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The thought makes my head spin, but I'm too far gone to do anything but what he’s begging for. I press into London slowly, savoring every inch as he takes me inside him. He moans, his forehead pressed to the shower wall as I fill him all the way up with my cock.
"God, you're so fucking perfect," I murmur against his neck, letting my teeth scrape against his skin as I start to move. "You feel incredible."
I turn his head to the side, kissing him hot and hard, sucking his tongue into my mouth. I want him to know how good this feels, how much I love him.
London pushes back against me, meeting my thrusts as we find a rhythm. It's messy and so fucking good that I know I won't last long. But I don't care.
"Fuck, Riot," London gasps as I tilt my hips to hit his prostate. "Just like that."
I keep going, chasing that sweet spot until he's panting and trembling and I’m holding him up. His cock is hard and leaking between his thighs, but I don't touch it. I want him to come just from my cock inside him.
"I'm close," London moans as I thrust into him harder, faster. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm gonna come."
I grip his hips tighter, fingers dig into his skin as I pound into him relentlessly. He shudders around me, and his head falls back against my shoulder as he comes untouched all over the shower wall. The sight of him coming pushes me over the edge, too. I let go with a strangled groan, filling him up with hot spurts of my cum.
We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard as we come down from our high. I don't ever want to pull out of him. My forehead falls to the back of his neck as I catch my breath. "I live here now," I tell him and he laughs.
"You're welcome to stay," London says. "But when we go to practice, I think the team might have something to say about your dick in my ass."
I groan, reluctantly pulling out of him. We rinse off quickly, then stumble back into the bedroom to find clean clothes.
London pulls on a pair of boxers, his eyes darkening as he catches me watching him. "You're gettin' greedy, Kensington."
I smirk at him. "Can you blame me? You're fucking hot."
He chuckles, shaking his head. "We've gotta get going or we'll be late for practice." He grabs a t-shirt from the closet and pulls it over his head. It’s mine. "And Coach will have our asses."
“I already had your ass.”
He flips me off and yanks a pair of joggers up. I sigh, knowing he's right. But I can't resist pulling him close and kissing him one more time before we head out the door.
The brisk air outside snaps me out of my London-induced fog as we walk to campus.
When we’re done with the morning skate, we head out for coffee. We're passing Espresso Yourself when the front door swings open and Deck steps out clutching an oversized coffee. Damn, he got here fast after practice. He must’ve been desperate for caffeine.
“Hey, you two," he calls out, falling into step beside us. “Running late, Ri?”
I roll my eyes. “Please. My watch says we’ve got four minutes to spare.”
Deck just chuckles, already accustomed to my punctuality neuroses. His knowing smile falters when he looks at London. “So, how’d everything go yesterday? The team seemed fine when I left. Anyone giving you guys shit?”
London exhales, a hint of lingering tension in the line of his shoulders. “Better than we could’ve hoped. Mostly just shock and some stupid questions.” He nudges me with his elbow. “But no over the top drama, thank fuck.”
I nod in agreement. "It'll take some adjusting, but the guys seem cool with it all." I hesitate, thinking of Knight's odd reaction yesterday. "Well, most of them anyway."
Deck's mouth thins, his gaze turning distant. “Yeah. About that...” He clears his throat. “I should’ve given you a heads up on Knight. His, uh, family history makes him sensitive about this kind of thing.”
London and I exchange a look. Deck isn’t one to talk shit, so this must be important.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Deck shakes his head. “It’s not my place to share details. But let’s just say his dad wasn’t exactly accepting when Knight’s older brother came out.” His jaw clenches, anger flashing in his eyes. “Knight hasn’t seen or spoken to his old man in years because of it. It’s still a painful subject for him.”
Understanding sinks like a stone in my gut. Knight’s reaction yesterday makes infinitely more sense now. This wasn’t about me and London at all—just old wounds threatening to split back open.
“Shit, that’s rough,” London murmurs. “Definitely explains the mood he was in. I should’ve realized...”
“Not your fault. Neither of you could’ve known.” Deck puts a hand on each of our shoulders. “Just... give Knight some space to work through whatever’s going on in his head. He’ll come around.”
