Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,20

I can’t slow down because if I do, he may come back to his senses.

Or worse.

I may come back to mine.

I swiftly relocate my fingers to the nape of his neck anxious to keep us both tethered to this moment and add more force to my pushes.

Crash matches the pressure on a deep, guttural purr.

We keep at the explosive pace, tongues rapidly tangling together, bodies trembling, cocks thrumming. He relentlessly grinds his entire body like his dick is trying to fuck itself into mine, like it’s trying to carve out its claim on untouched territory. I grunt. I groan. I let rumbles rattle my chest. Work their way up my throat. Pour from me into him and from him back into me. The sounds and vibrations send my mind spinning, making me more inebriated than anything in a bottle ever could.

I try to tear my thoughts away from how incredible the friction feels.

I try to stop my body from bathing in the heavenly sensations that occur each time our balls brush together.

I try to assist in getting air into my aching lungs, yet soothing the tingles that are prickling every nerve ending inside of me is unquestionably more urgent.

His hasty jerking is effortlessly met by my hips thrusting. Broken huffs bounce my broad shoulders and splashes from the water being sloshed around savagely slap us both causing sadistic growls to seep free. The tempestuous twists and tugs curl my toes; however, it’s the abrupt stopping to roll the tip of his dick around the head of mine that breaks us. Despite the way my fingers are digging into his neck for leverage and to aid in the resistance, I’m defeated.

Scorching surges shoot free, forcing my lips to stumble from his. “F-f-fuck!”

Split seconds later, I’m experiencing the same kicks I was just releasing as well as a matching sentiment, “Fuck…”

The word launches my mouth back to his in a selfish pursuit to taste him coming in the only way possible at this moment. I relinquish the hold on his neck to have him completely trapped in my arms. Our bodies continue to quake into one another while our tongues frantically search for some sort of stability.

It’s been a little over a year since I had another person physically make me come, and even when it happened, it didn’t feel this fucking good.

I didn’t immediately wanna go again.

My dick damn sure wasn’t instantly preparing for a round two.

I’m pickier than most of my crew.

I’m also less likely to have a pump and dump with some random piece of ass I just met.

I’m absolutely the least likely to get involved with anyone who goes to the same university.

This instance with Crash isn’t just an improbable possibility because it’s him – fuck, it’s him – but because I’m typically more responsible than this.

Rational.

Reliable.

The reasonable side of me is ready to accept this for the fluke that it, most likely, is yet the other stuttering, sensitive, somewhat shunned portion isn’t quite ready to accept that as the only outcome for the two conflicting ingredients that we are.

The only way to truly find out is to keep experimenting.

Exploring us as a combination.

We might discover this was a once in a lifetime miracle mixture. A random mistake that just so happened to taste good in spite of adding too many boosters into the blender. But, then again… we may end up with something that enhances our everyday existence as opposed to something that simply eats away at it.

Chapter 4

I’m so fucking glad I don’t have tits.

It definitely makes tanning topless a thousand times easier.

“Tan lines haven’t been sexy since retro porn,” Stratton explains while rubbing lotion on his girlfriend’s shoulder blades. “And, the only shit less sexy is a fucking sunburn.”

I slather the tanning liquid along my left ribcage, rubbing it across the tattoos, which all mean dance in various languages, at the same time I ask, “How often do you watch retro porn?”

“Don’t answer that,” Rutledge grumbles as he moves the string to Poppy’s paw print bikini to the side to rub the same type of cream on the areas she can’t reach.

“But, I want him to answer that,” Mo taunts right before tossing the spray bottle to Gillette so that he too can get her back.

“No yeah, he should so answer that,” Gillette encourages on a loud chuckle.

“And, you should so not be using spray sunscreen,” Stratton chastises with a pointed finger. “Lotion is better.”

Mo wiggles her dark chocolate shaded fingers his direction. “It puts