Page 57 of King of the Crease

He nods, a bit nervous. He looks past at me, to the stairs.

“I’ll just do this. I wanted to feel your cock.” It’s thick and rock hard. I knew behind that goofy personality was a man who can fuck. God, I love the feel of his stiff cock in my hand.

I bite my lip, hungry for more.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I know I just said I’d just do this, but what if I did this?” I unzip his fly. I wait to gauge his reaction and get a green light.

Lust burns in his eyes. He adjusts himself to give me better access.

“Yeah. Do that.” His voice is heavy, low. He pulls my face to him for a deep, tongue-filled kiss.

I palm his hard cock over his boxers. Its warmth vibrates in my hand.

“Fuck,” Hank growls out.

I give his dick light strokes over his underwear, feel it pulse with approval. A bead of precome wets a spot. I run my thumb over it.

I wonder if I’m going out of order. In the palace, there’s a strict order to all affairs. A certain way of doing things. Yet with Hank, we can make things up as we go along. Hank’s low, panting grunts against my lips tell me I’m doing the right thing at the right time.

Hank runs his hands roughly over my back, part caress and part massage. Our tongues wrestle in the space between us—sweet, awkward, a bit sloppy.

He moves his hand down and politely, but firmly, takes mine and moves it inside his underwear.

“In case you were wondering if you needed permission,” he says, a dirty wink in his eye.

I grip his hot length. Fuck, it’s so thick. I love the meatiness of it. I nudge under his shirt and graze my hand all over his furry stomach and chest. Every part of Hank I discover only makes me want him more.

I rub my face against his hairy torso like it’s a towel drying me off while also stroking his cock. I breathe in his musky scent of his golden brown body hair and smother myself in his manliness.

“Don’t mind me,” I say, looking up at him. I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. I feel safe with Hank. “Is this okay?”

“It’s very okay.”

“Mother nature did not bless me with this.”

“I’ve had it since I was sixteen. Guys in gym class used to call me Austin Powers.”

I kiss down his chest, over the lumps of his pecs and protruding belly while my other hand strokes his cock. It sneaks down to his balls, letting their weight land in my palm. I am drunk on Hank’s hot body.

“I love the male anatomy.”

Shit. Did I just say that? This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to be intimate with guys. I wind up saying weird shit.

“Can we forget that I said that?”

“Makes sense. You are gay.”

Hank’s stomach ripples against my mouth, and I realize he’s laughing. I laugh, too. I thought people had to be dead serious when being sexual. But for me and Hank, this is as fun as it is sexy. My face is buried in his chest, my hand is on his cock, and yet I feel as comfortable with him as I do on the ice.

He looks behind his shoulder at the staircase. “Maybe we should wrap it up. Just in case?”

Heat blazes in my core. “I didn’t bring any condoms or lube, but I read that olive oil could be a good substitute.”

“What? No, I meant wrap it up like…” He spins his finger, as in we should finish, not we should fuck.

“Oh, God.” I feel my entire body turn bright red like one of the inflatable ornaments from earlier. “Did I just say that we should have sex?”