Page 11 of Phantom Faceoff (Daddies of the League #5)

Chapter Eleven

Zander

I’m an asshole.

Here I am, in the bed of a man who gives incredible blowjobs, and mid said incredible blowjob, my mind wanders straight to the one place it shouldn’t.

Thinking about Malachi scolding me is one hell of an odd orgasm chaser, but what’s even worse?

Nearly choking out his name and looking up to find the object of my twisted affections is watching me get blown.

To make matters ten times worse, I come with those wide eyes on me, watching the uncomfortable way he shifts as if there’s any hiding the hard on in his pants.

But the douchiest thing of all is that when Julian smiles up at me with cum dribbling down his chin, he has no idea that he was the farthest thing from my mind.

When he sits up, I can see his hand cupping his own softening erection—and the puddle of cum in his palm.

Yup. I’m an asshole.

Malachi is gone. Quietly escaped just as stealthily as he’d arrived. Even as Julian leans forward to smack a wet kiss on my mouth, I can’t keep my eyes from wandering to the doorway, almost willing him to reappear.

We make out until Julian pulls away with a yawn. “Mal isn’t back yet,” he says with a frown.

I rub a hand down the length of his spine. “He probably doesn’t want to walk in on us naked.” I throw on a charming smile, and Julian giggles.

“Respecting my privacy like a gentleman. You on the other hand …”

“What about me?”

“Mal doesn’t see me in any type of sexual way. But you? You might tempt him to break his bout of celibacy.”

“Right. Because a few months without some action would make your friend desperate enough to want to bone me of all people?”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Try a few years , smartass.”

Well, that does it. My brain is officially broken. Stuck in a loop of: Malachi Blanchard hasn’t gotten laid in years, and we practically just eye-fucked each other to mutual orgasms.

Except I’m the only one who came, and suddenly I feel a burst of responsibility to make sure Blanchard does the same.

“Maybe I should give him the all clear.”

“Maybe you should.” Julian sits up and tugs the blanket around himself. “I’m tired.”

The yawn is overstated this time.

“Is that your unsubtle way of kicking me out?”

“It’s my unsubtle way of saying fuck off and let me sleep.”

It hardly takes me a minute to get dressed, and I already have my phone in hand before I make it to the door.

Me

You can stop hiding. I’m leaving.

But as I leave the room, there’s no sign of him in the halls. Not down the flights of stairs. Not in the dorm common area. I suppose he could be in one of the bathrooms “taking care of” himself.

Me

Sorry for the boner.

I’m not actually sorry. Being able to witness how turned on Malachi was watching us? That’s the most erotic shit I’ve ever seen.

He still doesn’t answer, and I gnaw on my lip until I taste blood on my tongue.

Okay. If I had witnessed what he just witnessed, I probably wouldn’t respond to my texts either.

But I can’t go home without touching base. Not because I’m asking for trouble, but because … oh, fuck it. Add it to the list of my own personal reckless endangerment.

Malachi puts up with me because Julian likes me. He got turned on because he’s a gay, male human, and it’s a natural reaction.

Me seeking him out serves no one but myself.

I do it anyway.

Because I’m selfish. Reckless.

And screw me if I maybe sorta like the guy and don’t want him to go back to completely hating my guts.

I also like passing my class and arguing over dumb pop culture shit.

I wade around campus—the library, the shops—until the sky darkens to a midnight shade. I suppose he could have returned to his dorm by now, but a little voice in the back of my head tells me to keep looking.

When I find him, the flurry of jumbled and horny thoughts comes to a screeching halt. For the first time in hell knows how long, my head is a silent wasteland.

Malachi is situated under the giant willow tree in the quad. His eyes are closed as he rests his head back on the trunk of the tree. His hair—which barely hangs below his ears—is a deep red with intentional streaks of silver that catch on the moonlight.

I don’t want to startle him, but I also don’t want to stand around staring like a creep.

The grass rustling as I settle on the ground in front of him is what garners his attention. Gray eyes peer at me through the darkness, and I’ve never felt more exposed. Not even when I was literally exposed.

I don’t know what I want to say, but the “I’m sorry,” that slips out isn’t it.

Malachi’s lips quirk up into a ghost of a smile, and I find myself reciprocating.

“Not like I saw anything indecent,” he says, somehow both soft and sarcastic.

I scratch at a scab on the back of my neck. Something about the gentleness in his expression has honesty itching to get out of my throat.

“I wanted you to.”

There’s no surprise, just a slight, quiet resignation in the way he tips his head back to stare through the thick of leaves and branches above.

He doesn’t speak, and it feels like a heavy hand plucking at a string in my chest.

“I make you uncomfortable.”

He doesn’t deny it, just drums his fingers on his thigh to a familiar marching tune.

“Malachi,” I whisper his name in a desperate attempt to fight off the rush of emotion making my vision blur. “I need you to say something.”

His fingers still. His eyes find mine. An ethereal softness sweeps over him. He rises to his knees, and there’s this gravitational pull that draws me closer. An inch at a time until our knees touch and his hand transfers from his thigh to mine.

“You are infuriatingly persistent,” he says with muted humor. “But I don’t dislike it.”

His eyes capture mine. “I don’t dislike you, Wildfire.”

Wildfire. Unconfined. Spreading uncontrollably and infecting others.

It’s fitting.

“I would sure hope not,” I say with a dry laugh. “I really want to kiss you.”

There it is, laid right there on the table. For him to face or reject. I’ll accept either. But I don’t want this hanging over our heads. I don’t want to feel guilty for wanting him. I don’t want it to be some big secret.

I’m horrible at keeping them anyway.

Malachi’s breath visibly hitches. His hand forms a fist on my thigh. “Zander.”

His voice holds a note of warning, of restraint on the verge of collapse.

I should pull back and let him rein himself in. Let him get his thoughts and feelings under control.

But I like the unrestrained. I like the chaos it brings.

“You want to kiss me, too.”

It’s a bold assumption. But the way he watched in that doorway—I know he wants my body, even if he won’t allow himself to indulge in the idea. Maybe I can convince him a little is okay.

It’s just a kiss.

Malachi shifts. His hand opens to get a solid grip on my hip, and I watch as he adjusts himself against the tree. He leans back, pulling me with him. His eyes are alight with the conflict he doesn’t need to say out loud.

I know I’m a bad idea.

He warned Julian away from me.

Who’s to say I won’t hurt Malachi, too?

He tugs me closer, and I cage my legs on either side of his hips. My knees press into the grass; the insides of my thighs brush the outside of his.

The hand on my hip slides up under my shirt. Goosebumps erupt across my skin where his fingers touch in a feather-light trail.

His other hand comes up and anchors itself in my hair, fingers curled against my scalp.

Please, I want to plead. I want to close the gap and let the consequences be damned because Malachi is right here. He’s here, and there’s just as much want radiating from him as I feel resonating in my own body.

I’ve never wanted someone so badly.

His grip is tight as he guides me down until our mouths hover inches apart. Warm breath glides across my cheeks, and I respond where hesitation haunts him.

I close the gap, the rough feel of his chapped lips on my own. At first, that’s all it is. Me pressing into him, and his body still as stone.

In a heartbeat, his rigidness melts away. There’s an urgency to how his lips mold over mine.

My eyes close as my focus narrows down to everything Malachi.

His mouth. His tongue. His hands.

Our thighs pressed together.

How have we never touched like this before? How have we never felt the electricity crackling between our veins and merging us together like it does now?

He explores me like a canyoneer: tongue sweeping into my mouth, hands digging into tense muscles along my back.

I don’t know what to do with mine. I don’t know where I’m allowed to touch or what will spook him.

Eventually, my hands take hold in his hair, not pulling but holding myself steady.

I feel Malachi growing hard beneath me. The longer we kiss, the more apparent it becomes. All those earlier thoughts come flooding back, and my own cock fills as the passion heightens.

“I want to see you come,” I break away from his mouth to say, but not for long because he claims me again, swallowing my pathetic attempts at protest. “Malachi.”

A growl sounds deep in his throat, and I can practically feel myself leaking through my sweats. He grips my hips in both his hands and grinds me down on his lap, eliciting a sharp moan from my mouth as our covered cocks rub together.

There’s no reprieve from the kiss. Malachi makes it clear that for right now, I’m his to use. And use he does.

He rocks his hips up at the same time he pushes down on mine, and if I try to alter the rhythm in any way, he stills us both until I’m practically begging him to move again, and then he picks up. Slowly at first. Then, more forceful.

Nothing in the world exists except for our bodies and the burning pressure building in my groin. Malachi must feel it, too, because his breaths start coming out in shaky pants, and his hands dip to my ass to further trap me against him.

One more rough roll of his hips and Malachi stills. He tries to clamp his mouth shut, but I thrust my tongue inside and taste the cry he wants to hide.

I kiss him languidly as his body trembles, until he comes back to himself enough to move his mouth on mine. I don’t push any further, even as my cock pulses and weeps for attention.

When he breaks away, his hands fall from my ass to the backs of my thighs. He holds me there, not pulling me closer, but not pushing me away.

“We can’t do this again,” he says.

Why not? I want to ask, but I’m too busy staring at the dusting of maroon expanding across his cheeks to say anything at all. I could kiss Malachi for an eternity and never get tired of it.

“The kissing or the getting off?”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “Either. Both.”

“Because of Julian?”

He knows we aren’t serious, but I understand not wanting to sleep with the same guy your best friend is hooking up with.

He shakes his head. I want to ask him then why the hell not, but the words get tangled up in my throat.

If it isn’t Julian, then the answer is obvious.

He doesn’t want me . This was a one-off to relieve a couple years worth of sexual tension. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

I’m used to people using me for my body. I hook up way more often than I enter relationships.

Still, I want to kiss him again.

The way his eyes gaze into mine, searching for god knows what, feels anything but casual and fun , but I’m not going to push for what he’s not willing to give.

I swallow the hurt and force out a smile. “Sure thing.”

He cups the back of my head, and before I can protest, his lips are on me again. My mouth. My jaw. My neck.

Confusion swims in my brain, but I don’t move. I don’t pull away, and I don’t lean in.

“Malachi.”

He stops, and after a couple of deep breaths, peels himself away from me. He eases me off of his lap and stands, pressing himself as close to the tree as he can.

I’m at eye level with the wet patch in his jeans, and if these were any other circumstances, I’d lower his fly and lick him clean.

I’m still hard, and I know the moment I’m alone, I’m going to come thinking about the blush on Malachi’s cheeks. Another odd thing to fantasize over.

He helps me to my feet, and his hand lingers in mine for a beat, but when he drops it, that’s it. Our connection breaks, and he walks away without another word.

My world is shattered. Busted open. All over a kiss.