“What’re you do—”
The sudden shove he gives me after the door falls closed behind us sends me stumbling backward blindly. My heart damn near leaps out of my chest while I try to stabilize myself in the dark, nameless room. Which becomes infinitely harder to do when the light is flicked on, blinding me altogether while I grab on to the edge of something.
A sink.
Bathroom. We’re in the fucking bathroom.
Fantastic.
“What the hell, de Haas?” I snap, blinking to help my eyes adjust. When I look over toward the door, I’m even more irritated to find him leaning against it with a smug smile on his face. He says nothing, just keeps on fucking grinning. Like he’s enjoying this.
But that can’t be right, because Quinton doesn’t enjoy anything unless it involves a fist fight, puck bunnies, or his stupid fucking motorcycle.
None of those things are involved while he’s locked in a bathroom with me.
Unless…
“This isn’t about to turn into a bathroom brawl, is it?”
His brow quirks slightly, his head cocking to the side while he studies me. “Just how hammered are you right now?”
I frown. “I’ve had less than one beer.”
He continues staring for a second, those damn eyes as incinerating as ever. “Then why the hell would you think we’re about to brawl in a goddamn bathroom? Quality party entertainment should happen”—he taps the door behind him—“out there. You know, so everyone can cheer me on while I kick your ass.”
The argument is solid enough to believe. Even the part of him kicking my ass, since the douchewaffle never seems to back down from solving his problems with his fists. But it doesn’t explain why…
“Want to tell me why we’re locked in here, then?”
The grin on Quinton’s face turns devious. Predatory even, as he pushes off the door and stalks toward me. And he doesn’t stop until he’s—quite literally—backed me into a corner. Like a hunter after his prey.
His icy gaze turns liquid. Molten even, as he places his palms on either side of my hips on the sink. The proximity has my heart ricocheting off my ribs, pounding hard enough I swear one might crack. A feeling that only gets worse when he leans in closer, the scent of his cologne wafting over me sending a lightning zap straight to my balls.
Fuck, what is he doing?
Like the guy can read my mind, he whispers against my neck, “You’re saying it’s not obvious? We’re here to silence your doubts.”
His lips brush against the shell of my ear at the same moment his chest presses into mine. A thrill rushes through me at the feel of his firm, sculpted pecs, and my dick twitches behind my zipper.
“You’re joking,” I breathe, hoping the tremble in my voice is only apparent to my own ears.
“I’m joking?” he taunts, one hand leaving the counter to cup my cock behind my jeans. “I think the only one joking is you, telling me you’re not interested in what I’m offering.”
Shit.
My body betraying me before my sworn enemy isn’t the way I thought this night would go.
“Get the fuck out, de Haas. This isn’t happen—”
The rest of my dismissal is cut off somewhere in the back of my throat when he rubs the crown of my cock through the denim. Pair it with the way his lips are now trailing down my throat, and I doubt I could remember what I was in the middle of saying.
All I can focus on is the zap of electricity coursing between us, sparking where our bodies are in contact.
And fuck, it feels good. Too good.
My fingers form fists in the fabric of his shirt, and I do my best to shove him away, no matter how much my body is begging for him to keep touching me. But every ounce of fight and willpower I have left in me isn’t enough. Hell, even brute force wouldn’t be enough.
I’m trapped, completely at his mercy.
And he knows it.
“Fight me, baby. There’s nothing I want more.”
The deep rasp in his voice sounds like he’s the one being touched, and…fuck. It does something stupid to my brain. So much, I let desire outweigh common sense and allow him to unbutton my jeans. Tug the zipper down. Shove the denim and my underwear past my ass so he can take me in hand.
The second his fingers wrap around me, I swear I could come on the spot.
Quinton doesn’t waste time, stroking my length until I’m painfully hard as his lips explore the skin of my neck some more. Teasing and taunting; two things I’m more than used to when it comes to him. But never like this.
Truth be told, this is the first time I’ve wanted more of his torment, though I’d ever let him in on that little secret.
“I thought the plan was to suck it?”
Goading him is a tried-and-true way of getting under his skin, maybe even letting the hot-headed side out to play, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take to call his bluff. Because there’s no way in hell he’s actually going to—
A sharp hiss escapes between my clenched teeth when he suddenly bites into the muscle between my shoulder and neck, sucking like he’s Edward fucking Cullen or something. Though, with his nearly-black hair and those ice blue eyes, he gives off more of a Damon Salvatore vibe.
Yet as sexy as it might be, it doesn’t mean I want to play vampire.
“What the fuck?” I ask, shoving at his chest until he releases me.
He pulls back to meet my glare, and I swear to God, bats his eyelashes like he’s the picture of fucking innocence. But the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips gives him away.
“You said suck. I was listening.”
Oh, that’s fucking it.
My fingers latch on to his shoulder, and I attempt to push him down. “My dick, not my throat, de Haas. It’s time to put your money where your mouth is.”
His nostrils flare slightly in challenge as two rows of white teeth come out in a hellish grin. Then he drops to his knees on the tile floor and leans forward, not a flinch or pause in sight as his tongue flicks out against the blunt head of my cock, giving him his first taste of me.
But instead of easing into it, he goes all Quinton on me and dives in without a second thought of what he’s doing or the repercussions of his actions. And for once, I’m not at all upset about it.
“Holy shit,” I groan, counting backward from ten to keep my shit together. It works, but only just, because he’s using the perfect amount of pressure and technique to have me primed and ready to explode in less than a minute flat.
Which begs the question, has he done this before?
For whatever reason, the thought doesn’t sit right with me.
I’m not able to linger on it for long, though, because my mind circles immediately back to one thing while Quinton continues to lick and suck at my cock.
Release.
He runs his tongue along the underside of my shaft, his eyes flicking up to my face while he does. The sight is intoxicating. One of the most erotic things I’ve ever experienced.
“Fuck, this is a pretty sight,” I mutter, my hips giving small thrusts every time his mouth descends over my length. “Had I known this was the best way to get you to shut up, I would have suggested it years ago.”
The comment must spur something inside him, because he works me harder, taking me all the way to the back of his throat until he gags. The sensation of smooth, wet muscle constricting around my length shoots rockets of desire straight to my balls.
“Ohmyfuck,” I breathe harshly, my grip white-knuckled on the vanity top behind me.
In the back of my mind, I know I should stop this before it goes further than it already has. And with Quinton, no less. I’d never be able to live this down if I don’t stop him from making me co—
Ah, fuck it. This can’t get much worse.
So I give in to the primal desire barreling down my spine, one hand leaving the cool porcelain for the longer hair on top of his head. My grip on the dark brown strands serves as an anchor, allowing me to hold him exactly where I want him as I take what I need.
Control falls from him back into my hands, exactly where I like it, and I waste no time putting it to use. I guide him up and down over my dick as my hips snap forward with a fast, relentless pace. Pressure builds at the base of my spine, and I let myself become consumed by the need for the release.
The ragged sound of my panting and the wet, sloppy noises Quinton makes while keeping up with what I’m feeding him bounce off the walls, serving as the soundtrack to a filthy fantasy I never knew I had.
And it’s fucking perfect.
Thrust after thrust inches me to the edge of impending ecstasy, right there for the taking. And when his hand reaches up and cups my balls, the pressure is enough to send me shooting without warning into the back of his throat.
Stars explode behind my eyes, and I continue to roll my hips forward while he milks my orgasm from me, swallowing down my cum like he’s greedy for it. He makes no signs of stopping, either, only pulling off long after I’ve been wrung dry.
Spit drips from my cock to the tile between my feet, and I focus on the spot as I try to calm my erratic heartbeat after what can only be classified as a mind-blowing orgasm.
But the thing about being shot high into space to the point of being weightless?
There’s always the crash back to Earth after.
And this one…it’s devastating. Probably enough to send the human race into extinction, like the goddamn dinosaurs.
Because the second my breathing evens out, the high wears off enough for me to recall who I just let blow me sky-high in a frat house bathroom.
How the fuck did this happen? Why didn’t I stop it?
Well, I know how.
It’s because I had to be the antagonistic asshole who just couldn’t let him win another round of this messed up beef between us. Instead of shutting my mouth and walking away, I let him get to me. Allowed him to see the cracks in my armor, giving him an opening to take his best shot at me.
One he took without hesitation.
As for the why…well, I’m still trying to figure it out.
My throat constricts as I stare down at him, all swollen-lipped and sex-mussed before me. And though I was the one who was just fucking his mouth, I’m smart enough to realize I’m the one about to be fucked.
Because there’s no going back from this. I’ll never regain the upper hand.
His thumb brushes over the corner of his lips, collecting a stray bit of cum—my fucking cum—before sucking it into his mouth. The sight has my dick twitching, stirring back to life against my brain’s better judgment. Which is horrifying enough without adding the fact that it’s still out and shiny from his spit, right there for him to see.
This actually might be my worst nightmare.
His eyes lock with mine as he rises to full height before me. When he does, I’m reminded of just how small this bathroom is, especially with a couple six foot plus hockey players inside it.
He steps forward, keeping me crowded against the sink the way he did earlier. Nowhere to go but through him. Which is what I should do, considering the amount of ammunition he has now. Garner some much needed space between us and get the hell out of here.
Too bad my brain is firmly locked on the feeling of his erection against my thigh, begging me to return to favor. And God, how I want to.
Fuck, no. Stop that shit.
The heat from his body radiates through his clothes and mine, only getting worse when I press my palm to his chest to push him away. Animosity licks at my skin like scorching flames until I’m enveloped in them.
But what’s simmering beneath the surface is something far more dangerous.
Attraction.
One I’ve never allowed myself to place on him before, or at least notice. But now it’s at the forefront of my mind, and I can’t unsee it.
Clearing my throat, I say the four most important words I’ve ever said to him.
“This never fucking happened.”
His tongue swipes out over his bottom lip, a small smirk curling into place there. “At least we can agree on something, Reed.”
While I’m sure this’ll be the end of it and he’ll back away to leave, my world is flipped further on axis when he leans in, mouth mere centimeters from mine, and whispers, “But get your head on straight for tomorrow’s game, and maybe you’ll get a repeat.”
And though I know I shouldn’t, I want his taunt to be an offer for another round of the best head I’ve ever received.
