Page 57

FIFTY-SEVEN

Jethro

I wake up in Clay’s bed at nine a.m.

By nine fifteen, we’re kissing like porn stars.

Last night we fell asleep about four minutes after arriving in his bedroom, and now we’re making up for it. I’ve got him pinned to the mattress. The sheets have been cast to the floor, along with the thin collection of clothing we were wearing.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware I want to fuck him, but owning his mouth is too much fun. So is rutting against him and listening to him moan as I hold his hands down against the pillow.

He shifts a knee between my legs to give himself better leverage and thrusts his hips up against mine.

I roll us both onto our sides and skim a hand down his ass. “This is mine now,” I pant into his mouth.

“Is it though?” he asks between kisses. “Don’t remember seeing a clean sheet in your last game.”

I groan. “Seriously? Do I have to come out of retirement for a few games just to fuck you? Is the new schedule out?” I try to think of a guaranteed shutout. “When do we play Buffalo?”

He laughs against my swollen lips. “There’s lube in the bedside table.”

I dive for the drawer with the same enthusiasm that saved several shots from Carolina last night. I grab the bottle. And when I turn back to Clay, he’s lifting his knees, catching them in his hands. Offering himself to me.

The blatant invitation makes me groan. “Man, and they said the first day of retirement would be sad. Respectfully disagree.”

He drops his head and laughs. “Glad to hear it.”

I position myself between his legs and open the bottle, slicking up my fingers and then rubbing them into his crease.

“Aw, fuck,” he gasps. “Yeah. You need pointers?”

I shake my head. “Women have asses, too.”

“Ah.”

“Breathe.” I penetrate him with my finger, and he lets out a slow breath, taking it.

“I could be jealous right now,” he says, bearing down, his abs rippling. “But it’s handy that you know what you’re doing.”

“Good answer.” I stroke inside him and his breath stutters. “You play with yourself like this sometimes?”

“Yeah,” he says, his chest flushing with desire.

“You ever think about me when you do it?”

He winks at me. “Once or twice.”

“You get off on the fact that I didn’t fool around with any guy since you. Well, I get off on the fact that you haven’t let another man inside you. It’s only gonna be me for you.”

His arm muscles flex as he holds his knees. “So you say.”

Laughing, I grab the lube again. I work him up to two fingers, and then I tap his spot.

He hisses. And suddenly nobody is laughing. I make a beckoning motion with my fingers, and Clay practically levitates off the bed. “Oh yeah. Fuck.”

“We’re getting there.” I lube up again and try three fingers. It takes him a minute to relax and let me in.

But I’m a patient man. Besides—it took me fifteen years to really let Clay inside my heart. And I’m still learning.

“Now, do it,” he urges, arching his back. “Fuck me,” he adds, just in case I’ve forgotten the agenda.

“Condom?”

“Do we need one?”

I shake my head. I’ve been tested. “You’re it for me, Clay. There’s nobody else.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

As usual, Clay asks all the right questions.