Page 24 of Two for Roughing

“Oh God,” Kilian moaned. “You gotta slow down.”

Around his mouthful, Denisov managed to snort derisively.

He did not slow down.

Kilian came with a strangled groan, pulsing right down Denisov’s throat. His balls ached with the suddenness of it all, the rapid progression from arousal to erection to orgasm. It was too fast, too good, too much.

One final sharp pulse of pleasure left him doubled over, panting for breath.

Denisov pulled off and wiped his hand across his mouth. He sat back on his haunches, then pushed to his feet in one smooth gliding motion. The power in those quads mesmerized Kilian. Unaware of the effect he had—or maybe aware and interested in displaying his glutes as well as his quads—Denisov turned to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out two sports drinks.

“Your come tastes awful. You need to hydrate.”

Kilian, who had barely managed to right himself, still processing the drive-by blow job, caught the purple drink Denisov threw at him with one hand, then dropped it and had to pick it up again.

“Uh. Thanks?” he tried. “No, wait, hey, that was rude.”

“Live with it.”

Denisov cracked his own drink and downed half of it in two long gulps. With nothing better to do, Kilian followed suit.

Grimacing, Denisov finished the bottle and set it on the counter. “Seriously, when was the last time you drank anything?”

Kilian vaguely remembered having a mouthful here and there between shifts during the game. He shrugged and, to avoid looking at Denisov, busied himself pulling up his pants.

“You should know better. Finish your drink.”

Kilian did as he was told and then set the empty bottle beside Denisov’s. “I’m not incompetent, you know.”

“Did I say you were?”

“No, but…”

“But?”

But everyone on the team acted as if Kilian was a child, too young to know what was in his own interest, let alone stand up for it. But Kilian’s family did the same, with his dad calling him up all the time to give unasked-for hockey tips and his sisters trying to take care of him as well. But no one seemed to think Kilian could be trusted to behave like the adult he was, and from Denisov, it would sting even more.

“I don’t have to think you’re incompetent to take care of you,” Denisov said matter-of-factly.

Kilian swallowed heavily. The words were too close to everything he wanted. He raised his eyebrows and pasted on a flirty smile, the kind he used when he went clubbing and wanted to get fucked. “Are you gonna?”

Denisov pushed away from the counter and back into Kilian’s personal space. “Thought I already did,” he said, low and heated against Kilian’s ear.

Kilian shifted so his thigh rested between Denisov’s legs, pressed against the erection he had yet to do anything about. “But not properly.”

“Oh?” Denisov smirked. “And how would I take care of you…properly?”

It was rare for Kilian to feel short, being a comfortably average (for a hockey player) six feet. But Denisov stood a good half a foot taller than him. Kilian could look up at him from underneath his eyelashes the way demure little schoolgirls did in the worst sort of boring straight porn. “You know.”

“Maybe I want you to say it.”

Kilian bit his bottom lip. It was one thing to get really into it when Denisov initiated the dirty talk. It was another to start it himself.

“Unless you don’t want it.” Denisov made to pull away.

“Good girls need to get fucked,” Kilian whispered.

“What was that?”