Page 24

His head fits perfectly between my hands, and I unleash myself. Oh, the way my cock wedges into the back of his throat is sublime, and I feel the muscles constrict around me as he swallows and struggles for air. I barely pull out, just enough to give him the chance to sneak in a quick breath before I thrust in again.

Again, again, again, chasing the building pleasure low in my belly. The delicate trails of spit have turned into a sheen of drool surrounding his mouth, and he looks stunning like this, with his breath, his life, in my hands.

A retched whine starts to build in the back of his throat, and I both hear and feel the sound as his movements become more precise and consistent against me. He is close, chasing whatever iteration of pleasure he feels in his body as I am reaching for mine.

It would be poetic to come together, I think, but reality crashes over us as I tip over the edge, pleasure unlike anything I have ever felt sending my vision white. It feels too good, almost, leaving me not only struggling to remain standing but emotionally raw, like something in me cracked open and I do not know how to close it up again.

Aleks swallows me eagerly, lapping at my pulsing cock until it grows soft on his tongue.

I shift my trembling legs, and notice belatedly how my hands cradle his head like he is someone precious.

“Get after it,” I command, my voice breathless, as I nod down at where our bodies are still touching. I regret my phrasing for a moment, but it is too late to craft my words into something more tender, more gentle. Something to more accurately reflect the aching hole I feel growing in my chest.

Aleks’ eyes drift shut, and I watch him chase his release. I see the moment he crests, his head tossed back and exposing his long neck. His body jerks and stutters, and I murmur words of encouragement.

“Good boy,” I whisper, reverent.

His body slumps down, heavy on my foot. After giving him a moment, I gently guide him to stand. “How are your knees?”

He blinks down at me, eyes still glazed. “They’re good?”

“Are you sure about that?” I do not think he meant it as a question, but I cannot help but tease him.

With a soft scoff, Aleks rolls his eyes. “My knees are fine,” he mumbles.

“Good.” Without overthinking, I reach out and thread our hands together. His mouth is swollen and wet, his skin flushed—he looks perfectly wrecked.

Tell him. I turn, leading us down the path toward our cabin. His footsteps crunch behind me. I should tell him. He should know what this really is, who he is to me.

When we reach the cabin, I shove my thoughts aside. “Go get changed for bed,” I say, careful to keep my voice soft. Aleks must be too exhausted to fight me, because he nods and shuffles over to the bathroom.

While he is busy, I take off my shirt, tossing it on the back of the couch, and go to the little kitchen. I have grabbed some different things from the dining hall and stashed them here, and I have everything I need for a smoothie.

I remember Aleks’ question about strawberries when I offered him some of the smoothie I made yesterday, so I grab a banana and some mango instead. With the addition of whole milk and some vanilla protein powder, it is the perfect snack for an athlete.

I feel Aleks’ presence behind me. I am not sure what it is—a feeling, maybe, or a shift in the air in such close quarters. I pour the smoothie into a cup and turn to face him.

He is only in a pair of boxers now. My eyes trace over his body—the slender muscles under his skin, the line of fine dark hair trailing down to his boxer briefs, his ankles, which look so skinny it is hard to imagine them holding the rest of him up. He is nervous, too, fidgeting with the cotton hem.

“Drink.” I hand him the smoothie.

Aleks’ body stills, and he drinks. I watch him, standing there until he finishes. I take the cup from him and wash it in the sink. He watches me, silent.

“Now brush your teeth.”

“Okay.”

When he walks back to the bathroom, I smile.

“Now go to sleep,” I tell him when he comes out of the bathroom, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. I see the protest in his eyes, and add, “You need the rest, Aleks.”

The way he keeps glancing back at me as he climbs the stairs to the loft almost breaks me. There is uncertainty in his expression, like he is trying to make sure I am still here.

I listen to the shuffling of blankets, the quiet creaks of the floor above me, and tell myself I am doing the right thing by staying downstairs. Every instinct I have is telling me to tuck him in. To make sure he is comfortable and safe.

It hurts not to go to him.

There is too much there, hovering between us. Right now, I hold the knowledge of something that could change everything. It is not fair to him.