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“I eat in bed,” I muttered. “It doesn’t bug me. Anyway, it’s your bed.”
He shook his head. “It’s your bed too,” he told me, and Jesus, that hit hard. We shared a bed. And I wouldn’t even hold the guy’s hand in the middle of nowhere. That was kind of fucked up, even if he acted like he didn’t care. Maybe more fucked up that Iwantedhim to care.Make mehold his hand, maybe.
Who even knew what I wanted.
He gave my ass one more squeeze and dropped a quick kiss on my mouth, and I definitely wanted that.
“Okay, I’m gonna take a super fast shower because I’m all grimy from sitting in the sun, and then we’re gonna crawl into bed and I’m gonna wrap you up in my arms and feed you and give youallmy attention. And then once you’re coherent again, we’ll do some chemistry drills.”
I snorted. “You’ve been watching too much football practice.”
“When you’re out there bending over and sweating, there’s no such thing as too much football practice.”
I fuckingknewthat wasn’t true. I actually liked football and I could barely stand watching a practice I wasn’t in, but I still liked hearing him say it. I nodded and followed him into the bedroom like a puppy, not wanting to let him out of my sight, ready for those arms and that attention, forgetting food for a second because I was so hungry for him.
When he snagged clothes from the dresser, I copycatted him, changing into sweats and one of his old shirts while he showered, and then just falling back on the bed feeling blissed out. Yeah, it was a rough practice. Yeah, Friday was looking like an L already. And yeah, I was sore and exhausted and starving and confused about a lot of shit I was starting to feel, but those complaints were so temporary and fixable they almost felt like good things. My glass was fuckingfull. Not just some half-full bullshit, full-full, and for someone who didn’t do optimism, that was fucking something.
I pushed up on my elbows when Caleb came back in, all squeaky clean, wet hair, shiny skin, looking lean and long, and I just admired him a minute.
“What are you looking at?” he asked me, grinning, and I stood up.
“You wanna tackle me?” I asked him, and for a second his eyes got bright, almost like Ellis’s after he got punched, and there was something in there, something aggressive hiding right under the surface that jumped out and surprised me, got my motor purring hard. But then it was gone, and he looked skeptical.
“I don’t know how. I’d just hurt you.”
“No you won’t. Not if you do it how I say.” I moved to the side of the bed and took a wide stance. “You’ll just knock me on the bed. It’ll be good. Bend your knees, get down like this,” I told him, leaning forward, getting my hips low. Getting bossy, but he needed it, because I saw that flash again, that little secret bit that wanted to play rough, just didn’t know how. “Spread your legs to keep your balance, but not too much. Keep your head up. And don’t let your feet go flat, you wanna be dancing all the time, already in motion.”
He nodded, trying to do all the things I told him, ending up in an awkward three-point stance and I honestly didn’t know how I hadn’t fallen for the guy back in grade school, it was just so fucking irresistible when he tried and didn’t come close. Of course, he never tried back then, which was what always pissed me off.
I went over and moved him around into position, getting real fucking hard when I bent over him from behind, pressing my dick up against his ass, pulling him up a little, straightening his back, shifting his hips until he was where I wanted him. The heavy way he was breathing in through his teeth, it seemed like he didn’t mind it either and goddamn, sometimes I just really wanted to fuck his ass old school, locker room style.
I went back to stand in front of the bed, letting him stare at my thick dick filling up my sweats as I spread my feet wide.
“I’m gonna tell you where to hit me,” I told him. “But normally you gotta figure it out on your own. Low is good, but center of gravity’s not always where you expect it to be. Everybody’s got a specific weak spot.”
“You’re gonna tell me your weak spot?” he asked, looking up at me, and I smirked.
“You’ll find it anyway,” I told him. He wasn’t the only one that could do that double speak. “You’re gonna drive— that means run at me— slow, but right on through. Don’t hit me with your head. Hit me with your shoulder. Right around here.” I rubbed a circle low on my left side, the spot that would send me spinning hard, knock me down on my knee, and usually got me crushed because I couldn’t find my center again fast enough. “When you hit me, put your arms around me and grab me right under the ass. That way when you push me down, you’ll pull my legs out from under me at the same time.”
“So, guys are grabbing your ass on the field all game?”
“They’retrying.But I’m hard to catch. And my bottom half’s so thick it’s hard to take me down.”
“Your bottom halfisnice and thick,” he agreed, smiling, and then turning it into a frown. “You sure I won’t hurt you?”
“Nah. Hitting the ground is what really hurts. I’ll just land on the mattress.”
That wasn’t completely true, but it was too hard to explain how a shoulder to the ribs wasn’t exactly a turn on, but it was a hell of a good charge, it wasintimatein a weird way, and I really wanted to feel him do it.
He nodded. “Okay. Are you gonna say go or something?”
“Sure. Go.”
He blinked, not ready for it, but then he came at me, looking full on scary linebacker for a split second before he plowed me, sending me flying back further than I expected, legit lifting me up off the ground when he knocked me backwards, landing on top of me in the middle of the mattress. The air rushed out of my lungs in a big, barking laugh and he rolled off quick, but I grabbed him and dragged him back on top of me, feeling some deja vu and some endorphins, and a lot of other shit I didn’t want to let go of.
“That felt good,” I told him, and he braced up on his elbows, taking most of his weight off me, but stayed on top where I wanted him. I didn’t much like compromise, but I left him alone.
“It felt good?” he asked, looking doubtful.
