“Bedroom.” Stefan pushed him back enough to speak. “You first.”
Frank opened the door and stepped on the bath mat, not keen to interrupt, but even less keen on making a spectacle of himself by falling on his arse. Maybe it was the arousal, but he thought they were both steaming, and the mirror was too fogged to show any details.
He grabbed a large towel on the way out of the bathroom, wiped his face and hands and chest before he got to the bed. A swipe of the towel at least dried his arse and part of his legs, before he dropped it on the bedroom floor.
Stefan nodded at the bed, then crowded him towards it, kissing him again, his skin still wet. Frank couldn’t decide what was hotter—Stefan freshly showered or dirty and sweaty.
Without a word, he dug some condoms and lube out of the nightstand drawer, pausing to make sure they hadn’t expired. Between the two of them, they managed to get the condom onto Stefan. Putting on the lube almost turned into a frantic handjob before Stefan swore under his breath and, with a hand on Frank’s chest, pushed him towards the bed.
Frank climbed on the bed, Stefan following, staying on top while Frank lay back and opened his legs. Stefan pushed between them, and their cocks brushed again, an electric touch with all the damp skin between them. It was like being stalked, followed, hunted, though the deal was sealed. Something about the focus and intent in Stefan was dangerous and incredibly arousing.
Stefan still had some lube on his fingers, and as he pushed Frank’s legs farther apart, Frank pulled in a sharp breath. Anticipation already had him shaking. When Stefan’s cool, slick fingers pressed against him, he thought he was going to come unglued.
“You should know”—Stefan slid a fingertip into Frank—“all the other guys on the field, they were just for fun.” He pressed his finger in deeper. Withdrew it. Slid it in again. “Conquests.”
Frank tried to concentrate on what Stefan was saying, except what Stefan was doing with his finger—oh, God, fingers now—distracted the hell out of him.
“They were notches on my marker barrel.” Stefan stretched Frank, probed him, kept drawing his attention away from Stefan’s words. “You’re different.”
“How . . .” Frank shivered as Stefan’s fingers bent inside him. “How so?”
“You—” Stefan leaned down and kissed him, still finger-fucking him. When he broke the kiss, Stefan looked him right in the eye. “You were the only one I set my sights on before I went out on the field.”
Something in Stefan’s eyes told Frank to read between the lines, find some meaning he couldn’t quite comprehend yet. Hell, he could barely make sense of the superficial meaning, never mind anything beneath the surface.
“You got me.” He licked his lips. “What are you going to do with me?”
Stefan grinned. He kissed Frank again, then withdrew his fingers completely, and Frank thought he was going to lose it just knowing Stefan was about to fuck him.
And Stefan was about to fuck him, thank God. He sat up, and bit his lip as he guided himself to Frank. He pressed against him, but didn’t push in quite yet. His eyes flicked up. Met Frank’s. Locked on Frank’s.
Panic cooled Frank’s blood. Oh shit, he was hesitating. Backing off. Realising what he was doing and coming to his senses in the eleventh fucking hour.
But then Stefan sucked in a breath, and his hips moved, and Frank moaned as that thick cock pressed into him. Breached him. Gradually, one slow, careful stroke at a time, pushed deeper. Stefan was thick and not lacking in length either, but Frank’s body yielded to him, and as Stefan buried himself all the way inside Frank, they both shuddered.
Stefan leaned down to kiss him. Frank wrapped his arms around Stefan’s hot, still-wet body, and the two of them eased into a smooth, slow rhythm. This wasn’t what he’d expected—he’d anticipated violence and powerful thrusting and damaged furniture—but he loved it. Feeling Stefan’s skin against his, feeling the man moving slowly and perfectly inside him, it was amazing. Far beyond what he’d imagined.
Stefan broke the kiss and pushed himself up on his arms. He watched himself fuck Frank, and then met Frank’s eyes again. His expression was . . . different. Still hungry, still sexy as fuck, but Frank swore he was seeing a whole different side of Stefan. A layer that had been hidden since the beginning, beneath masks and smirks and that cocky attitude. His eyebrows were pulled together, his forehead creased, his lips slightly parted as he tried to catch his breath while he picked up speed. Frank touched his cheek, and Stefan closed his eyes and rubbed against Frank’s hand.