Page 86 of Sweat

Hands fisted in my shirt, hips digging against mine, Rowan kisses me like he’s trying to scoop my tonsils out with his tongue. My reflex is to laugh into his mouth, but then he settles, slows things down, and I feel his bulge grind against my growing erection.

His hands move to my waist, locking our bodies together, and his mouth leaves mine to whisper in my ear, “You were so fucking hot out there today.”

“Really?” I turn my head and lock my eyes on Rowan’s fiery stare, like blazing hot coals between gorgeous black lashes.

“Yeah, baby. Can’t you feel how hard I am?” he murmurs before putting his mouth back on mine. His head tilts, lips latching to mine as he sweeps his tongue along mine.

When Rowan turns his attention to my neck, I reach my head back against the wall to give him clearance to suck my throat and nip at my skin.

“Fuck.” I grip Rowan’s shoulders and push my ass forward to grind against his.

There’s just enough sense left in my head that I look left and right, making sure no one’s around. That’s when I feel Rowan’s hand slide beneath my waistband.

Oh my God.He grips me through my boxer briefs, kneading my balls before dragging his palm along my shaft.

I look left and right again, then tug my shorts and underwear down enough for my cock to spring out and slap Rowan above the bulge in his jeans.

He leans back enough to spit a line of saliva down, hitting the tip of my cock like a bullseye, and he spreads the wetness around with quick, skilled strokes.

“Are you gonna make me come?” I whine as Rowan pumps me like he’s trying to finish me off fast.

Tucking his mouth to my ear, Rowan murmurs, “You want me to make you come, baby boy?”

“Fuck, yes. Please.”

“Your cock is so hot, baby. Fucking burning my hand. My perfect fucking boy.”

Losing myself in the moment—in this feeling—I take Rowan’s face in my hands and kiss him while my body succumbs to his ministrations.

“I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come,” I chant against his mouth, eyes shut and abs flexing.

“That’s it.” Rowan seals his mouth to mine, muffling my moans and milking me of everything I’ve built up since he sucked me off last night.

I cling to Rowan, steadying myself as my orgasm subsides. I moan as I soften in his fist, and I sigh when I look between us and find I’ve painted a large wet spot on Rowan’s shirt. My breath catches in my lungs when Rowan uses the hem of thatshirt to clean my dick before gently tucking it back into my shorts.

“You good?” he asks, putting a couple of feet between us.

I breathe a dazed chuckle, barely able to feel my legs. “Yeah, man. I feel awesome.”

All he does is smirk and nod back to the door we left through.

“Wait.” I take off my sweatshirt and give it to him.

“Thanks.” He peels out of his own shirt, baring his killer body to the overcast weather to dress himself in my Sac State hoodie. He rolls up his soiled shirt and shoves it in the front pocket before tugging the back door open.

I get back to the team feeling jittery and euphoric, everything seeming to fall into place. I’ve got Rowan—not quite boyfriends, but baby-stepping closer to it each day. Got over a half hour of playing time today, helped secure a win, and even got some lukewarm praise from Coach. As for my family…we all love each other, and that’s more important than anything.

Now that Coach is probably going to give me playing time now that I’ve proved myself, Erica wants to bring Mav to my matches. I’m excited over it, because I want them to see me play, and I want them to see how good the team is. I want Ma to come too, so she can see I’m not just wasting my time. That I’m actually good. Better than I ever was in high school. But I’m afraid that no matter what, Ma is always going to think there are more important things I should be doing than kicking a ball around.

After Erica’s gone, Ma is going to need help with Mav like when Erica was real sick. She says Mav needs a male role model around so he won’t grow up sideways. Not sure what that implies about me, since I never had a male role model around besides coaches and teachers who barely knew me outside soccer and school.

I don’t know the first thing about being a father figure, but I try to be a good uncle. I want to show Mav he can do anything if he really puts his mind to it, so when the next home game rolls around, I ask Coach in his office if he thinks I’ll get a few minutes playing time.

“You did well for us last weekend,” he answers, but his tone is gruff, like he’s not used to dolling out compliments to newbies. “But it’ll all depend on how the match progresses and if I’ve got to relieve any of the guys.’

“I understand.”

“Tommy.” He stops me before I slip from his office. “Invite your family to the game. I’ll see what I can do.”

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