Page 11 of Pucked-Up Roommate Deal

“Now,” he whined.

“Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want to feel you. For days. I want to feel you for days. Just fucking fuck me already.”

“You will feel me.” Keeping my fingers working in and out while I loosened his hole, I leaned to the side so I could kiss him. His mouth was wild on mine, demanding. I knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t in charge right now.

But I barely was either. Crawling behind him, I shoved him down to the bed and forced his legs apart for me. With one hand I notched my dick to him then slowly started to push inside his ass. He closed around me like a fiery glove, squeezing hard, too hard, and I gritted my teeth to keep myself in check.

Planting my knees wide on the mattress, I pushed deeper. My hands grasped his biceps, holding them to the bed and at the same time, using them for leverage and letting him know who had the control.

Porter yelled out as I surged forward burying myself the rest of the way in him. I didn’t pause. I fucked him just the way he’d begged me to, my forehead between his shoulder blades while he writhed under me and I nailed him to the sheets, watching my cock disappear into him over and over.

I didn’t last long and for the second time that night, his iron grip had me coming with a choked cry.

“Holy shit,” Porter muttered when I collapsed on his back.

“Yeah.”

“Hope you know I’m never letting you go.”

I smiled, shaking my head. If only it were that easy. Tonight had been a fantasy come true, but who knew what tomorrow and real life would bring. But that was for tomorrow and not right now. Shoving away thoughts, I got rid of the condom then climbed back into bed with Porter and we fell asleep in a tangle of limbs.

Eight

Nash

I wasn’t exactly surprised to wake up alone. Porter always left super early for training—even on Sundays, though on Sundays the team only had early morning conditioning. What surprised me was that I hadn’t heard him get up and leave.

My phone was on the bedside table and through the open doors, I could see across the hallway where my my clothes were folded in a neat pile on the end of my bed. How dead to the world had I been? Holy crap. I mean, sure, we had fucked a couple times last night in a fuck-nap-wake-fuck again pattern, but I shouldn’t have beenthatknocked out.

I grinned into the pillow. I couldn’t complain since it was because of Porter. Inhaling, I breathed in, inhaling his scent and letting it fill me the same as it surrounded me. With a happy sigh, I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling then laughed. Last night I’d been so distracted by Porter that I didn’t realize he had motivational messages plastered to his ceiling.

My eyes pinned to one in particular by Mike Eruzione. “Hockey is a metaphor for life. You have to be willing to get knocked down and get back up.”

That was something I needed to remember. I’d been knocked down early with my mother disappearing and my dad being analcoholic crook who had tried to rope me into his schemes. I’d heard horror stories about foster homes, but for me, I knew it had been the best thing to ever happen to me. If he hadn’t been arrested, I would have gone down that path, been a crook like him.

Trouble was, I’d kept myself down, and kept myself small ever since then. “Keep your head down; don’t get noticed.” That had been my motto…until last night. Last night I’d stepped outside the shell I’d kept around myself for years. And look what had happened.

My phone dinged letting me know I’d missed a call and I had a voicemail. That must have been what woke me. Scooping it up, I reclined back on the pillows, holding my phone over me to read the screen.

Unknown caller.

Ugh. Probably spam. Out of curiosity, I opened the voicemail and hit play.

“Nash, this is Fletcher George…”

Porter’s dad? Why was he calling?

I sat up, trepidation roiling in my gut.

“I’m calling because, well in short, I know your background and who your father is, since I check into all the people around my son. Please call me, so we can talk about this.”

I dropped the phone into my lap as he finished with his phone number and disconnected.

“Shit,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face. I should have known better than to think I could just be with Porter, that my past wouldn’t rear up again and ruin everything.

I’d spent the last eight years doing whatever I could tonotbe like my father and he was still poisoning my life. I wouldn’t let him poison Porter’s life, too. He had such a promising future, with professional teams already scouting him for training camp this summer and placement on their teams this fall. There was a real good chance he’d land with the Charleston Lynx and be staying right here in South Carolina, albeit a little over two hours from where we were now.

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