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A tap at the door made his heart nearly stop. It was a quiet rap, nothing more than a quick blow of knuckles, but he heard it clearly. Scotland seemed none the wiser, even as it came a second time.
Reaching back, he grabbed Scotland by the hip to try to still him, digging his fingertips in when he didn’t immediately stop. Scotland let out a groan against Clint’s ear, picking up his pace.
Someone was knocking on the goddam locker-room door. Do I care anymore? What little pain there had been had faded to pure pleasure, Scotland’s cock like a wet dream as it carved a spot inside him.
He would never forget that cock. Every ridge, every vein, was engraved on his memory. And the way Scotland throbbed when he was all the way in, made his own cock leak and pulse. He was so fucking close.
“Did you lock the door?” asked Clint, gasping out a breath when Scotland changed the angle and slipped that much deeper. Clint dug his nails in, forcing Scotland to stop. It was the best when he paused all the way inside, filling him up in a way only a cock could. Toys were never the same. Even the most realistic one out there could never replicate it.
“No,” said Scotland. “I don’t think the door has a lock.”
He felt Scotland freeze as the knock came again, so much louder this time. “Scotland, you in there?”
Fuck. It was Maxim. He was probably pissed, and that was one person in the world who Clint had no desire to piss off. He didn’t need to be on the Bratva’s bad side for any reason, even if Niki had helped him out of a bind or two in the past.
“Yeah, come on in,” Scotland shouted back.
Clint jerked, a flash of cold and hot shock running through him. Was Scotland insane? He was eight inches deep at the moment with no room to spare.
The grip on his wrists tightened as it tried to wiggle away—anything he could do to salvage the situation. The door clicked open a second later and he froze, the sound of footsteps getting closer.
“What should we tell him?” asked Scotland, grinding his hips until he dragged against Clint’s prostate. His eyes watered, a whimper on his lips that he tried and failed to bite back. His heart pounded as he flexed his fingers, but he was caught.
How am I supposed to survive this?
“You better think of an excuse really quick,” said Scotland, dragging his teeth over Clint’s ear. His nerve endings prickled, everything on high alert. It sounded as if Maxim would be rounding the corner in just a moment. Any second and he would see them.
An excuse…an excuse. Clint’s mind went blank as those footsteps shuddered to a halt. Scotland kept going, though, moving his hips in a steady motion.
“What’s going on in here?” asked Maxim, the darkness in his voice leaving no room for rebuke.
Oh God, I’m going to die. Maxim was going to toss them in an alley behind the gym and leave them to rot in a dumpster. Maddy would take over the club and put candles in every room before the first flies found Clint’s body.
“I slipped in the shower and fell,” Clint blurted out, closing his eyes as he flushed with humiliation. Maybe it was even better that he was facing the wall. Really? That’s all I could think of? “Scotland was helping me up, but then he slipped, too.”
Maxim snorted as Scotland trembled against him, stilling his hips for a moment. It took Clint a moment to realize that Scotland was laughing. Bastard.
“Scotland, I wanted to talk to you about that schedule,” said Maxim. “Is now a good time?” He moved until he was just at the edge of the tile and within Clint’s range of view. His arms were crossed, his lips set in a line. He looked fucking terrifying, his muscles still bulging from his workout.
“Yeah, sure,” said Scotland, sneaking a free hand around Clint until he met his nipple. He pulled Clint against him to give himself room, immediately clamping his fingers down and twisting. His fingers were slippery and cool, the heat at Clint’s back a stark contrast. “You know me. I’m just getting my cardio in.”
Are you fucking kidding me? When Scotland pulled out an inch, only to slide back inside, Clint realized that he wasn’t kidding at all. It was worse than anything to have his cock throbbing but neglected, one of his members standing next to him chatting with his Dom about some kind of game night get together that didn’t even sound real. Scotland didn’t seem like the type to watch hockey.
“That would work,” said Scotland, picking up the pace as he released Clint’s hands, pressing against the back of his head instead. With his other hand, he grabbed Clint’s hip, pulling him into the next thrust. “Just a second.”
A few staccato beats later, Scotland let out a groan, settling all the way inside as his cock pulsed. Clint panted, his eyes closed and his breath buzzing against his ears. A drain dripped in the distance, echoing as Maxim let out an annoyed-sounding sigh.
“Thursday?” asked Scotland, his voice frustratingly steady. “I’ll bring my homemade salsa.”
“You don’t have to bring anything,” said Maxim, rubbing his hands together as Clint panted against the wall.
His legs were weak, his will to keep standing only holding on because of Scotland’s hands on him. His cock was so hard it hurt, but the way Scotland was starting to pull away, it looked like he wasn’t going to get to come…again.
Maxim’s goodbye was lost as Scotland kissed the back of his neck, sucking the damp skin into his mouth. He must’ve been more sweaty than damp right now, shuddering from the fight of hot and cold along his skin. Scotland dragged his teeth over the same spot, adding the edge of agony to it.
“Please.” Clint whimpered, sliding his palms over the surface of the wall. He was hovering in the best place, subspace descending like that warm blanket that he missed so much. “Please.”
He hadn’t thought he would ever beg again. He hadn’t expected to find anyone who was worthy of it.
