Chapter 7: Hidden Scars: Chapter 6

since Preston watched me get fucked in the showers. Since he jacked off watching me cum. Neither of us has said a word about it. He barely spends any time in our dorm room from what I can tell, waking up at the ungodly hour of four am to get a workout in before practice. At some point he comes back to nap, I think, then he’s gone again for more training. Honestly, he spends more time in the stadium than he does in here. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a damn machine.

Even though he blows off the puck bunnies, they still scream his name when they see him. The only person I’ve noticed him looking at for longer than a second is me, but the only things he says to me are that I’m slow, sloppy, and easy to read on the ice. I don’t understand him.

I eventually told Brendon that Preston saw us, but not that he watched and enjoyed the show, so we haven’t hooked up since.

The three dots pop up in the chat I have with Brendon.

My skin is itching to be bruised, grabbed, forced. Fucking Brendon won’t be aggressive enough so I’m going to have to do it myself. Laying sideways on the bed, I drop my head over the edge of the bed and cross my legs to keep them out of the way.

A knock on the door sounds as it opens, Brendon grins at the position.

“Blowies it is,” he chuckles, locking the door behind him and pulling on his clothes to free his dick. He pumps it a few times and eyes the door. I don’t give him time to question anything, just grab his thighs and open my mouth. That distracts him enough to lean on the bed.

I suck on him a few times, taking him as deep as he goes before pulling back.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” He tries to take a step back but I keep a hold of him.

“Lean on me not the bed.” I want to feel the pressure of being held down. I need it. My dick is barely at half-mast because I’m bored. “Fuck my mouth.”

He’s average in size, maybe a bit thicker, so he’s not going to hurt me. I’ve been sucking dick for years and my deep throat game is on point. I could handle him in my sleep.

His thrusts are shallow, one hand on the middle of my chest but not really putting any pressure on me. I want to fucking scream. After two years of this, how has he not learned I’m not fragile? Fucking hurt me dude. Take what you want and don’t hold back.

I’m not getting off this way and now I’m frustrated.

I reach one hand to play with his balls, gently tugging them, rolling them in my palm. He groans and drops his head back. The key in the lock at the door has me freezing but Brendon doesn’t seem to notice.

Fuck. Why aren’t I getting up?

Why the hell do I want to get caught by my roommate? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“For Christ sake, give it a rest.” Preston’s annoyed voice spurs Brendon into action, turning his back to the door and putting his quickly deflating dick away while mine is now paying attention.

With a sigh, I sit up and turn so my feet hit the ground. I hate how I react to this ruthless fucker. I can’t ever tell if he’s making digs at me because of my sexuality or just because he thinks he’s better than me. I guess it doesn’t really matter, he’s a dick either way.

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?” Brendon goes toe to toe with Preston and honestly, he’s about to get taken down a few pegs. He’s a good guy, but Preston doesn’t care about anything but winning so he’s going to hurt Brendon’s pride. I stand up in case Brendon loses his mind and swings at Preston. He’s my friend so I can’t let him get his ass kicked.

“Stop fucking in communal spaces if you don’t want an audience or to be interrupted.” Preston looks down at Brendon, using every inch of that six-foot-five frame and impressive shoulder width to intimidate. Brendon isn’t short but he’s a few inches shorter than Preston and definitely not as wide. “You should be running speed drills, working on pass accuracy, instead of getting laid.”

I roll my eyes at Preston’s answer. He needs a fucking life.

Brendon looks at me, “You coming?”

Preston smug smile, muttering, “If you can’t tell, you shouldn’t be doing it,” while I shake my head and drop my shoulders. This isn’t working anymore. Sleeping with Brendon is not mutually beneficial and hasn’t been in a long time.

Both of them are staring at me, digging holes into my body with the heat. One out of sexual frustration and one I’m not sure of but I’m intrigued by it just the same.

“Whatever, man.” Brendon pushes past Preston and slams the door behind him.

I shove Preston, taking him by surprise and forcing him to take a step back. His body tenses like I’ve never seen before, so far past pissed off it’s scary.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear it. It has goose bumps breaking out along my skin. My hands immediately go up in a sign of surrender.

Preston’s hands grip my shirt in tight fists, shoving me against my dresser, the knobs of the drawers digging into my back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, a little more aroused than I’m comfortable with admitting; a strange mix of scared and turned the fuck on.

“Shut the fuck up.” He growls at me. Blood is pounding through my veins, every instinct I have on alert and ready to react, my body tight but wanting to melt into him.

Using his forearm across my chest, he leans into me hard enough to hurt while his other hand shoves into my pants and grabs my dick. I’m hard as steel and shocked into silence for a second when he strokes me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I barely manage to get the words out without groaning.

“I said, shut the fuck up,” Preston bites out. God damn, my knees are weak I’m so fucking turned on. I’m not going to last.

Reaching for him, I grab on to the loose fabric of his hoodie. His strokes are hard, punishing, almost painful. For just a second he stops, spits in his hand, then goes right back to it. My eyes roll back and I let the dresser and Preston’s arm hold me up. Erotic flutters of lust tickle my stomach. I’ve never felt anything like this. Every thought in my head is quiet and I’m free to feel.

Preston adjusts his hold on me, his arm now vertical on my breast bone and his hand around my throat. My orgasm hits so hard I’m taken off guard by it. A loud, drawn-out moan escapes my throat and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I explode between us, my cum dripping down his hand, and onto both of our shirts.

My hands fall to my sides, limp and useless, while my head falls to his shoulder as my brain tries to reconnect to the world.

“Jesus…fuck,” I mutter, lifting my head from his shoulder to look up at him. He’s got about three inches on me and he uses every centimeter to his advantage.

“Don’t touch me.” With those words, he shoves me and steps back. “Get your head in the game.”

My legs don’t want to hold me up so I stay leaned against the dresser, the knobs on the drawers digging into my back painfully as he walks away. That’s probably going to bruise, but that’s future Jeremy’s problem.