"Marcus will be there."
"I know, but I’ll be there too."
He looks back down at his helmet. His hands are gripping the helmet hard enough that I can see the strain in his knuckles. "I know I said I could do it," he says, in a whisper. "I just—" He stops. "I didn't think we'd actually win."
I look at him. At the set of his shoulders. At the way he's holding himself like if he loosens his grip on his helmet he's going to come apart. "You can do it, Rhys," I encourage.
"You don't know that."
"I do." I grab his chin and make him see the certainty in my eyes, my need to comfort him stronger than my need to hide. "He doesn't get to take the ice from you. I won’t let him."
The room is still going around us. Someone's turned music on. Everyone’s talking and cheering and celebrating.
None of it matters right now. It’s just me and him.
"Can I—" Rhys starts. Stops. I wait. "Can I stay over again," he asks, shyly. Like it embarrasses him to have to be this vulnerable. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
I look at him for a long moment. At this person who walks into every room like he owns it. Who makes everything a joke before anyone can make it something worse. Who has been alone in the ways that actually count for longer than anyone knows. Baring his insecurities to me, when I now understand how difficult that is for him.
How special it is that he is finally letting me see the real Rhys.
"Yeah, of course," I say. "Let's go."
My room is dark when we get there. I don't turn on the overhead light. He looks at me and I see it—all the things he’s feeling but can’t say. Frustration. Need. Anxiety. Loneliness. I feelit too. The kind of ache that makes you reckless. So I give him what he wants, what we both need right now, which is to not think, just feel.
I grip his face, thumb dragging over the sharp line of his cheek. “On your knees, baby.” He hesitates, just for a second—then understanding sinks in and he drops down slowly, never breaking eye contact. He fumbles with my belt, yanks my jeans open, rough enough that the button nearly flies.
I fist my hand in his hair, guiding him to where I want him, and he grins up at me, filthy, before taking me in his mouth. My head tips back, eyes closed, hand tightening in his hair as he sucks me down, messy and eager. He doesn’t tease—he goes straight for it, deep and sloppy, saliva dripping down my shaft as he gags and moans around me.
“Fuck, baby. That’s it,” I grunt, hips twitching. He looks up at me, eyes watering, and I can’t help but thrust shallowly, using his mouth. “You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” He groans, the sound vibrating down my cock. I pull out, dripping, breath ragged. “Get on the bed. Now.”
He wipes his mouth and scrambles up onto the comforter, stripping as he goes. I watch him as I do the same—the tattoos, the muscles, cock already flushed and leaking against his stomach. “Spread your legs for me,” I order. He does, no hesitation, baring himself for me. He’s so fucking perfect I almost forget how to breathe.
I grab the lube from the drawer, slick up my fingers, and crawl between his thighs. I kiss him again, slower now, but still rough—biting at his lips, sucking on his tongue until he’s whining for more. My hand slides down, stroking his cock, smearing lube over the head. Then lower, my fingers searching, circling his hole. He shudders as I push one finger in—tight, hot, clenching around me. “Relax, baby,” I murmur against his mouth. “Let me in. Let me help you forget.”
He nods, eyes fluttering shut, hips rocking. I add a secondfinger, scissoring, twisting, opening him up, stretching him until he’s panting, sweat beading on his skin. “Fuck, Jamie—more, please, just—more.”
“I was going to be nice. You want it rough?” I tease. “Want to get wrecked by your captain?” He groans, desperate. “Please. Give it to me. I can take it. I trust you.” That does it for me. I add a third finger, fucking him open, curling my fingers to find that spot that makes him gasp and claw at the sheets. I’m leaking, so fucking hard with how bad I need him, restraint getting harder and harder to find.
Rhys turns his head, breathless, eyes searching mine. “Are you clean? Did you get tested at the last physical?” I nod, voice rough. “Yeah. You?” He grins, wicked. “Yeah. Then… take me bare. I want to feel all of you.” I pull my fingers free, grab the lube again, and slick myself up. I kneel between his spread thighs, grip his hips, and drag him to the edge. “Eyes up here. I want you to only look at me while I fuck you.”
He meets my eyes, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. “Make it hurt.” I should be gentle, but with those dirty words and my patience running thin, my need for Rhys too fucking strong, I push inside, slow at first, feeling him stretch and tighten around me, giving him a second. He grits his teeth, fists clenching in the sheets, cursing under his breath, pushing back to get me in. When I’m buried to the hilt, I wait, just, letting him adjust. Then I pull almost all the way out and slam back in, hard, making the headboard rattle. He cries out, head thrown back, legs wrapping around my waist to drag me deeper. “Fuck, Jamie—I wanted you for too long. I don’t want nice. Fuck me.”
I fuck him into the mattress, rough, relentless, hips snapping, hands bruising his waist. It’s sweat and skin and heat and everything we couldn’t say out loud. I fuck him like I’m trying to force our feelings out. He rakes his nails down my back, bites my shoulder, moaning louder with each thrust. “God, do you know what you do to me? You drive me fucking insane,”I groan, fucking him harder, the slap of skin on skin and the headboard banging echoing in the room. “Fuck, look at you. Taking my cock so good, baby. I can’t believe I finally have you.” He nods frantically, eyes glazed.
I reach between us, fist his cock, stroking him in time with every thrust. He’s leaking all over my hand, begging for more, gasping my name, “Jamie—fuck.” It’s too much feeling, too much sensation, too much of what I denied myself for so long. I grab his chin, force him to look up at me as I hammer into him, sweat dripping down my face, blonde hair stuck to the sides. “You feel too fucking good. I can’t stop. Gonna come inside you.”
He whimpers, hips jerking, thighs trembling. “God, yes—please, Jamie, come in me, oh my god—” I drive into him, rough and deep, every slam harder than the last. He shatters first, coming hard, shooting all over his stomach and my fist, body clenching so tight around my cock I nearly black out. I bury myself deeper, then lose it, spilling inside him, groaning his name into his neck.
We collapse together, bodies tangled, sweat cooling on our skin. I stay inside him, softer now, kissing his jaw, his cheek, the mess of his hair, everywhere I can. He looks up at me, eyes taking it all in, and I brush my thumb over his cheekbone, gentle now, voice hoarse. “I choose you. You hear me?” He nods, a shaky laugh in his throat. “Yeah. I choose you, too.” I should be gentle, should let him catch his breath, but I can’t—I’m already hard again, cock still buried inside him, getting harder, body electric and dizzy with want now that I have him to myself.
He looks up at me, dazed and hungry, a challenge in his eyes. “That’s it, Captain?” he mutters, voice rough, broken but still cocky. “Thought you had more fight in you than that.” My blood spikes. I bare my teeth in a grin, hand fisting in his hair as I pull his head back enough to bare his throat. “You want more?” I rasp, rolling my cock deeper, grinding my hips,making him gasp. “You running your mouth again, Rhys?” He laughs, low and exhausted. “Depends. You finally gonna do something about it?” That’s all the invitation I need. I pull out, watching my cum leak from his hole. I spread his legs wider, cock in hand, smearing the mess everywhere, painting his skin.
“Look at you,” I grunt, dragging my thumb through it, rubbing it back into his hole, pushing a finger in to open him up again. “So pretty.” He moans, arching his back, grinding down on my hand. He’s shameless now, lost in it—eyes bright, alert and awake. “More. Please.” I lose all patience. I haul him up from the bed, manhandling him, spinning him so his chest slams into the wall, legs spread, ass up, cum still trickling from his hole. I spit on it, get it more wet, running sloppy circles with my fingers, getting him slick and loose, pushing in two at once, then three, not giving him time to adjust.
“You ask so nicely,” I growl, biting his shoulder, grinding my hard cock against his ass. “You fucking need it, don’t you?” He nods, cheek pressed to the wall. “Yeah, Captain. Use me—I want it all from you.” I line up and shove in, no hesitation, just one brutal thrust—he takes it, takes all of me, cries out. I grab his wrists and pin them above his head, my chest pressed to his back, fucking into him hard and fast, filthy sounds echoing in the room.
I’m even rougher this time, chasing sensation, chasing the mess, relentless, I want more of him—one hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back so I can bite more into his neck, marking him up, my other hand sneaking down to palm his cock, jerking him in fast, punishing strokes. “You’re gonna come for me again,” I snarl in his ear, thrusting harder, deeper, “Gonna make a mess all over this wall. You hear me?” He whimpers, shuddering, desperate, incoherently moaning. “God—fuck. Please—please, Oh my god—”
