Page 18 of The Last Guy On Earth
“Holy…”
Clay gives a good, hard suck, and Jethro’s eyes practically roll back in his head. His body flashes with heat, and his balls tighten. “You’re…fuck.”
Clay takes another drag, and Jethro practically levitates off the bed. He sucks in a breath and fights the orgasm that’s building. Because Clay’s mouth is magic, and suddenly he doesn’t ever want this to end.
But then Clay looks up at him from between his legs, eyes flashing with something like triumph. It’s dark and weird and hot. Jethro’s nipples ache, and his body’s on fire. Then it’s all over but the crying. “Lookout,” he manages before he comes.
Clay pops off him at the last second, managing to aim Jethro’s cock at an angle so Jethro shoots jizz at his own chin. Then he pumps him two more perfect times, leaving Jethro wrung out like a dish towel and panting on the bed.
All he can do is suck in oxygen for a minute. He’s also a little afraid to open his eyes. But when he does, Clay is looking down at him smugly. “Do you cheat at beer pong, too?”
Jethro’s mind is too staticky to answer, and he doesn’t even mind that much.
Clay, stark naked, leaves the room for a minute. Jethro hears the sounds of toothbrushing before his roommate reappears, still naked, this time remembering to step over the hockey bag on his way into his own bed.
Jethro lies there, stunned, even as his heart rate descends into a peaceful, sated rhythm.Why was that so hot?He wants to know if Clay thought so too, but he’s never going to ask.
Five minutes later, Clay starts snoring. Jethro makes a half-hearted effort at wiping himself off. He lies there for a while, naked and startled and sexually satisfied for the first time in weeks. It takes him a while to slide into unconsciousness.
But then they both sleep like rocks until the alarm blares in the morning.
TEN
Jethro
The coffee on the Cougars’team jet is better than I’m used to, and the snacks they’re serving are first rate. But the perks only make me grumpier.
What good are coffee and snacks if I’m not wanted?
Somehow, every interaction I’ve had with Clay is more awkward than the last. First the insults. And then yesterday’s disastrous practice. Clay could hardly stand to look at me. Afterward, I didn’t get a single note or word of encouragement. Even Murphy—his deputy—avoided me after practice. Like I might be contagious.
That was humiliating enough. But now there’s an email in my inbox listing tonight’s starting lineup, and my name is conspicuously missing.
I’m simmering mad.
It must be obvious, because David “Stoney” Stoneman, the team clown, turns to me in the seat next to mine. “You cool?” he asks. “You seem a little stressy.”
“I don’t getstressy.”
“Sure, bud.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Must be my imagination. Wanna see my vacation pictures? The guys daredme to ride a horse. And I never back down from a dare. Check this out…”
I snort. “Do I have a choice?”
“Everything is a choice,” he says in a chipper voice. “But you don’t want to miss this.” He opens up his tablet and shows me a photo of himself on a horse, somewhere on the beach.
And it is a funny photo. He’s clutching the saddle horn for dear life. Even the horse looks a little nervous.
“I think of myself as a strong guy,” he says. “But I could hardly walk for days after this.”
“How come?” I hear myself asking.
“Riding a horse uses muscles you don’t know you have.” He shrugs. “Lots of clenching in the crotch area.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Where was this?”
He flips to the next picture and reveals a collection of hockey players wearing leis and holding coconut drinks. Stoney is kneeling in front of the group in… is that a grass skirt?
“Hawaii,” he says. “After we got knocked out of the playoffs last year.” He closes the tablet. “Bud, I’d give back my coconut bra if we could make it to the finals this time. You down for that?”
