Page 18 of Icing on the Cake

“Right.” He bounds toward the restrooms, puts his hand onthe door, and turns back to me. “I really appreciate your help, Elliot.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He disappears into the restroom, and I war with myself on whether I should head back down to the circulation desk or wait to see if he’ll come back out and try to chat some more.

“My stick!”

For a split second, my mind goes somewhere dirty. But then, it dawns on me, and my eyes roll so hard that they nearly fall out of my head.

Gerard bursts out of the restroom and waves his hockey stick the way King Arthur brandishes Excalibur. His face is beaming, and I fight the smile that threatens to break out across mine.

“Can you believe it? I left it in here!”

“Imagine that,” I deadpan.

He jogs over to me, and I brace myself for whatever comes next. A high-five. A bro-hug. A boop on the nose.

Thankfully, he stops short and smiles down at me. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing.” Although that earlier deal sounded sweet, I don’t think I could ever take him up on it. What could I ever possibly want or need from Gunnarson the Great?

“No, seriously. Thank you.” He hesitates, then adds, “Will I see you tonight? At the game?”

“We’ll see.” I don’t dare tell him yes. Can’t have him thinking we’re suddenly best friends who will gossip and braid each other’s hair. He would make a pretty boy with his curls all done up, though.

His smile falters for a brief moment before coming back full force. “Take care, Elliot.”

I watch Gerard walk away, and my eyes are immediately drawn to his ass. His hockey butt stretches the thin material of his athletic shorts to their limit. As he takes his first step down to the second floor, his cheeks quiver like two enormous bowls of jello being carried by a clumsy waiter.

I’d give an arm and a leg to bury my face between those massive cheeks, feel their weight on either side of my head, and inhale his musky scent.

I’d bet my life’s savings that under all those bulging muscles and bravado, he’s secretly aching to be pinned down and tongue-fucked into oblivion.

God, what I wouldn’t give to be the one to introduce him to that pleasure. I’d start slow, teasing him through his shorts with gentle strokes and nips before revealing the untouched skin of his perfect glutes.

He’d shiver under my touch as my fingers trail along the cleft of his ass. Goosebumps would pebble his flesh as my breath coasted over him.

Unable to resist any longer, I’d dive in face-first, parting those juicy cheeks and dragging the flat of my tongue from his perineum up to his tailbone. He’d gasp and moan, overwhelmed by the foreign yet electrifying sensation.

I’d do it repeatedly, lapping at him like he was my favorite ice cream flavor.

Once he’s slick with my spit, I’d stiffen my tongue and zero in on his fluttering pink hole. I’d trace tight circles around the furled muscle, coaxing it to relax and let me in. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be loose and pliant enough for me to spear my tongue past that resistant ring and plunge into his scorching heat.

I’d tongue-fuck him deep and filthy, holding his cheeks open wide so I could get as far inside him as possible. He’d be a wreck above me, hands scrabbling for purchase, thighs trembling, broken pleas tumbling from his lips.

I’d keep going until he sobs from the intensity. Until he can’t take it anymore and explodes untouched all over the library carpet.

Fuck.I adjust myself in my jeans, trying to will away my arousal. The last thing I need is to be caught with a boner in the middle of the stacks. Especially a boner for Gerard goddamn Gunnarson.

No matter how delectable his ass looks in those shorts, no matter how much I want to eat him out until he cries, I can’t let myself go there.

He’s straight, and more importantly, he’s a jock. Guys like him don’t go for guys like me.

“Bro! You talked to Gerard Gunnarson?”Jackson stares dumbfounded from the bench press.

I drag my eyes over to him and choke on my saliva when I realize how much weight he’s lifting. “Damn, Jackson. Can Arnold Schwarzenegger even lift that much?”

Jackson snaps his fingers in my face to bring my attention back to him. “Elliot. Gerard. You talked to him?”

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