Page 99 of Shut Up and Score
I crowd him in, letting the spray hit my back. “What?” My voice is low and dangerous. “You were brave enough to open your mouth last night. Suddenly shy?”
His throat bobs. I watch it move, remembering exactly how it felt constricting around me. My hand lands on the wall next to his head, close enough that he can’t escape.
“Micah…” It’s a whisper, broken.
I reach down, and he doesn’t stop me. His cock is already hard again, pressing against my palm as though it’s been waiting for me all day. I give him one slow stroke, just enough to make him shudder.
“Pathetic,” I murmur against his jaw, feeling the scrape of hisstubble against my cheek. “Came in your shorts last night, and here you are, hard for me again.”
He whimpers—quiet, but it’s there. His fingers curl against the tile like he needs something to hold on to.
“You’d let me take you right here if I wanted, wouldn’t you?” I breathe against his ear. “Water running, team just outside, and you’d still spread for me.”
He doesn’t answer, but his hips jerk forward, his body betraying him.
I grin, cruelly against his lips. “Not ready for that, though, are you?” I give him another stroke, slower this time, savoring the way he trembles.
His breath hitches, eyes fluttering closed, and I know he’s right there.
I lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Come for me, Golden Boy. Show me how much you hate this. How much it embarrasses you to want my touch on you.”
Hot water pounds against the tile, turning the air to steam. I’ve got him trapped against the wall, one hand braced beside his head, the other wrapped around him. He’s already trembling, his hips jerking helplessly, and I know his body belongs to me now.
When he finally comes, it’s a shuddering mess of a release—his jaw slack, eyes half-lidded, his whole body bowing and breaking for me. It spills hot over my fist, only to wash away under the spray like it never existed.
I don’t let him hide. I stay close enough for him to feel my breath on his cheek as I run my thumb through the last of it that the water hadn’t caught, and bring it to my mouth, tasting him.
“Pathetic,” I say softly, cruelly, letting the word sink in. “What would your mom say?”
His throat bobs, his face flaming red under the water. He can’t even look at me.
“What do you do with this now? Go back into the closet? Pretend you don't want me to fuck you?”
He makes a choked noise, somewhere between a groan and a plea, and I can see it—the part of him that hates that he wants this. Hates that I know.
I dip my head closer, brushing my lips near his ear without touching. “You’re mine in here,” I murmur. “No one else even has a chance. You’ll be thinking about my hands…my mouth…until I decide I want you again.”
When I finally step back, he’s still hard despite coming, his chest rising and falling fast. I grab my towel, not looking back as I leave him in the shower, aching for something he can't have, because he knows I’m right.
TWENTY-FIVE
COLTON
The stadium lights are brutal.Hot. Blinding. They turn the field into a stage, and I feel as though every mistake I make tonight is under a microscope.
I should be locked in. Quarterback. Leader. Cool under pressure.
Instead, I’m jittery, every muscle remembering last night. The drag of scruff on my throat. The weight of him over me. The way I came apart for him, as if I’d been waiting years for it. His fist stroking me in the shower. Fuck.
The ball snaps. I fumble it. Recover, scramble. Nearly get sacked.
Coach is yelling. The crowd is restless. And I can feel Micah’s eyes burning into me from the line as though he knows exactly what’s got me off my game.
By the time I get back to the sideline, I've spit my mouthguard out, and I’m muttering to myself. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t think like this?—”
A hand snags my face mask and jerks me forward, and suddenly he’s right there. Micah. His own helmet still on, eyes dark through the bars, voice a low growl that cuts through the noise of the stadium.
“Shut up and score,” he bites out. “Get out of your head.”
