Page 89 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

He blushes. “Maybe not.”

“Of course not.” I lay him over the massage table. His underwear is still on, and I start to slide it off.

His eyes widen. “Are you sure? Because I’m not... I have...”

I grin. “I might have barely made it through Mr. B’s biology class, but I have noticed you are male.”

“Right.” He nods. “I knew you knew that. I mean... I’m the first.”

I kiss his temple. “I like everything about you. There’s nothing about you that can scare me.” I kiss the corner of his lip. “I have the same equipment. We’re not exactly talking about something horrifying.”

“I should stop talking.”

“You should never stop talking.”

I pull his boxer briefs down. His cock pops up. It’s hard and throbbing, and nothing like the soft, lifeless cocks I sometimes see in the locker room. It pulses with light, glistening with pre-cum.

I rub my finger against it, feeling the rubbery skin. “Hello.”

“I know I was worried you might be afraid of it, but you don’t have to start a conversation with it.”

I lean toward it. “Did you hear how Sebastian talks about you?” My mouth is only inches from it, and it lurches toward me. “I definitely think it’s trying to talk to me.”

Sebastian has a strained expression on his face, like he’s trying to name all the parts of a video camera. “You might be right.”

I reach for it, because I might have seen cocks before, the same way I’ve seen other guys’ shoulders and calves, and some of them may have been fuller than normal from time to time, I’ve never actually seen one hard like this. I brush my finger against the length, following the veins and the exact shape.

“Luke...” He groans.

Everything is opposite how it normally should be, but it’s all perfect all the same. I kiss his torso, swirling my tongue over his smooth, narrow frame, holding his hands with my own. The more contact with Sebastian, the better. I explore his belly button, then continue kissing down him.

“Luke...” He squirms. “You don’t need to...”

I capture his cock with my hand. “Were you saying something?”

I move my fingers around it. He shakes his head madly. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not saying anything.”

I smirk, then swirl my tongue along the tip, tasting Sebastian’s essence. It’s salty and not, actually, bad.

I run my fingers along the straightness of his hips.

“This is an exceedingly happy massage,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, my mouth movements still focused on Sebastian’s cock. I want to make him happy. I want to carve the worry from his body and carry it myself, so he can be light and unburdened beside me.

I haven’t figured out how to do that, the largeness ofSeeking Mr. Rightand the Boston Blizzards hampering any simple solution, but maybe I can start with taking the cum from his balls. I grin as I continue to swirl my tongue over his head, then I slide my mouth over his shaft.

He presses his lips together, and his grip on my hands tighten.

I keep on sliding my mouth down, swallowing everything that is him. I suck, because I might not be a sex fiend like Troy or Dmitri, but I know what I like, know what I want to share with Sebastian. I keep my suction steady as I memorize the ridges of his cock with my lips.

“Luke...” he murmurs.

I slide my lips from his cock. “Did you want me to stop?”

“No.” He closes his eyes. “Actually, um, I would prefer you to continue.”

“Maybe you can stop talking then.” I continue to stroke him with my hands, because I might not be licking him now, but I’m not cruel. I won Teammate of the Year multiple times when I played hockey as a child, and though I’m not conceited and totally love and adore all my teammates, I suspect I might have a shot if the Blizzards offered it as an award.