Page 24 of The Fly-Half

“J-Jonny,” Devon said with a gasp as his hands wrapped around me, nails digging into my spine. “Please. I need…”

“Tell me,” I said, my voice a low rumble as I nipped his lip and shifted my body so I could grind against him. “Need me to get you off so you can sleep again?” I chuckled darkly as I teased him, grinding our cocks together in a way I knew would drive Devon wild but wouldn’t be anywhere near enough stimulation to make him come. “We’ve gotta play tomorrow, angel. Thought you wanted to be nice and wound up?”

“No!” Devon shook his head. “Won’t be able to focus.” He slammed his mouth into mine, kissing me hard. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Would never do that to you, doll,” I said as I kissed him again. “Gonna give you everything you need, I promise.”

“Yes! Fuck yes.” Devon threw his head back, his body arching beautifully as I thrust against him, precum slicking the skin. Need coursed through me as we rutted together, his moans and gasps like fucking petrol on an open flame. I never wanted anyone else to see him like this, needed to hoard those sounds like a dragon. Because Devon was my treasure and I was going to keep him forever.

“Jonny,” he said in a beautifully strangled whisper. “I’m… fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me then, doll. Make a fucking mess of me.”

Devon cried out, hot cum spilling across our skin as his nails dug into me.

I woke just as I came, my own cum splattering the sheets as I rutted against the mattress, my head spinning and sweat dripping down my face as I fought to control my breath, my eyes reeling at the darkness as I crash-landed back to reality.

Devon’s face was fading, the imagined sounds of his orgasm drifting away, smothered by my panting.

I clutched at the pillows so tightly it made my fingers ache as my cock began to soften beneath me, the evidence of my dream clinging to my skin in the least pleasant way possible. I knew I needed to turn the lamp on and clean up, but all I could do was stare at the empty space on the bed underneath me, my mind still reeling from everything that had just happened.

And all I could do was mutter three words into the stillness of the night.

“What the fuck?”

CHAPTER TEN

Jonny

The shrill blastof the referee’s whistle cut through the air as Worcester’s fly-half kicked their penalty neatly through the posts to the sound of excited applause from the away fans. I exhaled deeply as I looked up at the scoreboard and watched their lead extend by another three points, and while the five-point lead wasn’t insurmountable, it was annoying.

Then again, every fucking thing was annoying me today.

It was like there was an itch under my skin I couldn’t shake and it was only getting more painful and irritating. And the more I tried not to think about it, the worse it got. I kept trying to tell myself this was just another day and just another game, but it didn’t help that I’d been up since four in the bloody morning because I hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.

I’d already had enough caffeine to stun a horse today, and it still didn’t feel like enough.

“All right, lads,” Charlie called as we jogged back across the pitch towards the halfway line. “Let’s get it done.”

“Fucking move yourselves,” Hunter added.

I just focused on getting back into position. I wasn’t in the mood for pep talks, nagging, cajoling, or words of encouragement. The thought of it was like nails on a damn chalkboard. All I wanted was to get on with the game and steamroll these assholes into the ground so I could go home and stew.

The whistle blew again and play resumed, as full-on as it had been before the penalty had been awarded—which, if you asked me, had been a dodgy-as-fuck call to begin with. Worcester quickly got hold of the ball and began to charge towards us. Their passing skills were fast and accurate but not perfect. There were a couple of them who were arrogant enough to think they could go through us, and while they’d done it a couple of times, I wasn’t prepared for it to happen again.

I watched the ball flying through the air and straight into the arms of their winger, who I’d already seen tear through our defences twice. I set off after him, legs pumping as I focused every ounce of my will on chasing him down. He was already about to hit a line of defenders and I didn’t think he was foolish enough to go through Bailey, so I looked for his nearest passing option. Sure enough, one of their fullbacks was already open and waiting.

And as he tried to plough through me, I slammed into him, grabbing him around the chest, heaving him off his feet, and pushing him to the floor, sprawling half on top of him and smirking as the ball went spinning out of his arms.

Take that, fucker.

The sharp sound of the whistle burst in my ears, evaporating my joy as I climbed to my feet to see the referee jogging towards me. But it couldn’t be me because I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Number eight, a word,” the referee said. He didn’t look that much older than me, and irritation flared in my gut as he gestured to Matty. “Number nine, you too, please.”

What the fuck? Why was he summoning our captain over? This was bollocks.

“Everything okay, sir?” Matty asked with a frown as he stopped beside me, his ginger hair sticking out from under his scrum cap.

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