“We do, and I have a feeling it’ll be even better than the last one.”
He cocked a brow. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I plan to get on my knees for you again. I’m going to blow you until you almost come apart, then pull off before I do it again and again and again. When you’re begging for more, when you’re trembling with need, my name on your lips, then I’ll finally let you get off. I’ll work a load out of your balls and swallow it all down like I did earlier.”
Anson’s hands slipped away from my wrists. “Oh fuck, that was maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Let’s go.”
He stood, pulled me up with him, and ran into the house. We made a mess, getting muddy water everywhere, but I didn’t care.
He raced up to my room, then the bathroom, and we laughed and stripped before stumbling into the shower, where I did exactly what I’d told him I would do.
Chapter Nineteen
Anson
I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.
It had been an incredible day. Hell, even better than that, fucking perfect, but I was surprised West hadn’t pushed for more sexually. I mean, he’d blown me twice, and I’d jerked us off once. I wasn’t complaining, and it was the most orgasms I’d ever had with another person in one day, I just… I guess I’d expected… Fuck, I didn’t know what I’d expected.
It wasn’t like we didn’t have all night, though, hours where we’d be in bed together before I left.
After our shower, West showed me his record collection, and we talked and listened to a lot of 1990s music we both enjoyed—rock, rap, grunge. He considered the ’90s the best decade for music.
Later, we played some poker, then cooked dinner together. We made chicken Alfredo, and I complained about gaining weight and how slow I’d be when I got back into training. He offered me the use of his treadmill again, but even though I’d been the one to ask him about it earlier, I didn’t accept. I didn’t want to waste any of my time with him. Even if we weren’t having sex, I wanted to spend time with him.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” West asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“What kind of movies do you like?”
I followed him into the living room. “I’m fond of movies where shit blows up…and maybe serious sports movies.”
West chuckled. He was starting to feel like West instead of Weston to me. “The kinds of movies where a team or player defy the odds? Where they were a losing team before a new coach comes in or whatever?”
“Yeah, that, and don’t laugh at me, or I’ll kick your ass.” I sat on the couch, and he looked over his shoulder at me.
“Bashful, I would never laugh at you.”
I gave him the finger. “You laugh at me all the time!”
West walked over, climbed right onto my lap, and straddled me. “Oh, gorgeous, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.”
My breath caught in my throat. Something about that moment was so…sensual, so intimate, and it felt like we’d been doing it for a hundred years. It made a deep, aching sadness pulse through my chest.
West frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”
Was I that easy to read, or was he just that good? “No,” I replied. “And those are exactly the kind of movies I like best. Where there’s a big obstacle to overcome, and they do it as a team because the game is that important to them, and they deserve it. Because the other shit is just background noise.”
West nodded, obviously understanding. He leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to my lips, and then got off me. He plucked the remote off the coffee table and sat beside me. “One defying-all-the-odds sports movie coming right up.”
We browsed until we found one. He grabbed us each a beer and turned out the lights, and we watched. “Do they have queer movies like this?” West asked me at one point.
“Not that I know of.”
The movie was exactly what I’d been looking for, and when it was over, West stood and held out his hand for me. I took it, and silently, he led me upstairs to his bedroom. Nerves staged an attack in my gut. Would I fuck him? Would he try to fuck me? I’d wondered the same before, and I still wasn’t sure if that was what I wanted.
We still didn’t talk as West removed my clothes, then his own. The only light came from the lamp on his nightstand. He nodded toward the bed, and I climbed in on weak limbs. It was a good kind of weak, one that was filled with anticipation and want.
I lay on my back, wishing I didn’t feel so inexperienced, but also liking that West took the lead. He lay on top of me, his body settling between my legs, my dick already hard and throbbing between us. He rested his weight on his elbows, blocking me in, looking down at me. “You are so fucking beautiful. You were the first person I noticed that night at the bar, and I knew somehow, someway, I’d have you.”