Page 40

Nicko, March 28th

“ W hat?!”

Okay, not exactly the enthusiastic reaction I was hoping for.

“I need you to fuck me,” I repeat, actually proud of how much smoother the words come out now. Despite his obvious shock, Xander lets out a groan, and I’m very satisfied with how longingly it sounds.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Nicko,” he complains as he presses both his hands against his eyes. “I can’t fuck you.”

“What, why not?!”

It took me weeks to warm up to this thought! I wasn’t put off by the idea before, but I never saw another guy for long enough to build up that trust. Thinking about bottoming feels like handing over control, and I don’t like that. Especially not with my biggest rival.

But I can picture it with Xander. The guy who does horrible dance moves in an arcade to tease a laugh out of me. The one who accompanies me to middle school hockey games just to spend time with me. The Xander that lets himself get bossed around by a tiny Chihuahua for my amusement. The one that follows me half-naked into the cold to make sure I’m okay. And also the one that catches me on a lie and still lets me get away with it to save my pride.

I’m glad he didn’t call my bluff that night, but things have changed now. I can’t get the memory of him fingering me out of my head. Every time I jerk off to it I keep coming up with an alternative ending. One where I come from him pounding into me. I’ve carried the desire inside me, refusing to openly acknowledge it, until he came on to me in the elevator.

“Because we have a game tomorrow! Don’t you think that’s bad timing for exploring new sexual desires?”

I frown at his argument. “No better way to distract ourselves.”

“True, but I don’t want to hurry an experience like tha–”

“With Nate in the spa you definitely don’t need to hurry, trust me.”

“We’re in a hotel room! Wouldn’t you want to be somewhere familiar?”

“Nope, I definitely prefer this over having my roommates downstairs.”

“You’re impossible,” Xander sighs as he rakes a hand through his hair, making the black strands stand up.

“So you don’t want it,” I observe. The bravado I felt a moment ago has dissolved. I expected to be on his mattress by now, with his hands and mouth all over me. I definitely didn’t think he would be the one to jam on the brakes.

“No! Nicko, that’s not...I do want this!” Xander grabs my face with both his hands. I turn my head to the side in a wave of stubbornness, but finally give in and let him tip my chin up. “I’ve wanted this since Christmas. I just can’t believe you’re dangling it in front of me now of all times!”

“I’m not dangling it,” I huff. “Why are we not on the bed already if we agree on what we want?”

“Because we have an important game tomorrow, one that could influence both of our careers. And if you lose it because you’re sore from your first time bottoming, I will never hear the end of it!”

I blink at his words, then burst into laughter when they settle in. It’s not even that funny, but once the knot in my chest loosens, I can’t stop.

“I’m serious, Nicko!” Xander complains, but I can hear the smile in his words as he drops his hands from my face to wrap them around me instead. He holds me patiently while I snicker against his shoulder.

“I promise that won’t happen,” I tell him when I look up again. I feel like I threw off a heavy book bag on the last school day before summer break. Light and free. “Because I’m not going to lose tomorrow’s game.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” he snorts, his grip tightening around me. We stand like that for a moment, in a silent embrace, our bodies pressed together so closely that I can feel his heartbeat against my own chest.

I tilt my head to press a soft kiss to his neck, my lips trailing to the spot behind his ear next, then nipping at the lobe.

Xander’s breath stutters, his hands starting to stroke over my back, his fingers finding their way under my shirt.

“Nicko,” he whispers, his hoarse voice giving my name an entirely new sound. “Are you sure? We can do something else and keep this for another day.”

“Another day?” I echo.

There won’t be another day. One of us will advance tomorrow while the other will be faced with the end of the season. We both agreed this wouldn’t continue past that date. There’s just no way this—whatever this is—will work if I end up in another league. Or on another continent.

“There could be another day,” Xander insists, as if he’s reading my mind. “It’s our decision.”

“It’s our decision,” I repeat, but I also bite the inside of my cheek against the hope blooming in my chest. This was never meant to develop into a long-term arrangement.

It can’t be.

Not when he jets all over the country, and I’m left behind. I already know that I won’t give up hockey should the Rebels let me go. I can’t. There’s no other dream I want to chase.

I will play.

If not here, then I will find another place. I will play until they have to carry me off the ice because some defenseman blew my knee to smithereens. I know it’s all kinds of stupid and unhealthy, but whenever I circle back to Professor Fiore’s question, this is the only answer I have: hockey.

I want hockey. Big hockey. I want hockey in arenas, under floodlights. I want the crowd, the cheers, the booing. I want the high stakes, the adrenaline. I want all of it.

The problem is, I want Xander to be there for it. I want him to score on my passes and to celebrate my goals with him. I want to compete with him over points and lift cups together.

How would we fit us between all of that?

“It’s our decision, and I want it now,” I tell him, my words encompassing so much more than he will ever know.

I don’t give him the chance to question me again, my arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. This time, I’m the one who’s hungrily invading his mouth as I walk him back to the bed. I push and he gives in, but not without pulling me along.

We land in a tangle of limbs, our lips still pressed together, hands wandering.

Xander flips us around, his hot breath grazing my skin when he kisses along my throat. He nips at my collarbone, the gesture too gentle to create a mark, and I suddenly find myself overwhelmed with the wish that he would leave his traces on me. Something I can take back to the hotel, a reminder of him to bring onto the ice tomorrow.

But I’m too proud to ask for it, so I just lift my arms in the quiet request to be undressed.

Xander raises a brow at me, then chuckles. “You’re a total brat.”

He still goes along with it, freeing me of my shirt and then getting rid of his own. They disappear over the side of the bed, and I sigh when I touch his bare skin. It’s pale with a soft dusting of freckles on his chest, which makes me smile, because there’s not a single one on his nose. I trace them with my fingertips like I would do to a stellar constellation on a map.

“You enjoy it,” I wink at him and he rolls his eyes, but I still catch the grin tugging on the corners of his lips.

He doesn’t argue with me. Instead, he brings his mouth to my stomach, kissing a path down my abs to my navel. His tongue darts out and I laugh, breathlessly and with a hint of nervousness. Every touch feels purposeful today, every sensation heightened. There’s no comparing it to our explosive encounter in the locker room, the rushed intermission on Christmas. Today Xander is taking me apart, slowly and with intent.

By the time he has peeled us out of our sweatpants I’m almost ready to flip this around again.

“Are you trying to torture me into topping?” I crane my neck to watch him suck on the inside of my trembling thigh. My dick is desperately tenting my underwear, the precum leaving a damp spot on the front. I reach for it, but Xander slaps my hand away. He gives my thigh a generous lick before hooking his fingers into my boxers and pulling them down.

“You’re so impatient,” he laughs, but I can see the hunger in his eyes. He’s devouring me with his gaze, and my cheeks heat from the intensity of it. None of my former partners—man or woman—has ever looked at me like this. With unshared attention, like I’m unique. Like I’m not just the copy of another person.

You don’t feel like Nate .

I swallow hard as his voice echoes in my mind. “Just a little,” I murmur, my voice suddenly thick with emotion but also raw desire.

“I’ll make it worth it,” he promises as he leans over the edge of the bed to reach for his backpack.

“Look who came prepared,” I snort when he retrieves a small tube of lube and a condom.

I expect him to joke along even when I should be grateful. With all my focus being on pretending to be my twin again, I forgot to bring the necessities.

Xander, however, squeezes my knee. “It’s the bag I used to sleep over at your place. I didn’t plan on sleeping around in Springfield.”

Only now do I realize we never talked about being exclusive. At first I didn’t think about it, and then at some point I just kind of assumed we were. My na?veté hits me in the face. He could’ve gone out to fuck other guys all this time—and the thought is enough to make me bristle.

“You better not,” I grumble, my arms snaking around his neck to pull him into another kiss. I might not have him for long, but until then I want Xander to be mine.

Only mine.

I’m used to sharing my whole life—clothes, toys, friends, dreams—and in the end I wouldn’t have it any other way. But this? For the first time I feel the burning need to claim something for myself.

This new possessiveness spills over into our kiss, turning it from sweet to heated in a mere second. Now I’m the one to roll us over, my legs straddling his lap as I catch his lower lip between my teeth and he moans into my mouth.

His hips jerk up, rubbing his hard dick against my ass, divided only by the thin layer of his underwear. The unfamiliar sensation gives my mind pause, while my body—the treacherous bastard—shudders from the touch. It’s the intimacy of it, the anticipation linked to this simple movement that teases a moan out of me. I bear down, my hands seeking support on Xander’s chest. For a moment he just holds my gaze.

“Fuck, Nicko,” he curses, the arousal in his voice so thick it makes me preen under his attention.

I did this to him. To the guy I still want to strangle sometimes, then kiss the shit out of. I repeat the motion, my ass rubbing against his erection with more intent.

My face is flushed from the wanton display of my need. Xander’s cool fingers brush along my cheekbones. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. “So fucking pretty with your messy hair and that death glare you always wear.”

“I only glare at people who deserve it,” I mutter and he laughs.

“So pretty until you open your mouth and ruin everything.”

I want to complain, but he uses that moment to flip us again so that I hit the mattress with a yelp.

“Have you ever been rimmed?” Xander asks as he arranges himself above me. It takes me a moment to catch on to his question, because my focus is captured by his hands slowly peeling off his underwear.

“Wha–?” I question as I push up onto my elbows.

“Rimmed,” Xander repeats. He shimmies out of his boxers now, and my eyes trace the length of his hard dick, lingering on the glistening tip. I want to lean in and lick the precum off to savor the salty taste.

Xander must have mistaken my distraction for cluelessness, because he bends forward to kiss the inside of my knee before explaining his plans to me.

“It means I would enter you with my tongue, taste you.”

“I know what rimming means!” I protest, my cheeks heating up. I’m not embarrassed about his words, but about how my dick twitches at the mental images his words create for me. “But no, I...haven’t done that before.”

“Would you let me do it to you?” Xander asks in between the small kisses he’s peppering all over the inside of my knee, then up my thigh.

I mull his words over in my head, chewing on my tongue. The fantasy is hot, but something in me recoils.

It feels so intimate. Too intimate. Like if I allow this now, he will crack me open completely and irreparably. And how will I go on then, with my bare emotions leaking all over the place, when he will play for the Rebels and Nate will be in Utica.

“I haven’t...I mean I can’t…” I stammer as I try to come up with an explanation that won’t give away my true reasoning. Taking a deep breath, I reach for him with my hand.

“Next time.”

There’s a sad touch to Xander’s smile as he gives me a nod. Like he’s caught me in a lie but chose to let me get away with it.

“Next time,” he echoes, then uncaps the small bottle of lube. The clicking sound creates goosebumps all over my body, and I watch with hooded eyes as he presses a small amount into the palm of his hand. He has elegant fingers. Long and slender, like he was born to play the piano or perform neurosurgery. I noticed it the first time when he touched my bad knee after the fall.

“Your fingers–” I’m about to speak my mind when he reaches for my ass, and I fall silent in anticipation.

“You’re tense.”

“I’m not tense!”

Xander chuckles and swats my ass before parting my cheeks so his slick finger can slip in between. Of course I’m tense—I feel vulnerable. Open. Bare.

“We can always stop,” Xander murmurs, just when I think I might have overestimated my own courage. His index is circling my entry now, generously distributing the lube there.

I swallow thickly as I look up at him, my eyes seeking his. The blue of his irises is so intense, it causes my breath to hitch.

“No,” I tell him. Even with all the hesitation, I want this. I want this now, because it might very well be our last chance. And I’d rather have this here and now than not have it at all.

His eyes roam over me, searching my face for any sign of doubt. “Tell me if you need me to stop, Nicko. I mean it. I don’t want you to think back on...this with regret.”

“I’ll tell you,” I promise, but my mind is stuck on the small pause in his sentence, on the way he didn’t mean this but us. Him .

He gives me an extra second, and then his index breaches my entrance, slowly and carefully.

I lose all sense of time and place over the next minutes, writhing under Xander’s touch as he stretches me out so patiently, unwilling to give in to my urging and pleading to please hurry up.

By the time he has four fingers inside of me, I feel close to losing my mind with frustration and want and pure, raw need. My dick is leaking a small stream of precum onto my stomach, and every time he presses up against my prostate, I think that this is it, I’ll come before we even get started.

“Alexander fucking Hart!” I cry out when he does it again. I have one arm thrown over my eyes and yet I see stars behind my lids, toes curling on the starched sheets.

There’s a rough chuckle from above me, and then he pulls his hand back. I instantly regret my complaints. There’s this sudden feeling of emptiness again I experienced the first time he fingered me. I instinctively clench my butt cheeks, but the loss goes deeper than just that, originating from somewhere inside me.

“Hush,” he hums, since my emotions must be laid out openly on my face. He’s already ripping open the condom package. The crinkling of the foil seems unbearably loud somehow, like all my senses are heightened. My eyes are glued to his fully erect dick as he rolls the condom over it. For a fraction of a second, I wonder what it would feel like without the barrier between us, then chase the idea away with a shake of my head.

I’m about to roll onto my stomach when he stops me with both hands on my hips.

“What are you doing?”

“Uhm...don’t you want to...from behind?” I tilt my head at him. It’s the way we did it back at Christmas, the only way I’ve ever done it with another guy.

“No,” he tells me calmly as he leans in to reach for the pillow, stealing it right from under my head. “I want to look at you.”

My heart squeezes in my chest, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to counteract the sensation, because it’s almost too much. Damn that bastard for making this emotional. Damn him for making this into something I already know I won’t be able to ever forget. Especially not when his face will flicker over my TV screen every hockey season now.

At this moment, I almost hate him again. I’ve never realized until now how close these emotions are tied together—hate and...no.

No, I won’t even think about it.

Xander fluffs up the pillow with both hands before encouraging me to lift my hips with one simple touch. I do it instinctively, but my eyes widen when he stuffs the pillow under my ass.

“You sleep on that!” I protest.

“I can always swap it out with Nate’s later,” he jokes, then throws his head back in a hoarse laugh when he recognizes the pure horror on my face.

“I’d never. If anything, I hope you’ll leave your scent on it.” And then that bastard winks at me before he aligns his dick with my entrance and starts to push inside.

I hold my breath as he breaches me with the head. Despite his thorough stretching, there’s an unfamiliar pressure building inside of me. But once more Xander takes his time, sinking into me inch by inch.

“Do you need me to stop?” he asks in between small kisses.

“No, keep going,” I grunt out stubbornly, while I try to follow his instructions and breathe in deeply. His hand wraps around mine, guiding it to my own erection and initiating a slow stroke that leads my attention away.

He sinks onto me once he’s fully buried inside me, our chests pressed together as we breathe in and out, in and out. This feels a thousand times more intimate than when our roles were reversed.

I let him inside of me. A place where no other person has been before.

“Okay?” he murmurs against my ear, his hot breath making me shiver.

“More than okay,” I croak out.

Realizing I can take advantage of my position, I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze. “Come on, Lexi, fuck me.”

Xander pushes up again, arranging my legs over his shoulders. His first thrusts are shallow and careful, giving me an opportunity to get used to this. I have to urge him on by rolling my hips and meeting him halfway. Only then does he give up the tight grip on his self-control to drive deeper and bury his dick right to the base inside of me.

“Fuck,” I breathe, spreading my arms out on the bed to steady myself. I’m turned on by the act in itself, but I think I prefer topping—until he changes the angle.

When he slams into me the next time, my whole body is overcome by an unexpected wave of pleasure. There are no words to describe the amount of lust it sets free in me.

The sheer want.

I have never needed an orgasm more in my life, yet I also don’t want to come and put an end to this.

“Oh Lexi, oh baby, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I moan out, tossing my head from side to side. It’s almost too much, and I don’t know what to do with myself other than hold onto the sheets and open my legs wider for him.

His words float around me, soothing and encouraging, but I don’t understand any of them, too absorbed in this haze of sex and touch. Xander’s hand curls around my erection.

It takes only a few strokes until my muscles lock up tightly, then release in the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

It’s like an eruption right behind my navel. The ripples travel through my whole body, right into the tips of my fingers and toes, until I’m completely consumed by hot pleasure.

I’m still breathing heavily when Xander goes still above me, his lips parted in a silent moan as he topples over the edge right behind me. My eyelids are heavy, but I force them open, ready to commit every detail of this moment to memory. I want to be able to recall everything—from the way his features relax, over how his black strands are slicked back, right to the sweat glistening on his chest.

Only when he collapses on top of me, do I allow my eyes to fall closed, my nose nudging against his temple.

When I inhale, I can still catch a hint of citrus.