Page 100 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
I failed. I missed my chance. I didn’t give Dmitri what he needed, what he wanted.
Dmitri tears open the condom wrapper, and I prepare for him to put it on his cock.
He doesn’t.
He takes my flagging cock and strokes it multiple times until it’s pulsing in my hand. Then he slides the condom down, moving the latex down my cock. He takes the bottle of lube then squirts some on his hand, then rubs it on my cock. The latex crinkles.
“Is so big,” he murmurs appreciatively, adding more lube.
“I was reading about this, and...”
My eyebrows jolt up. “You were reading?”
He elbows me. “I know how to read! Just funny characters in English. Not very many of them.”
“We have extra letters in Sweden,” I say.
“Very sensible,” Dmitri says.
I giggle.
Troy is right. Sometimes Dmitri’s English makes him sound like he stepped out of a Regency novel.
I giggle. Then the reality of what we’re about to do hits me. I run gentle hands over his muscled back. “I’ll go slow.”
“Yes,” he says, more serious now. “And don’t worry about being perfect. Is first time.”
“I might not last very long,” I warn him.
“Good,” he says happily, settling into position, like he’s doing some obscene yoga position. “You’re not supposed to be happy about that!”
He eyes me. “Is sexy if you come at once. Sort of um, flattering. And if you don’t, also sexy.”
“Oh.”
“Is what they call win-win,” he explains. “Not a hockey thing. And after it’s over, Oskar, I’ll fuck you really hard.”
My heart thrums, and heat swirls inside me. I blink multiple times.
“Right.” I move into position behind him.
I stretch my hands around his hips, so I grab his cock. It jerks in my hand, and from the startled, happy sound Dmitri makes, he didn’t expect me to pay any attention to it.
My cock glistens from the lube, but I take my time stretching Dmitri’s hole. I remember what felt good when he did it to me.
I stare at the hole, then I kiss his cheek, sucking his skin into my mouth.
“Gug...” Dmitri sputters.
I continue stroking my hand over his cock. This is the same angle I would use when touching myself, and I move my fingers over his shaft and twist under his head, just like I would to myself. Pre-cum spills from his cock, and a salty scent that wasn’t in the room before wafts around my nostrils.
God. Is this my last night here? And tomorrow night I’ll be back in my apartment with my childhood bear to keep me company?
I don’t want to think about it.
No way.
Because that might involve tears, and I’m totally not going to do that. People get teased for crying after seeing sex on TV shows. No way am I going to cry before sex.
