“Yeah?” He smiled, taking another hit. “That's the thing with weed. Works with your body instead of against it. You still feel stuff, it just doesn't hurt as bad.”
We passed the joint back and forth, the conversation flowing easier than it should have between a yoga instructor and his client. He told me about growing up in Big Bend, about his brothers and their adventure business. I told him about Arizona State, about the pressure of being a Heisman finalist, about the way football had shaped every choice I'd made since I was twelve.
“You miss it?” he asked.
“Every day. But I don't miss what it cost me.” I leaned back against the cushions, my body relaxed in a way it hadn't been in weeks. “My marriage, my privacy, my shoulder. All sacrifices for the game.”
“And now?”
“Now I'm here, smoking weed with a hot yoga instructor and trying to figure out what comes next.”
His laugh was warm. “Could be worse ways to spend your time.”
“Could be better too.”
The words hung between us, loaded with meaning. He set the joint in the ashtray and turned to face me, his hand coming to rest on my thigh.
“You want better?”
“Yeah. I do.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that tasted like smoke and promise. My good hand came up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, heat building between us, and something in my chest unlocked. Not just desire, though there was plenty of that. Something deeper, more dangerous.
Connection.
“Bedroom?” he asked against my mouth.
“Yeah.”
We stumbled toward the bed, shedding clothes along the way. His hands were everywhere—my chest, my hips, my ass—but always careful around my injured shoulder. The care in his touch made my throat tight.
When had someone last touched me like I mattered?
He pushed me down onto the bed, following me down with his body. The weight of him was good, grounding. I arched up into him, needing more contact, more friction, more of whatever this was.
“Easy,” he murmured against my neck. “We've got time.”
But I didn't want easy. I wanted to feel something other than pain and loss and the fear that I'd never be whole again. I pulled him closer, kissing him hard enough to bruise, my good hand gripping his hip.
He understood. He always seemed to understand. His mouth moved down my body, kissing and licking and nipping at sensitive skin. When he reached my cock, he looked up at me with those blue eyes, asking permission without words.
“Please,” I said, the word coming out rough.
He took me into his mouth, hot and wet and slow. It wasn't rushed or performative. It was worship. His tongue swirled, the suction was intense, and my good hand fisted in his long blond hair, not to guide him, but just to hold on. He hummed, a low thrum of appreciation that vibrated straight to my core. The sound, the feeling of him taking me so completely, was undoing me.
“Dusty,” I gasped, my hips starting to buck.
He pulled off, his lips slick and his blue eyes dark with want. “You taste like us,” he sighed. “Like the weed and you and me.” He looked down at my cock, glistening from his mouth. “So good.”
Then he was back on me, taking me deeper this time, his throat working as he swallowed me down. The sight of it, the raw intimacy of it, was more potent than any pill. This was real. This was a feeling I couldn't numb. The pleasure coiled in my gut, hot and tight, a dam about to break.
“I'm—oh fuck,” I choked out, a warning and a plea.
His pace quickened, his hand stroking the base of my shaft in time with the movement of his head. I was losing control, lost in the heat and the friction and the overwhelming sensation of being wanted this completely.
My orgasm hit me like a lightning strike. A cry was ripped from my throat as I came, my body convulsing. I emptied myself into his mouth, my hand grasping at his hair as he took all of it, every drop, not stopping until I was finished.
He stayed there for a moment, then rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He came back from the bathroom with a warm towel and cleaned me off, his touch just as careful and reverent as before.
