Football and Ballet - Jason Collins Page 0,47

making sure my tip was now at his entrance, my slit ready and waiting to press further into his hole.

“Sit back down,” I instructed again.

Patrick slowly carried out my request, cautiously sitting on my cock, his hands pressed against my chest. I brought my palms back to Patrick’s waist, my fingers keeping him in place.

And then, I pushed up into him, my cock digging deeper and deeper inside him, until it seemed like I’d filled him up to the brim.

“Hunter…” Patrick moaned, as I moved inside him, my cock sliding in and out of his hole. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Just a little longer…” I groaned, my fingers still pressing into his side. “Fuck, Patrick. You feel so fucking perfect.” I sped up my pace, my hips starting to grind against him in a steady rhythm. “So perfect… you’re so, so perfect…”

“Hunter…” Patrick whimpered before he leaned back down toward my chest, his fingers pushing against my shoulders. “I can’t… I’m coming… I’m coming…”

“I’m coming, too,” I quietly admitted before I felt myself start to spill inside him, my cock exploding deep in his hole.

I’m not falling for Patrick McEntire.

I repeated the line to myself as I woke up in Patrick’s bed. As usual, I’d woken up alone, with Patrick nowhere to be seen.

I’m not falling for Patrick McEntire.

I wanted it to be the truth, so much so that it seemed like I was on the verge of willing myself into believing it.

I’m not falling for Patrick McEntire.

I repeated the mantra to myself again as I moved away from Patrick’s bed, my feet stepping onto his bedroom floor.

Fuck.

I can’t fall for Patrick McEntire.

Because if I fell for Patrick McEntire, that would be the end of my career. That would be the end of all those endorsements I’d worked so hard for, the end of all those sponsorships meant to carry my football legacy when I wasn’t able to play anymore.

If I fell for Patrick McEntire, I would have to give up everything for him.

But what if I wasn’t falling for him? I considered the idea as I made my way out of his bedroom, heading down the nearest hall. Wasn’t there a possibility that I was just confused? That I was mistaking the nature of our relationship for something deeper? It wasn’t like I’d ever been this close to someone I’d been hooking up with before, and hell, it wasn’t like I’d enjoyed anyone’s company as much as I’d enjoyed Patrick’s, either.

For all I knew I was just mistaking what I felt for Patrick for the way most people felt about their close friends.

Friends.

I tried to make the word stick in my head as I walked toward Patrick’s gym.

Just friends.

As the phrase crossed my mind for a second time, I felt myself getting nauseous again, the same way I felt when I thought for a moment that Patrick was possibly seeing someone else besides me.

It just didn’t seem right, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I was fine with the designation.

“There you are,” I said as soon as I spotted Patrick working out in his home gym. “Did you get enough sleep?”

“Always,” Patrick answered, his leg held straight against the barre. “What about you? It seemed like you were getting your beauty rest.”

“You know, just because I don’t get started with my day at four in the morning, doesn’t mean I’m sleeping in.” I chuckled. “How long have you been working out, anyway?”

“Why? Are you going to tell me that I’m pushing it again?”

“I’m just wondering.”

“Just for a few hours.” Patrick seemed hesitant to respond. “But I’ve been taking breaks. At least, more than usual.”

“Patrick, you can’t keep—” I paused for a few seconds, making sure I was saying the right words. “Patrick, if you keep going like this—”

“If I keep going like this, maybe I’ll actually stand a chance at getting the lead in Giselle this dance season?”

“No, you’re going to wreck yourself,” I replied. “Patrick, it’d be different if you pushed yourself like this every so often, but if you push yourself like this every day? You’re going to ruin yourself.”

“Ruin myself?” Patrick rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Hunter. It’s not like you have any room to talk.”

“If you’re talking about my training regimen, yeah, it’s pretty tough,” I continued. “But it’s also done under the supervision of a coach and a team of doctors. You’re not even checking in with anyone, Patrick. You just push yourself until you’re at your limit.”

“And you don’t think I