only ones I want to master.

I slide Noah's boxer briefs off and tell him he doesn't need to keep on putting them on. And then I'm confronted with Noah's cock. It's hard, but I'm going to make it harder. It's awesome, and I'm going to worship it.

"Are you going to look?" Noah asks after a minute. "Because, um, you don't have to do anything."

"Oh yeah? "

He nods quickly. "Kisses are fine." His eyes round. "I mean, if you want, of course. You don't—"

I arch an eyebrow. "You have no idea how sexy you are."

His eyes widen further.

Noah has a point. I shouldn't just look at Noah's dick. Even though, as far as dicks go, it's totally brilliant.

"I've seen a lot of dicks in my life," I say conversationally.

Noah's eyes look like they're about to bounce from his head. I mean, just how firm are those eyeballs screwed in?

"Dude, locker rooms are filled with them."

"Right. I didn't know you were looking at them.

"Of course not! But they're a major part of a guy's body. Hard to avoid. Especially if you're sitting and people are undressed.

Noah's eyes soften, but I frown slightly. Was I doing locker rooms wrong? Should I have completely avoided a major part of a guy's anatomy? Would that be possible? That would be like trying to avoid a guy's knees.

I clear my throat. "My point is that this dick is very pretty."

"Dicks aren't pretty." His voice is uncertain, like he thinks dicks are pretty.

"Are you calling my cock unpretty, Fitzpatrick?"

"No. Yours is—" He swallows hard, and his cheeks turn that pink color I adore.

I decide to put him out of his misery.

I trail a finger from his balls to the tip of his cock. His cock twitches .

"It has no curves," I say fondly. "And it's not veiny."

Noah sneaks a look at mine. "Veiny is good."

I smile at the way his green eyes dilate and run my fingers through his hair. "And both balls are round and perfectly matched." Then I crawl between his legs, because that's the best way to get to his balls. I lick them, which is interesting, because I've never had something with that wrinkly, thin texture in my mouth, and Noah groans. I hold each one in my mouth, and Noah's groans louden. His legs wriggle. His shaft twitches.

I glance up at him. "Be quiet."

"Okay," he says softly.

I grin, then lick my way down his shaft. "Good?"

"The best," he manages to get out. His chest moves up and down in a way more rapid pace than an athlete normally does when lying on a fucking bed, and his breath stutters out of his perfect pink lips.

I bathe his whole cock in my mouth, moving in long wet moves. I want to get to know it. I want to know how it looks and how it feels in my mouth.

And finally, I want to worship it.

I take his head in my mouth and suck.

"Finn," Noah murmurs.

I slide his cock from my mouth. "You want me to stop?"

"No!" he moans. "Don't stop. Never stop."

My lips twitch but I slide his cock back into my mouth. I mean, I'm not cruel, obviously.

I suck hard, hollowing my cheeks, and channel my inner vacuum cleaner. From the wild flaying that Noah promptly does, I'm successful .

"I'm going to—" Noah pants. "Montreal, Winnipeg, Montreal, Winnipeg, Ottawa."

I withdraw from his cock. "What are you doing?"

"I'm reciting Stanley Cup championships in order."

"Why?"

"So I don't come!"

"You can come. That's the point."

"I might make your mouth wet!" Noah exclaims.

I snort. "Besides the order is actually Montreal, Montreal, Montreal, Winnipeg, Montreal..."

"I didn't want to repeat myself. You might think I was crazy."

"I already do, baby." And then I'm channeling my inner vacuum cleaner again, and Noah is groaning, and then my mouth does get very, very wet. I swallow all his cum. I mean, I've done kegs. This is way better.

I collapse next to him, and he starts to crawl toward my nether regions.

"You don't have to do that," I say.

"Want to," he grumbles, grabbing hold of my cock. "Wanted to for a long time."

His cheeks pinken, like he's disclosed too much, and something in me melts.

I tangle my fingers in his hair. "I didn't know."

"I mean because we're married. It's convenient."

Convenient.

The word thunders through me, and tangles into my soul. But this makes sense. We're together for this year. Why shouldn't we be fuck buddies? It's only practical. This is nothing more than two horny friends living in close quarters doing horny things together. It's pure bro logic, and there's no reason an ache should be spreading through my body as if I've taken a puck to my solar plexus.

I force my body to relax.

Then his mouth is on my cock, and my thoughts disappear with every lick and stroke and suck.

So I'm not an inexperienced guy. I've had blowjobs before. You could call me a connoisseur. I know the different techniques. Personally, I'm fond of the teasing method, which is why I selected that one to give to Noah.

Noah doesn't do that. He's in the swallow-as-much-as-possible camp, and I have to say, it's totally working for me.

He doesn't go all the way to the base, and to be fair, few people have managed that. They were experts, since I don't think they developed their expertise in much else—no doubt, a tragedy for science and technology, because by God, did they master blowjob techniques, but I'm digging Noah.

Because no one has seemed to enjoy the process quite as much as him. My heart swells, and my cock swells, and in the next moment I'm exploding right between those succulent lips. Noah's green eyes widen, and his dark eyebrows leap upward, but he swallows valiantly, holding my hands when I try to pull my dick out of his mouth.

Noah laughs. "That was it?"

I elbow him.

"Just saying, the Stanley Cup technique worked."

"I'm never going to look at one without blushing now," I mumble.

I pull Noah into my arms, and he burrows his head into my chest, and I stroke his head and gaze happily at the ceiling until we both nap again.

Then because we're super professional hockey pros, and fitness is life, we go for a run. We run around Boston's harbor, past crowds of happy tourists. Sunlight glints on the ocean.

"We should go to P-Town," I say. "Or Salem."

"Whatever you want," Noah says.

"I want to show you all of Massachusetts."

"My favorite part is the part you're in." His tone is earnest, and my heart patters.

Sometimes his words astound me. I want to kiss him right now, but instead I press on, conscious of the people around us. If he were a woman, I would have kissed him, and my happiness dims, before I remember we're almost at my apartment. I'm soon sprinting through the crowd and selfie-takers, joy jolting through me.

Noah's shoulder brushes against mine as I enter. "I like this marriage thing."

I smile, but my lips don't move all the way up, as I remember that this is all pretend, all for convenience. In one year, this will be over.

"It sure is convenient," I say.

Noah nods, but looks away, and we're quiet when we reach my apartment building.