Page 40 of Breakaway Goals
“Yeah?” Morgan could hear the roughness in his voice as he wobbled to his feet, his knees jello from how fucking turned on he was right now.
“Get up here,” Hayes ordered and Morgan went, shucking his jeans and briefs before he crawled up Hayes’ body and kissed him hard and insistent.
Forget Hayes’ thigh. He was just going to rub off on Hayes’ stomach, the wetness of his precome slicking the way, Hayes’ abs tensing underneath him.
He just needed a little more, pleasure sliding through him in a wave, and then Hayes kissed him deep, tongue tangling with his, and dug his hands into his bare ass, and that was all it took. Brain whiting out, making embarrassing noises, the whole nine yards.
When his orgasm finally petered out, he collapsed right into the mess, Hayes laughing underneath him.
“You came all over me,” he said, sounding delighted by this. But he couldn’t be as delighted by this as Morgan was.
Satisfaction was following quicky and inevitably after pleasure.
He didn’t want to roll over, but he didn’t want to crush Hayes either. So he finally did—regretting it only until he could see the remains of his orgasm, smeared all over Hayes’ stomach.
“You liked it,” Morgan teased.
The way Hayes’ eyes lit up at this made it clear that hedid. “Yeah, and so did you,” Hayes retorted fondly, smacking Morgan lightly on the arm. “It’s okay, ’cause it was hot.”
“Understatement of the century,” Morgan admitted.
Last night he’d felt like he should leave pretty much the moment he’d come. Though from the way Hayes had smiledsoftly when he’d lingered, even briefly, Morgan wondered if he should ask Hayes if he wanted him to stay.
Maybe that wasn’t hookup etiquette. It certainly wasn’t hookup etiquette for Morgan. But he was comfortable, shoulder to shoulder with Hayes, and when he looked at him, eyes sleepy and content, Morgan thought it wouldn’t be an imposition to fall asleep just like this.
But before he could decide if he was going to say something—and what hewouldsay if he did—Hayes lifted himself up out of bed.
Morgan could hear the faucet running. Knew Hayes was cleaning up.
He returned with a wad of tissues and a rueful smile on his face. But to Morgan’s surprise, he didn’t hand them over. Instead he climbed half over him and wiped up the smears of come himself.
“I . . .uh . . .guess I should go?” Hayes said, but it wasn’t a statement. It was definitely a question.
“What’s our schedule for tomorrow?” Morgan asked, sitting up.
He shouldn’t make it dependent on the schedule. Who cared what time the alarm was going to go off if he could stay with Hayes tonight? But even if he rarely did this—and not ever with a guy—evenheknew it was pretty unhinged to say that literally the fourth day they’d been hanging out and only the second time they’d had sex.
But Hayes leaned down and plucked his phone out of the mess of their clothes on the floor anyway. “Um, yeah, practice in the afternoon. Some media in the morning.”
Morgan did not groan with annoyance at the implications of that, but he thought about doing it.
“Sorry,” Hayes said, wincing as he glanced over at him. “I know you’re going to hate that.”
And it was absolutely not okay for Hayes to think he hated doing media with him. Sure, he hadn’t really enjoyed it on the first day, but that had nothing to do with Hayes the man and everything with the inane questions they always peppered him with.
“If they asked better questions, I would hate it less,” Morgan said.
“But,” Hayes asked, nudging him as he sat back on the edge of the bed, “if the questions were actually decent, if they were all insightful and shit, would you evenanswerthose questions?”
Morgan laughed, so fucking charmed. Way too fucking charmed. “No. No. Goddamn you.”
Hayes just grinned at him knowingly. Still naked. Still gorgeous. And he was apparently now living rent-free in Morgan’s brain and not only did henothate that, he actually thought he . . .God, he thought he might really like it.
“I should go,” Hayes said reluctantly. He reached down and grabbed his jeans. His henley.
“Yeah,” Morgan agreed, hoping that his reluctance was equally as obvious. He didn’t want Hayes thinking that he just wanted him gone. The opposite, actually.
If he was admitting things—even to himself—he might mourn every inch of skin that got covered up.
