Page 70 of The Tryout

With that permission, I push my hand forward, landing on his chest, torn with where to go next. Finally, I slide my hand up, fingers grazing over the side of his neck, then combing into his hair. I pull him forward for another kiss, another taste of his warm mouth.

As the kiss ends, Avery sits back on his heels, a shadow of something passing over his face. It only takes me a moment to put it together.

“Shit! What are you doing? You shouldn’t be on your knee like that!”

I know Avery doesn’t like talking about his injury, but I also know that after a week like we’ve had, with multiple hard games, his knee will be stiff at best and swollen and in pain at worst. There’s no fucking way he should be down on his knees on the hard laminate floor of our dining area.

Now, of course, the look on his face is anger mixed with frustration.

“Finn, if I can’t give a blowjob two years after that fucking surgery, I might as well hang up my skates now.”

I can see him digging in, ready to fight me on this. I change course, carding my fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. I lean my forehead down until it touches his, looking in his eyes as they waver between anger and pleasure.

“C’mon, Ave. Surely someone as experienced as yourself can think of a way we can both enjoy this?”

The crinkle between his eyebrows deepens for a moment, then he looks like a decision is made.

“Come to my room?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AVERY

Finn looks down on me, smiling, looking a little like a Golden Retriever puppy with his light curls and happy expression. He holds out a hand to help me up, something I appreciate with the state of my knee right now.

Once upon a time, I could – and did – drop to my knees whenever the moment called for it. And in spite of the fact that my knee is better, I worry that the carefree Avery of those days is gone forever, destined to always feel a twinge or a pull of discomfort.

Still, that Avery didn’t have Finn Murphy in front of him, eager to receive his first blowjob, and this Avery sure as shit isn’t going to waste the opportunity. Bracing myself, I grab his hand as I get up, bearing more weight than usual on my left side. I try to mask my grimace, desperate not to ruin the mood.

As I move toward my bedroom, Finn follows, pulling his pants up over the erection that’s now sitting at half mast.

When we enter my bedroom, Finn looks around, eyes wide. No matter how close we’ve gotten, no matter that we share a hotel room on the road, we still spend almost all of our time together at the apartment in the living room, on the massive sofa.

His hand runs over the duvet Dad sent from home, a cream and sea glass pattern that reminds me of the beach. I wonder if he’s nervous, if he’d rather we return to the known entities of the couch and handjobs.

“Hey…you okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

His eyes look up, but I don’t see any fear in them, only desire.

“Not on your life. How do you want me?”

My eyes widen at that, glad to hear the lust tinging his voice.

“On the bed, on your back. Lose as many clothes as you’re willing to on the way.”

The sweater flies off his shoulders and onto the floor, then his undershirt is over his head, joining in. Sitting on the side of the bed, he pushes down his underwear and pants in one go, leaning over to pull off the socks when he’s done.

Damn, I’ll have to teach him the power of a pair of slutty socks.

Finally, naked as the day he was born, he rolls onto his back, sinking down into my pillows. The pale blues and greens seem to pick up on colors hiding in his pale gray eyes.

I stand at the foot of the bed, staring at him, enjoying the sight of the long, lean muscles of his chest and abdomen, the thick thighs, and, between them, a long, cut cock sitting in a nest of blond curls.

“Um, just so you know, I was tested last month. I’m good.”

His eyes meet mine.

“Oh, um. Same. At my physical. Easier to get tested than try to explain to the doc why a 20-year-old professional athlete doesn’t need testing.”