Page 128 of Scoring the Player
“Wait! Tell me about your day.”
And, damn, if the need in his voice didn’t make me light up. Or the way he slid down the wall and listened as I told him about my boring day, and then he told me about his.
When we were finally going to hang up, the question of us being exclusive burned on my tongue, and I saw myself asking,and his soft, unguarded eyes darkening as his walls returned, and I choked.
Instead, I said, “I’ll see you next week. Good night.”
And then I’d laid there, swimming in thoughts like:
It’s been going well, don’t mess it up.
He told you he isn’t the committed-relationship type. Instead of trying to force him, respect where he’s at.
Is he seeing other men when we aren’t together?
There’s so much more I want to tell him—like about Denzel being missing.
Why haven’t I told him about Denzel?
“Seriously!”
My eyes fly to Blue’s glare. “Shit. I’m sorr?—”
He jumps to his feet. “Bring the lube.”
“What?”
He races toward the door buck naked.
The hell?
“Yo!” Yanking up my boxer briefs, Ishuffle to my feet. A tight squeeze has my gaze dropping to my dick.
When did he roll on a condom?
I kick the bottle of lube across the floor. Swiping it up, I race after him.
I yank open the door, and a feral roar, jagged and raw, cracks the air.
My heart rages in my chest as he stands in the middle of the forest, heaving from unhinged laughter as icy rain pelts and pebbles his skin.
“Damn, that felt good!”
He throws his head back, fists balled, activating every taut muscle of his body, eyes closed, neck vein protruding, fat cock swinging between his thighs, and lets it rip.
His howl vibrates through the air, firing an electric charge in my chest, the weight of my control unraveling, pressing againstmy lungs, dragging higher and higher until a blue-black sound rattles my ribcage, tilts my face to the wrathful sky, and kicks free of my restraint.
He’s right there with me, a blood-red, bone-chilling roar, lashing and slaughtering the wind.
The weeping sky answers to the dominion of our gut-hollowing purge.
Scraped from our blood, bones, and sweat—media, headlines, slurs, humiliation for clicks, silent bystanders, missing brothers.
Madness returned to the damp earth pulsing under my toes.
Blue beats his chest, and I don’t have to touch them to know his tears are hot like mine.
Trembling as the window to my senses cracks open, and I surrender to the thrum in my blood, cleansing everything that is not us.
