Page 30 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

WYATT

I wake up sticky, aching, and covered in two things: sweat and Niles.

Not the worst way to wake up. Until the over-bright sunlight, humidity, and ache in my back register.

We’re still in the treehouse.

Shit.

We fell asleep in the goddamn treehouse.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Also— ouch . I’ve spent years training, building muscle, keeping myself fit, but one night sleeping on a warped wood platform has done me in. I know the second I try to move, it’s going to be worse.

I glance down. Niles is sprawled across my chest, his face smushed against my skin, hair damp from sweat, his breath warm where it ghosts over my ribs. My heart clenches when his first instinct as he opens his eyes and sees he’s with me is to smile. Soft and easy. Peaceful.

Then he blinks, and I see it register for him.

“What time is it?” His voice is rough with sleep.

I check my watch. “Nearly seven.”

His eyes widen. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

We both know we should move. Get dressed. Get back to our own houses before anyone notices. But I don’t move, and neither does he.

Instead, I bend down and kiss him.

Niles laughs softly, mutters something about morning breath, but it doesn’t matter. I kiss him harder, until he stops protesting. Until he’s moaning against my mouth, and my body is feeling a different kind of heat.

“Even your morning breath tastes sweet.”

He laughs at that. “God, you’re so gone,” he teases.

“Apparently.” I can’t even pretend I’m not.

What starts as kissing turns into more, as usual.

I roll on top of him, grinding lazily, still half-asleep and not giving one single fuck that we’re disgusting, sweaty, and still covered in last night’s cum.

If anything, it just adds fuel to the fire.

My body slides against his, the delicious wet friction rubbing us together in all the right places.

I’m breathless from his kisses, his moans, the way his fingers are digging into the meat of my bare ass, pulling me into him.

I’m cupping the back of his head with one hand, keeping his forehead pressed to mine, my other hand caressing and kneading its way over his body.

It slides down the outside of his thigh, hiking it higher on my waist. His hips rock, rubbing himself along the length of my hard cock, guided by the hot wet slide of sweat and precum.

Then one or both of us shift too much, and I’m pressing into him in a way I absolutely didn’t plan.

Both of us gasp, and I jerk back, heart slamming.

“Shit. Sorry. That wasn’t intentional. Fuck.”

Niles smiles and kisses me softly instead of pulling away, guiding me to roll so he can climb over me. He settles himself on top of me, and I shiver at the sensation of his hot, slick pussy sliding over my length.

“It’s okay. I’d like to… Maybe soon. If you want.”

“I want,” I groan. “If you want.”

He pauses. “I like it, sometimes. With someone I trust.”

That nearly destroys me.

We kiss again, gentler. I’m trying to focus on his mouth and not coming all over him when he leans in, drops his voice, and whispers directly in my ear.

“I kind of hoped I could fuck you first.”

I don’t even know what sound I make. Something between a strangled cough, a groan, and a cry. My body reacts before my brain can process, and I shoot all over my stomach.

Niles laughs, wicked and smug. He rolls his hips, sliding through my mess.

“You dirty, dirty old man,” he says breathily.

He’s not wrong.

It takes a while before we manage to get dressed and sneak back into our own houses. Honestly, I don’t know how I found the strength to get up off that platform, much less walk away from him this morning.

The next week is a blur of workouts and practices. Pretending to be a responsible adult by day, while sneaking off to make out with my son’s best friend at every opportunity. Then sneaking off to do worse every night.

I don’t understand it. I’ve never been a sexual person. I used to think I wasn’t wired that way.

Then Niles happened.

Now I’m insatiable.

Case in point: yesterday, I found his speedo. That same dark blue, tight as hell, skimpy excuse for a swimsuit he abandoned in the hot tub the night I realized I was well and truly fucked. It was hiding in a half-forgotten doom pile of clean laundry I never sorted after Nationals.

There it was, balled up next to a bunch of socks and t-shirts that needed to be folded and put away. I saw it. Picked it up. Held it. Stared at it for several long minutes.

Then before I knew it, I was walking through his yard and banging on his door. I didn’t know if Brianne was home or not. I didn’t really care at the time, but thank God she wasn’t.

I barely remembered to lock the door before I had Niles pinned to the couch, kissing him until he was gasping, grinding against him until he was as desperate as I was.

Then I stripped him down, right there in the middle of their living room, stuffed his evil blue speedo in his mouth to muffle his screams in case the neighbors came to check on him, and sucked him until he squirted all over my face.

Afterward, when I was still catching my breath, he blinked up at me like I might be possessed and pulled the fabric out of his mouth.

“What was that about?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Needed you,” was all I could answer, but my eyes were still glued to that damned swimsuit.

Niles looked down at what he was holding and his mouth dropped into an O of realization. His eyebrow lifted, but then his gaze dropped to my lap, where a wet spot was bleeding through my grey athletic shorts.

“You keep surprising me,” he said. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get hotter.”

I opened my mouth to say something, maybe tell him it’s his fault. That he put some kind of spell on me that night and now I’m ruined. Obsessed. Out of my goddamn mind. But I couldn’t form the words.

He stood up and reached a hand out to me. “Come on.”

Taking his hand, I followed him to his room and the ensuite, where he proceeded to shove me into the tiny phone booth shower and strip off my clothes. After he cleaned my dick with his mouth, he turned on the shower and we made out and rutted until the water ran cold.

Even once it had, I still felt heated with his body pressed to mine and his hands roaming everywhere.

“You’re really gonna let me fuck you?”

I blinked at him. It’s not a question I was expecting.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I want to make sure you’re not just doing it to make me happy. Like before. When you used to do things because you felt like you had to.”

I looked down. Then pointed at my crotch.

“Pretty sure I’m sure.”

His grin could’ve powered the whole house.

When he dropped to his knees, I thought I might collapse. But then his mouth was on me again, and I forgot to breathe. A minute later, there was a finger in my ass and fireworks going off behind my eyes.

“Okay, then,” he said when he was finished playing with me. “Let’s go get lunch.”

What in the ever-loving sandwich-induced hallucination put me smack dab in the middle of an adult toy megastore?

Not just any store. The mega-mart of sex toys.

I’m standing in the middle of a labyrinth of silicone, lost, overwhelmed, and surrounded by mannequins that are both judging me and armed for war. Tactical harnesses. Leather straps. Dildos like blunt weapons strapped to their thighs, aimed directly at me.

Where the fuck is Niles?

Why does he keep wandering off and leaving me alone in this place?

I should have known that stopping at a sandwich shop for lunch was a bad sign. Sandwiches are clearly an omen of disaster.

Sandwiches with Niles = bad things (and cum).

Today’s sandwich came with extra jalapenos. Meaning whatever’s coming is going to burn.

Why did I agree to this? Did I agree to this? How did we get here? Didn’t I drive?

Before I can fully process how I got to this point, Niles pops up from behind a display like a goddamn jack-in-the-box.

His arms are full. One hand is clutching some kind of contraption with too many straps and rings to be anything but mountain climbing gear. Or more realistically, my impending doom.

The other hand holds a basket full of dildos in various sizes, shapes, and detail.

Oh, boy.

Without skipping a beat, Niles takes me by the hand and drags me over to a counter, where he lays out the many, many choices across the surface. Just lays them out like we’re browsing produce.

Silicone in every color. Smooth and realistic. Ribbed. Curved. Some small and unintimidating. Others that make me question my life choices.

“I figured you might not want to jump straight into big boy territory,” he says, eyes flicking down to my rapidly failing self-control. “Thought we’d start small and work our way up.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Unless you have a history of power-bottoming that you failed to disclose.” He narrows his eyes at me momentarily. “Then yes. Because I want to stretch you so fucking wide…”

My face flushes hot, and I have a choking fit.

Just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, a woman who looks and sounds exactly like Mac’s mom from Always Sunny approaches and asks if we could use any assistance.

Niles lights up like it’s Christmas.

And then the man that I’ve fallen in love with, against my better judgement, starts chatting casually about the realism versus functionality of the various options laid out before them.

Like they’re discussing throw pillows. Like they aren’t having a casual conversation about the whimsy of what’s ultimately going to be shoved inside my asshole.

Niles glances back at me, bright-eyed and earnest, and I feel my soul leave my body.

I think I’m actually, fully, irrevocably in love.

Because I don’t have it in me to tell him I’d rather French kiss the lit end of a pack of smokes than let this stranger help me pick out what cock he’s going to fuck me with later.

Is that a douche kit in his basket?

We finally make it home, arms loaded with bags, only to walk in to what might be the last circle of hell.

I’m standing in the entryway of my home, holding four massive bags that are all labeled, in bright, unmistakable lettering: Straps & Shenanigans Superstore . I wish I was kidding.

And Weston, my son who is supposed to be forty-five minutes away at his girlfriend’s apartment, is on the couch. Said girlfriend is there too. They’re curled up together, watching some rom-com on the living room TV.

Just kill me now.

“Hey, Dad,” Weston says, nose stuffed, voice congested. His eyes are red-rimmed. “We’re home early.”

“I noticed.”

Aimee offers a small wave. “Sorry, hope it’s okay we’re here. My roommate found a pregnant cat, so we couldn’t stay there, obviously.”

It takes me several moments to process what she just said until I remember my son is allergic to cats. I’m still too busy freaking out that someone’s going to ask what I’m holding or notice the bags that I try to surreptitiously set in the corner of the foyer.

In my periphery, I see movement and realize Niles is still here, but he thankfully had the forethought to hide. To my eternal gratitude, he quietly grabs the bags and sneaks down the hall like a cartoon burglar.

Clearing my throat, I step into the living room as calmly as I can.

“Mr. Lincoln, do you know where the Benadryl is? I couldn’t find it in the medicine cabinet.”

“Just Wyatt is fine, Aimee,” I tell her for the hundredth time. “And yeah, I’ve got it.

I fetch the medicine and a glass of water like it’s my only mission on earth. I hand the tablets to Weston and wait until he swallows them.

Glancing towards the hall, worried that Niles will be caught lurking, I raise my voice a little. “Be ready for a long night,” I tell Aimee, but my words are actually for Niles. “Benadryl tends to have the opposite effect on Weston.”

Aimee blinks. “What do you mean?”

I give her a sympathetic look. “Fifteen minutes from now, he’ll feel great. Energized. Maybe inspired. He’s gonna start bouncing off the walls and suddenly want to alphabetize something.” I pause. “No one’s sleeping tonight.”

That last line? Not for Aimee.

I hear Niles swear softly from the hall, and even though I’m disappointed, too, I can’t help but chuckle. It feels a little like payback for the mega-mart.