Page 3 of The Blame Game

“Bedroom?” he suggested rather than dig into that.

“Yeah.” Sawyer popped to his feet, smoothing down his shirt.

Dom stood more slowly, biting back a groan at the twinge in his lower back, hoping to hide his discomfort. But Sawyer’s gaze flicked to him, brow furrowing a little. Damn it, he had good eyes, always knew what to look for.

That’s what you get for fucking a physiotherapist.

Because that was Sawyer’s day job. It was why he’d gotten into sex work in the first place.

Dom didn’t know a ton about him but he knew that much.

Knew Sawyer had been a highly touted hockey prospect until his knee injury in high school and that he’d had to scramble for money for university once it became clear his athletic career was over.

Knew he had a job outside of this as a sports physiotherapist.

When their arrangement began, Dom knew he’d have no hope of keeping his identity a secret from Sawyer and it seemed pointless to pretend like Sawyer wouldn’t know exactly who he was.

Besides, they both liked to talk hockey, so it was a frequent topic of conversation before or after sex. Beyond that, they kept things close to the surface, rarely delving deep.

Just the way Dom liked it.

He followed Sawyer into the bedroom, watching the flex of his shoulders under the thin fabric of his shirt and the sculpted curve of his ass, mouth going dry at the sight.

In the bedroom, the lights were off except for the lamps on the nightstands and they stripped down with practiced ease, hanging their clothes on hooks nearby because it would look suspicious if they walked out of here with rumpled clothing.

When they were both nude, Dom let his gaze trail up and down Sawyer’s body, taking in the finely honed muscles and broad shoulders. The sight was simultaneously arousing and a prick to Dom’s ego. He’d never managed to put on muscle that way, not even at Sawyer’s age, and the twist of envy in his stomach was irritating.

Sawyer was younger, hotter, and better looking than Dom had ever been. The kind of guy Dom would only get because he was paying for it.

“Want me to ride you?” Sawyer asked, tone deceptively casual as he pulled lube and condoms out of the satchel he must have stashed in the room earlier. Along with bottles of water on the nightstand.

Always prepared.

Sawyer was probably being kind, knowing it would be easier on Dom’s back. It made Dom want to bend him over the bed and prove he still had it in him.

Instead, he swallowed his frustration at the ways that his body was failing him and nodded. He nodded because he had a game tomorrow and he should try to limit the number of Toradol injections he got during the regular season.

They all knew retired guys who were dealing with the consequences of addiction or the side effects of too many anti-inflammatories.

Besides, Dom didn’t exactly want to explain to the trainers and team doc that he’d thrown his back out having sex.

They’d never know it was with a man, but still.

Just because he’d—reluctantly—told two of his teammates that he was gay earlier this season didn’t mean he was in a hurry to let anyone else in on that secret.

“Sure, yeah, sounds good,” Dom lied. He stretched out on the crisp white sheets, watching Sawyer set the supplies on the bed by his hip.

Dom was only half-hard when Sawyer wrapped a hand around his cock but he still let out a hiss of pleasure at the touch.

It had been almost three weeks.

They usually met on Sunday evenings like this one, but Dom had been away on a west coast road trip and, well … it wasn’t like he was having sex with anyone else. It wasn’t out of any particular sense of loyalty to Sawyer—this was a paid arrangement, after all—but the last time he’d had sex with a man he wasn’t paying for, he’d learned his lesson.

How many other people Sawyer’d had sex with in that time, well, Dom would never ask. It wasn’t his business. They both got tested regularly, used condoms, and Sawyer was on PrEP.

That was enough.

“Hey, you with me tonight?” Sawyer asked and Dom realized he’d been lost in his own head.

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