Page 28 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

GIDEON

Silas has been trying to get my attention since we boarded the charter to San Jose.

It's a long flight, and I don't think I can be near him the whole way there. I force myself into conversation with Leif Franks, whom I usually avoid because he’s so chatty, and position us as far from Silas as possible. Franks and James Brenton, who everyone just calls Brent, are good friends and are planning a New Year’s Eve party after our home game against Abbotsford on Tuesday.

There's not a chance in hell I'm going to that party, but I feign interest and help brainstorm ideas to pass the time and look busy.

I don't so much as glance back to where Silas is sitting, though I can feel his presence just a few rows behind me.

Once we're in the air and most of the team is focused on their quiet games, books, or movies, I take a sleeping pill and lean against the small window.

We're high enough that all I can see all around us is white, and the sky is just starting to darken.

I drift off and enjoy a few hours of dreamless sleep for the first time in a while.

I don't wake up until the plane touches down.

My nerves amp up again when we board the bus to the hotel.

Most of the guys are going to dinner, and I think I overheard Silas throw out a few ideas on where to go.

Once we arrive at the hotel and the room keys are passed out, I head directly to the elevator.

I'm in bed with the covers pulled up over my head before Silas makes it up.

Thanks to the sleeping pill still pulling me under, I'm asleep before he leaves for the evening.

I'm not sure what time it is when Silas gets back from dinner, but I wake with a start.

"Shit, sorry," he whispers. "I didn't want to wake you by turning on the light."

"It's fine," I say tiredly, and get up to relieve my full bladder.

While I'm in the bathroom, I decide I might as well shower.

Long flights always make me feel gross, and I'm still groggy from the sleeping pill.

I turn on the water and peel off my shirt before I remember I need my toiletries bag.

I mumble a curse to myself and huff, opening the door to retrieve my shit.

I freeze.

Silas freezes. He’s standing at the bottom of his bed, almost fully naked in just a pair of tight, black briefs. He blinks rapidly, looking fucking stupid with his mouth gaping open and eyes locked on me.

I'm sure it's the exact expression I have on my face, seeing him this way.

And I'm definitely seeing him. I mean, really seeing him.

Because I'm looking right at a whole lot of him being exposed to my gaze.

God help me, I'm not looking away. My eyes roam over every inch of exposed flesh.

Every muscle, every freckle. I accidentally notice how hard his nipples are and almost choke.

I try to pull my eyes away from them and end up looking lower.

But then my eyes are on his strong abs, on the dark hair leading from his belly button into the low band of his underwear .

Why does he wear underwear like that? They're indecent. Tight, black cotton that clings to every bump and ridge of the package they're hardly containing. The black elastic hem hugs the curve of his thigh and round, muscular ass.

He should be wearing boxers . The poofy kind with pleats that make you look shapeless.

Who am I kidding? He'd probably look good in those too .

My mouth is dry. A rash of goosebumps rises across my chest, over my shoulders, and down my back.

I feel the hairs on my ass stand on end.

I feel wobbly, unsteady on my feet. My toes curl into the fibers of the carpet like they can keep me in place, but I stumble forward.

In slow motion, I move towards him, crowding his space until he's backed against the dresser.

The dresser thuds against the wall and the television rattles.

My throat feels like it's closing. So when I speak, my voice is low, raspy, and gruff.

"Why?"

"W-why what?"

My eyes rake over him, taking in his nakedness and proximity.

"I was changing into pajamas…"

Likely story.

I surge forward and hold the base of his throat with my hand, pressing into his pulse point to feel how rapidly his heart is beating. I feel like mine has stopped entirely.

I'm half in a trance as I hold him in place, lifting my free hand to trace a finger across his collarbone, then down.

When I touch the sharp point of his left nipple, he sucks in a breath.

I circle it, thinking—but not clearly—about all the things I want to do to it.

Pinch it. Lick it. Suck it. Bite it clean off his body so it can't taunt me anymore.

I watch my finger dip lower, trailing through the dark hair below his navel.

I watch in real time as his cock twitches and inflates.

As it grows harder and pushes at the front of his underwear, the waistband gapes a tiny bit, providing just enough space for my finger to dip inside.

I feel the warm, hard flesh of the base of his cock.

I feel and see it throb, and Silas makes a sound that’s a cross between a cut off moan and a choke.

Whatever it was, it gets my attention. My eyes flash up to his and get caught there.

I lean in until our noses are touching, side by side, eyes still open. I examine the color of his eyes, currently a gold-flecked brown that's darker than usual, almost the same shade as the ring around the outside. I stare into the depths, and he doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Doesn't breathe.

I'm not breathing either, I realize, releasing the air I'd trapped in my chest. As the breath moves out of me, he sucks it in, and I move infinitesimally closer. My mouth is touching his, but not moving or kissing. Just pressing against him, daring him to fucking do something about it.

Silas' mouth falls open, his eyes widening and darkening at the same time. A strangled whine vibrates against my open lips. I cock my head, confused.

Without realizing it, my fingers have wrapped around his shaft. I'm holding him in my hand. My grip tightens, and his eyes roll back a little.

Fuck.

My mouth crashes against his, my tongue fucking into his mouth with each stroke of my fist wrapped around his thick, hot length. Wetness spreads over my thumb and forefinger, and Silas whimpers.

I'm looking at him, but I'm not really seeing him. I'm blind with lust and all sense has failed me.

In one swift motion, I flip him around. He scrambles to brace himself with both hands on the dresser and almost knocks the television over.

Using my grip on his cock and my arm around his waist, I slide him a few feet to the right to a small desk meant to be used as a writing desk or vanity, knocking several items to the ground.

I avoid looking at myself in the mirror, but one of Silas's hands hits the surface to steady himself.

My free hand moves down his arm to cover it, pressing it into the glass.

My back covers his, and I lean against him.

"Is this what you want?" I say, squeezing his cock and rutting my erection against his ass.

Silas' head falls forward, an almost mournful groan falling from his parted lips.

I repeat myself, and he shakes his head. "Yes," he rasps. "Yes," he says louder when I squeeze and stroke him roughly, spreading his dripping precum down his shaft. His voice sounds weak and shaky. Needy. Desperate.

Removing my hand from around his cock, I lay my hands over the top of both of his and press against them. "Stay."

He stays. He doesn't move, other than a noticeable tremble. Fear? Or arousal?

I hope it's both.

With a quick look around to locate where I dropped my bag, I rifle around until I find my stash of condoms and lube packets.

I grab a few blindly, dropping my pants as I stalk back to where Silas is bent over the desk.

I keep my gaze zeroed in on the curve of his spine and the light dusting of hair at the small of his back.

Tossing the supplies on the desk in front of Silas, I have a moment of pause when I see his eyes widen and hear the click of his throat when he swallows harshly, but when his eyes flick up to meet mine in the mirror, there's a determined set to his jaw that both intrigues me and pisses me off.

I get a sick sort of satisfaction at hearing his gasp when I roughly tear his slutty briefs down his thighs.

But then I nearly fall to my knees, stifling a groan at the sight of his bare ass.

Pressing one hand to the middle of his back, and pulling on his hip with the other, I direct him to bend further down.

I run my fingertips through the hair on the back of his thighs up to his balls. He flinches and bucks his hips forward.

"Don't. Move." I say, digging my nails into the meat of his ass with a harsh grip. I don't even recognize my own voice. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and I don't recognize that, either.

I feel crazed. Dizzy. Not in control of my body or my thoughts. All I can do is stare down at this one thing I've dreamed about for years, but never thought I'd see, touch, or have.

There's part of me that wants to plow into him without any prep, make him feel pain the way I do every fucking time he looks at me.

But I'm not that much of an asshole, and I don't want to hurt him that badly.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely do want it to hurt when I fuck him, but in a way that drives him crazy.

I want it to hurt so good, he feels like he'll die if he can't be filled with my cock every single day.

And then I'll leave him wanting. I'll fuck him just this once, to show him what he's missing.

And then he can walk around just as deranged and desperate as I have been for months.

I can stick my dick in any ass, and it's going to feel good. But he'll never have someone turn him out the way I'm about to.