Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,27

me forget that he is, he puts his whole body into it. Pulls me by the ass cheeks so my cock is constantly causing his gag muscles to constrict. Contorts his colossal frame to fold in order to slurp up the mixture of spit and precum that’s spread past his lips. Devotes himself to working my entire dick with his soaking wet muscles the way I did last night with my hand. I watch his damp head meticulously move, never allowing my dick a moment of reprieve. His fingertips gravitate closer together at the crack of my ass in tandem to him scooting closer. Submerging me deeper. And deeper. And deeper until I can’t fathom how he’s fucking breathing.

Or, how I am for that matter.

The symphony of sounds that flood the air are ones I would happily dance to for the rest of my life. Between my racing heart creating a hypnotic baseline and my moans of his name an easy euphoric melody, there’s no stopping my balls from following the orgasmic tune from resistance all the way to surrender. They tighten in a warning nature that steals a hiss form me and prompts me to politely tap the top of his head.

I’m a fucking gentleman.

You don’t just expect someone to fucking swallow.

Women aren’t the only ones who don’t enjoy choking that shit down.

And, contrary to popular belief, just because you suck cock doesn’t mean you like cum.

Hugo doesn’t stop sucking and the tingles tickling my nuts have me repeating the action in a faster fashion. He either doesn’t understand the international I’m about to blow signal or doesn’t care. His mouth suctions harder. His tongue scrapes faster. His fingers dive between the untouched area they had been teasing and add the faintest bit of pressure to the sensitive hole.

The unpredicted tactic detonates me like I’m a fucking prima ballerina at her final performance. “Fuckfuckfuck, I’m coming!”

Blazing bursts blast against the back of his throat and my phone fumbles to the sand in my pursuit of latching onto his locks for balance. Each powerful blow buckles my knees. Bumps them into one another. Into him. Regardless of the all the unstable rocking on my part, Hugo remains grounded in place. He happily growls as though this is the best fucking moment of his entire life yet greedily gorges like he’s afraid it’ll never happen again.

Oh, this shit is so fucking happening again.

Along with the hand shit we did last night.

And, all the making out I can possibly squeeze into one weekend.

Because that’s all this is.

One weekend.

One rebound.

One exploration of a previously uncharted area of our friendship.

Monday morning everything will go back to the way it was, which is, honestly, best for the both of us.

After all, this is all I’m good for.

One random moment of curiosity.

One random moment of improvisation.

One random moment of weakness.

Chapter 5

“We’re really not gonna talk about this shit?” Gillette plants his palms firmly on the island top across from me and whips his head around to look at the rest of our crew. When there isn’t a reply out of anyone, his griping gets louder, “Seriously? No one else has the balls to bring this up to the big man, but me?!”

The other four remain completely silent.

Still.

“Yeah no, I see how it is…I’ll do it.” My best friend pastes his stare in mine. “Why the fuck don’t you make margaritas for us back home?”

I let a crooked smirk cross my lips.

There’s the real reason him and Crash get along well.

They’re both very fucking dramatic.

“And, how the fuck do you make them this good?” He practically whines while watching me pour the last ingredient into the blender. “Like this shit is top-shelf, professional bartender with big titties and no future screen time good.”

My eyes roll of their own accord at the same time I secure the lid.

“It’s really fucking good,” Stratton echoes between gulps. “Super smooth. Like a lime smoothie.”

Rutledge brings his cup to his lips and corrects, “Slushy.”

He tosses our goalie an annoyed sarcastic look. “For Cripes Sake, man, I know I fuck up a lot of shit, but this time it’s basically the same fucking thing.”

The word thoughtlessly falls from my lips. “Wrong.”

Four sets of eyes fly to me in surprise.

“Smoothies have a closer consistency to milkshakes. They’re often dairy, fruit, or juice based. Slushies have an ice reliant substructure and are only blended with juice or something that has a similar elasticity. What you stop by to grab post practice is a smoothie –