The Quarterback by Tal Bauer

Chapter Twenty-Two

He and Nicklay curled toward each other with their hands interlocked, thighs threaded, ankles hooked around each other’s calves. Their foreheads and noses and lips were touching, and they traded kisses in between shattered, shaking breaths. Eventually, Colton’s blinks grew longer and he lost his battle against sleep. His eyes closed with his lips nestled against Nick’s.

They woke after midnight, bodies rocking, hands and lips gliding over each other. Colton spread his legs and welcomed Nick back inside him, arching his neck and groaning as Nick bit his jaw. Nick pinned Colton’s hands over his head and kissed Colton slowly as they made love in slow, gentle thrusts and grinds. He spilled inside Colton with a whisper, Colton’s name on his lips like a prayer.

Sometime after four a.m., they woke again, coming together with sighs and tender caresses. Colton lay on his belly, and Nick covered him, papering his back and his neck and his shoulders with gentle kisses as he laced his hands through Colton’s and wrapped him in his arms. “Nick,” Colton groaned as Nick came inside him for the third time. “I…” He bit his lip. Squeezed his eyes shut.

Nick kissed him, and kept kissing him, until sleep took him over once more.

He woke in the morning pillowed on Nick’s chest, Nick’s heart beating a steady rhythm in his ear. Nick was still snoring, soft snorts and muffled inhales, the sounds he made only when he was sleeping hard.

Colton rested his chin on his folded arms and watched Nick sleep.

Nick’s eyes fluttered open before long. Maybe Colton’s stare lured him awake, or maybe they were connected in some deep, primal way now. He could still feel Nick inside him, the shape of his body where Nick had carved a place for himself. And he could feel Nick’s seed, still there, between his ass cheeks. That had to mean something, right?

“Good morning,” Colton breathed.

Nick smiled, soft and slow. “Good morning.”

“Last night was…” He had no idea how to describe it.

“Amazing?” Nick’s eyebrows quirked. “Wonderful? The best sex ever in the history of time?”

“All that.” He grinned.

“It was perfect,” Nick took Colton’s chin in his gentle hold. “Absolutely perfect.”

“That, too.” He sank into Nick’s kiss, crawling on top of his lover until they were grinding against each other again. Nick made him insatiable. His cock ached, he’d come so much, but he couldn’t turn away. He balanced on his elbows, caging Nick between his arms, and kissed him until they both came with shaking gasps.

Nick flinched after his orgasm, chuckling as he stilled Colton’s hips. “I need a break. I’m not twenty-two. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up with you.”

“That’s not an age thing. That’s a ‘Holy shit, we’ve had sex four times in twelve hours’ thing.” Colton kissed his nose. “My balls are killing me. I think I need an ice pack.”

Nick laughed. He toppled Colton sideways, his arms wrapping around his waist. “Thank God.”

“Hey!”

Eventually they made it into the shower, but that was just another place to kiss and trail their hands over each other’s skin. Colton washed every inch of Nick’s body, shampooed his hair, and then wrapped him up from behind and stood in the spray with his chin resting on Nick’s shoulder. Nick returned the favor, gently running his hands down Colton’s back and over his ass, oh-so-gentle when he ran his soapy fingers into and between his cheeks. He washed Colton’s hair and kissed him slowly as he guided Colton into the spray, massaging his scalp while water washed away the suds.

“What do you want to do today?” Colton asked when they got out. He stared at Nick as he toweled off, already wanting to put his mouth back on Nick’s body. Take his hand, guide him back into bed. Spend all day working on making his balls ache even more.

“Since training camp starts next week, I thought we could go to the park and throw the ball some more and work on a few of the drills you’re going to see on your first day.” Nick ran the towel over his hair, then dropped it on his shoulders. “I want you to feel comfortable about going back.”

A pang hit Colton in the belly, a clench of cold fingers. He wasn’t where he should be right now, but he didn’t know whether that was because of his injury or because he hadn’t been working as hard as he should have been. He’d been spending his time with Nick, devoting the minutes and hours that he was supposed to be spending under the stadium lights to Nick instead.

He’d just work harder when camp began, he told himself. He’d get back to where he had been. He would.

“Sure,” he said. “I love throwing the ball with you.” And he did. He loved that he and Nick shared a love for football. He just loved being with Nick more than hurling footballs at the crossbar of the uprights. Which, if he stopped to think about it, was a fucking monumental concept for him to even think.

“And after that, I thought we could come back here…” Nick grabbed him around the waist and drew him in. “And I could massage your… back.”

“Just my back?”

“Maybe your legs, too, but only if they’re sore.”

“What if I have something else that’s sore?”

“I’m not really experienced with hand massages, but I’ll do my best.”

“What if it’s something else? What if what’s really sore needs a kiss from you to get better?”

“A kiss? That sounds like someone is getting greedy. Remember that old story, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?”

“I think you already gave me some milk. Might be too late.”

Nick laughed and then kissed him again. “I’ll kiss you forever,” he said. “Anytime, anywhere.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t keep the wistful note out of his voice, and he flinched as soon as he spoke. He sounded almost desperate, wanting to hear those words again but know they weren’t a joke.

Nick pressed his lips to Colton’s temple. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I will.” And then he backed Colton up against the sink and kissed him like he was promising forever, like he was saying the words Colton wanted to say, too.

Finally, they pulled back. It was either that or Colton was going to bend over the bathroom sink, but the thought of another orgasm made his balls sound the retreat. “I’ll go start the coffee.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

* * *

“Oh my God.”

Wes had just thrown open the curtains, and they could see, in the daylight, the remnants of his dad’s date night. Justin hid a giggle behind his hand as he stared at the burned-out candles scattered across his dad’s apartment and the open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. “You were right!” He kept his voice low, almost a whisper. “I thought I heard something a little bit ago!”

Jesus, his dad was in the other room with some woman he’d brought home. Who was she? Did his dad pull out the candles and the red wine for all his dates, or was this woman special?

Had his dad met someone over the summer? Was that why it felt like his dad had slowly, subtly grown distant?

Wes picked his way through the candle tins on tiptoe. His cheeks were flaming, and he refused to look at Nick’s bedroom door. “Should we go back to our room and wait for her to leave?”

“Nah.” Justin winked. “Let’s cook them breakfast. We’ve got to meet her sometime, right? What better time than now?”

Wes was still flushing as he went to the fridge. “I think your dad was planning on making breakfast for her, too.” He pulled out a bottle of champagne, a package of bacon, a new carton of eggs. “Breakfast in bed?”

“More like brunch, at this rate.” Justin snorted. He took the bacon and eggs and grabbed a frying pan. “Leave the champagne on the counter. I’m sure he’ll want to drink the whole bottle when he sees we’re here.”

Wes was the color of ocotillo flowers, cheeks and neck as red as red could get. He cleared his throat and set the champagne down, then started scooping the burned-out tea lights into a huge pile at the end of the kitchen island.

Nick’s bedroom door opened. Wes’s eyes flicked to Justin.

Carton of eggs in his hand, Justin leaned into Wes. He arched his eyebrows and tried not to have such a shit-eating grin on his face. God, it was going to be fun to tease his dad about this—

Colton walked out of his dad’s bedroom.

There were hickeys on his chest.

Bruises in the shape of two hands—ten fingers—on his hips, rising above the low-slung waistband of his boxers. No, not his boxers. Justin’s dad’s boxers. Ones he remembered his dad opening on Christmas morning, one of those gag gifts that dads got every year. He recognized those boxers.

But Colton was wearing them. Why was he wearing those boxers? Why was he in Justin’s dad’s bedroom, especially after—

“Colton?” Wes’s voice was thin. High, tight, strangled.

Justin looked from Colton—he has hickeys on his chest—to the scattered candles and then back.

He dropped the eggs and screamed.