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“You want me to lose control?” My hands are gripping the crutches so hard my knuckles are white.
“If that’s what’ll get your head right.”
“Don’t bait me.”
“Or what? You’ll throw something. Punch a wall. Fuck me.” He licks his lip suggestively.
“Typical. Always thinking about dicks,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Have you ever hate-fucked anyone?”
That’s not the response I’m expecting. “What? Why the hell would I do that? Those two things don’t really go together.”
“They do when you need an outlet, and you have a fuck buddy who likes it rough.”
“I don’t need a fuck buddy right now! I need to be on the ice, with my team.”
“But you can’t.” Tripp steps so close our chests are practically touching. “And that’s driving you mad so stop trying to pretend it doesn't piss you off.”
“Of course, it pisses me off.” The damn breaks as I let go of my crutch to grab him by the back of the neck. “I’m here while my team is gone, they’re losing because of me, and you…” The words die on my tongue as I realize our faces are so close, we’re breathing each other’s air.
Time seems to stand still as our gazes lock, Tripp’s green eyes glinting in triumph. Then our chests brush together on a precarious inhale, and the room around us fades away as every lingering noise is drowned out by our heavy exhales. Trapped in this little bubble, fear and desire ripple through me, fighting for dominance. There’s a split second where fear almost wins, where I nearly reign in my aggression and pretend I’m not coiled so tight I’m about to erupt.
I should step away… We have an unspoken rule to never kiss. Yet, as I stand here, like I've been placed under some sort of spell, I can’t bring myself to move. Hell, I forget how to blink, and the only understandable thought in my mind is how badly I want to kiss him–to devour him.
Closing the distance between us, I smash my mouth against his, moaning when our tongues meet, and I realize he’s not fighting me. He’s matching me in desperation and intensity, stealing my breath as he gives me his own.
Whether this is part of his challenge to get me to let loose or because he wants it as badly as I do, I don’t know. Don’t care. I just know that the rough brush of our lips, the scrape of stubble along my jaw, is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever felt.
I want to claim him, to slam him against the wall and wrap his legs around my waist. The urge to make him mine is consuming, but I'm fully willing to give myself over to him in return. I let my other crutch fall to the floor and give him my weight, so we topple onto the couch.
Tripp doesn’t miss a beat as I fall on top of him, lips and teeth and tongues tangling in a frenzy of lust. He bites my bottom lip just hard enough to sting before licking away the burn and delving inside my mouth, groaning as his hips rut against mine.
Hands rake through my hair, down my back, groping my ass. Mine are just as eager, clutching at Tripp’s arms, chest, and head, trapping his mouth against mine and swallowing the sounds he makes.
I’ve kissed people before—women—and while it was often soft and gentle, there were times it became hurried and needy. But it was never passionate. It never consumed me or flooded my senses. It never threatened to drown out the world until the only sensation left was the feel of my partner’s lips.
My chest aches with want. My heart beats like it does when the seconds tick down on the clock and I’m desperately trying to hang on for the win. That’s never happened with another person—only the game. The game I’m not playing right now.
The anger that had started to dissipate comes roaring back, mixing with the adrenaline and desire. It makes me crave Tripp with an almost feral need.
Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of my mind, a voice tells me to slow down. That I’m too unhinged. Then Tripp slides his hands under my shirt and rakes his nails down my back. “I need you. Now.”
We’re a tangle of limbs as we race to shed our clothes, miraculously staying on the couch as we contort ourselves to get naked. Then Tripp leans over the arm, sticking his ass toward me, and hands me a small packet of lube.
I lean forward and growl into his ear. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Boy Scout motto. Always be prepared.” He rocks back and forth, trying to rub his crease along my length.
“You were a boy scout?”
“Fuck no, but you never know when you might get the chance to play with a fat cock.”
I don’t know if it’s the obnoxious words or the visual of my dick resting between his cheeks. Either way, the thought of anyone but me seeing him like this suddenly has me seeing red, and before my mind can catch up my palm cracks down on his ass.
“Oh fuck,” he moans, rocking backward. “I didn’t know you had it in you, big guy, but I like it. Again. With your cock in me.”
His command has precum practically dripping from my slit. Have I ever been this hard before? I rush to get myself nice and slick and line up to his hole.
