Page 58 of These Secret Years

Once we get to the main bedroom, and he drops his backpack on the bed, I let him shove me into the wall and kiss me. His arms cage me in for a few long, luscious moments before his hands meet my sides and ruck up my shirt to press his hot palms to my skin. I’m so hard, it’s not really all that difficult to shut down my reservations or any mushy thoughts about what I might wish this was in some tiny corner of my mind. It can’t be that, so there’s no point.

What it can be is an experience I might not ever have another chance at.

Being a nineteen year old virgin among the guys I hang out with has involved so much lying. I literally wear a cross around my neck to signal purity, and I’ve allowed so many people to believe I have principles when it comes to sex. Morals or beliefs about “man and wife” when the truth is I’ve never thought of sex as sacred.

The problem with that is, when Sullivan is kissing me, it feels somehow more important than football, all the good I can do with all the NFL money, or the legacy I feel meant to carry on. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it seems equally important for sure. But I’m probably the most hard up person I’ve ever met. My hand is all I’ve ever had. Because I live with guys, I can’t even have toys for fear a roommate might discover the truth about me and shrink away—think of me as some threat to their own heterosexuality by the mere fact of existing in their world.

As Sullivan’s hands push down the back of my pants to grab fistfuls of my ass, and I press my hips forward, flexing and wanting and kissing him as hard and deeply as he’s kissing me, a fever builds, and I forget everything but him.

“Are you gonna let me fuck this ass?”

I nod, slamming my mouth firmly back onto his. His tongue sinks deep, wrapping around mine. Two of his long fingers slide through my crack as his other hand pulls my ass cheek out of the way. When his fingertips brush my hole, I groan into him. So fucking sensitive.

“Tight,” is what he notes.

I steal nips of his full lips. I’m shivering and melting as that fingertip circles my opening. I clutch his shirt at the sides feeling cold and sweaty and so fucking needy suddenly, I might have a breakdown because Christ, oh Christ it’s embarrassing and terrible, and I like it too much. When my forehead drops to his shoulder, I’m gasping, and he hasn’t changed a damn thing.

He presses a kiss to my neck and whispers, “Tell me what I’m gonna do with this.”

“Mm…you’re gonna fuck me.”

Blunt nails dig into my ass cheek. “Be specific. What am I gonna do with this tiny little hole?”

Shame floods me, heating my neck and face. My dick aches as it rubs against his, and I feel wet at the tip.

“Tell me, champ. What will I do?”

“You’re gonna put your cock in it.”

“Tell me more. Tell me what it’s gonna feel like.”

Unable to help it, I press my palms to his sides, my mouth to his neck, and I whimper. It’s so hot, I might pass out. Like running summer drills in the blistering heat. I’m not hydrated enough for this. I’m fucking dizzy with weak knees and no defense. “Like being split open.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” His finger works itself into the tight hole, and I shudder with the humiliating, burning pleasure of it. “Does it sting?”

“Yes.”

“But you like that. You like when I touch all your private places.”

My dick throbs painfully. “Fuck…yeah I do.”

“Take your clothes off. Get on the bed.”

This was not how I pictured my life. Back in my innocent, secret, gay youth, I imagined something sweeter for my first time. More tender. Love and reverence and slow, shy exploration. A meeting of equals.

This isn’t that—not at all. While I’m probably ten times more physically powerful than Sullivan, he turns me into a trembling mess every single goddamn time. He’s just big enough to trap me and take me over, just strong enough to make me obey, just unpredictable enough to scare me, and oh shit, I’m leaking everywhere. He’s gonna see how messy I am, and what if I die of embarrassment?

“Are you gonna hurt me?” I ask in a whisper.

He smooths my ass cheeks with his hands. He pulls his head back, and I get the distinct impression he’s waiting for me to look at him, so I do. We’re nearly eye to eye. He’s still got our hips and dicks pressed together as he studies my face. “Do you want to be hurt?”

I shake my head slightly.

His brows lift. “Then do what I tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Undress, get on the bed, and show me that tight little hole.”