#Rev (GearShark #2) (22 page)

But men needed time to get ready, too. Entering anyone’s body, be it a man or a woman, wasn’t an instant thing. Well, unless you were an asshole lover.

Trent was a generous lover. He always gave and often didn’t take. I learned a lot about intimacy from him, far more than I’d ever learned from a woman.

Intimacy didn’t come necessarily from the actual act of sex. It came from the way you treated the act, the way you approached it, and the way the person you were with cherished your body.

His hands were gentle and quaked with desire when he started touching me. His lips were like soft pillows when they lit upon my flesh. Even though I’d given him an invitation to enter me, something we’d yet to experience, he didn’t rush.

Trent took his time, sucking my nipples into his mouth, nibbling at the side of my neck, and raking his fingernails over the insides of my thighs.

When his fingers started probing the sensitive nerves just beyond my taint, he took my dick deep into his mouth and sucked, making me lift off the bed in pleasure.

I wasn’t new to ass play; he’d definitely been in the area before. I liked it, more every time we did it. When he first breeched my body with the tip of a well-lubed finger, it felt like I was sort of cresting a hill on a roller coaster. Like tension was building as I went up and up.

He moved slow, caressing my cock with one hand and working me open with the other. Every so often, he would pause and apply more lube, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it before massaging it all over my sensitive areas.

When he worked up to two fingers, I moaned, and he wrapped an arm around my bent leg and held on to my thigh as he slid in and out of my body.

My cock was so hard it throbbed, and I ached for him to touch it, to give me the release I so desperately wanted. My hand went for it, but Trent laughed low and knocked my hand away.

“Oh no, you just lay there. Don’t you worry. You’re going to come.”

“I want more, Trent,” I begged.

His fingers slipped out of me and traced around my rim. My ball sack was drawn up tight against my body, and I spread my legs just a little bit wider.

Once more, he came back, and I knew he added another finger because the tightness was back when he slid in. I liked it, though. It made my cock twitch.

“Deeper,” I urged and wiggled my ass. His fingers delved deep and rubbed against my prostate. Breath hissed between my lips. I rocked against him again, rewarding myself with another epic tremble of bliss.

Blindly, I felt around until the condom was in my hand. I thrust it at him, and he took it. I watched through half-closed eyelids as he rolled the latex over his impressive length.

I knew it might hurt the first time he entered, and yeah, maybe I was a little apprehensive, but I knew I’d like it. He did. He always came twice as hard when I was inside him.

“Your feet might tingle,” he warned. “That’s normal.”

I nodded.

I heard him apply more lube to his cock and then rub his fingers down along my crack and tease my hole. Both hands hit the mattress on either side of me, and my eyes sprang open. He stared down at me intently, and I was unable to look away.

“I love you, Drew,” he whispered, but I didn’t hear those words with my ears. They whispered directly into my heart.

“I love you, too.”

His mouth covered mine, and he kissed me thoroughly while rocking his hips and the tip of his cock against my ready hole.

Every time just the very tip slid in, I shuddered because it felt so good. Seconds later, he drew back, lifted my legs so they bent at the knees, and positioned his dick at my entrance.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice throaty with desire.

I rocked against him, and the tip of his head slid in. He moaned.

Trent moved little by little, pushing his thickness into my body. At first, I wanted to panic, but he was there to grab my dick and stroke it.

Suddenly, it was like my body gave way, and he slid the rest of the way so he was buried deep.

His fingers dug into my legs, and I felt his balls against my thighs.

“You’re so tight,” he breathed, holding himself still.

“You feel good, frat boy.”

His eyes cleared and met mine. I nodded.

He started moving; I started moaning. Thank God we did this for the first time in a private room. There was no way in hell I’d be able to keep the moans of pure pleasure inside me. Someone would have heard.

Trent moved gradually, keeping up a steady assault on my prostate, until I started to swear I was going to blow. Suddenly, he changed rhythm and pulled almost completely out but then surged back in deep and swift.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. His strong hand wrapped around my rock-hard dick and pumped.

I exploded all over my chest and his hand. White light burst behind my eyes, and my back arched up off the mattress.

“Don’t stop,” I begged even as I came. The orgasm seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought it was ending, he would rub against that fucking magic spot inside me, and more jizz would shoot out onto my chest.

I was completely weak when he finally let me finish, drained in the best possible way. My back hit the sheets, and I looked up at his strong, wide body over mine.

“Yes?” he asked, smug.

“Oh, hell yes,” I replied.

Trent thrust his hips, and his eyes closed. He was still rock hard inside me. I knew he’d held off on his own orgasm until I was completely spent.

“Take it, frat boy,” I growled and shoved my ass down onto his cock.

His arms wrapped around my thighs, and he started moving. He wasn’t rough; it didn’t hurt, but he did move with some speed.

Even though I’d already had an orgasm, it still felt good. I loved the way he felt stretching my inner walls and making all the nerve endings sing with glee.

A few seconds later, his body went rigid and his eyes flew open.

“In me,” I whispered so he knew he didn’t have to pull out.

Before the words had even fully left my lips, his body started convulsing as release ripped through him. The pulsing of his cock was my new favorite sensation, and I wiggled around a little so I could milk every last drop out of his shaft.

When he was done, he relaxed back onto his haunches, leaving himself still cradled in my body.

Beads of sweat dotted his hairline, and we both were breathing erratically. Trent eased out and collapsed beside me.

My head turned in his direction. “So much for my virginity,” I joked.

He grinned up at the ceiling, then rolled to kiss me. His eyes were serious when he pulled back. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I shook my head. “You don’t do anything without protecting me.”

He glanced away.

“What?” I asked, brushing the backs of my knuckles across his bare chest.

“I wish I could have protected you better today.”

“There’s nothing you could have said or done. It would have only made it worse.”

“That’s why I just sat there.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I knew today was a test of patience for him.

I knew he told me not to apologize. I knew he said I didn’t have to be responsible for what my father said to him. I said it anyway. “I’m sorry about what he said to you.”

Trent threaded our fingers together and lifted my knuckles to his lips. After a few minutes, he said, “It’s easier to blame me than you.”

“There shouldn’t be any blame at all,” I said. “Why does it feel like such a crime, such a hurdle to love you?”

“I don’t know, Forrester,” he murmured, kissing the backs of my fingers again. “I’m not sure I ever will.”

“I’m gonna go clean up,” I said, choosing to change the subject.

He released my hand. “I’ll be there in a sec. I’m gonna order some room service.”

The rest of the night, we watched TV, ate room service, and made out. We kept the conversation light and didn’t talk about my parents anymore. It was a good end to a shitty day, at least until it was intruded upon.

Trent’s phone went off with some frat business, and he spent some time on the line dealing with whatever Omega’s newest drama was.

It reminded me of the four men there I hated and vowed to get revenge on.

The football game was set for next week, but I wasn’t sure that was going to be enough payback. I thought about all the ways T protected me and how much abuse, physically and verbally, he’d taken because of our relationship.

Maybe because I’d witnessed the verbal abuse firsthand today, I lay in bed beside him that night and couldn’t sleep.

I plotted instead.

And I came up with a plan.

So while Trent was sleeping soundly, I crept out of bed and grabbed the room key. Now was as good a time as any to put my plan in play.

Trent

Game day.

Have a little fun at some asshole’s expense day.

The pressure Omega was raining down to find the guys who jumped me was getting real. They put out word far and wide on campus and made it clear there would be serious retribution for whoever dared mess with the fraternity.

And the Wolves?

They were applying their own pressure because one of their own was jumped.

So not only were the four guys in Omega feeling the pressure and hearing the smack talk
inside
the house, but
outside,
too.

Just call me Trent, king of the head game.

They were squirming, almost jumpy. After today’s charity game, they would likely be hurting. After that?

I was thinking it might be time to let the house in on what they didn’t know.

As much as I liked to play with my prey, it was getting old. Seemed like there was a hell of a lot more important things to deal with.

Since arriving back home from the meetings with Gamble and the suck-fest with Drew’s parents, he’d been a little quiet. I figured he had a right to it. I mean, his parents literally threw him out of his childhood home.

A couple times, I’d woken in the middle of the night to find him missing. When I’d crept through the house, I’d found him downstairs on the couch with a laptop. Both times, he’d told me he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake me with the light of the computer.

He hadn’t withdrawn from me. The very air between us still burned with friendship and intimacy, but still, I worried about him.

Last night, he stayed at the frat with me. We fell into a pattern of alternating whose place we stayed at. The obvious best choice was our house, where we didn’t have to sneak around, but I was still president of Omega for a few more weeks, and my presence around here needed to be known. For many reasons, including keeping an eye on Con and keeping him on the verge of pissing his pants all the time.

I was wearing Drew’s boxers (well, technically, they were mine now), and he was wearing a pair of mine (which were his now), and his body was pressed up tight against mine. He fit against me like a glove, or the perfect pair of football pads. I’d grown so used to sleeping with him beside me, the one night a few days ago we slept apart, I’d barely slept at all.

I was so surly the next day from lack of sleep and agitation from not getting to cop a morning feel, I’d nearly ratted out all four dickheads in this house and then stepped back to watch the house react.

I didn’t, though. I reined it in and thought about today.

But I did whisper some sweet nothings in Con’s ear all through breakfast.

Sweet nothings = veiled threats

After that night, I told Drew there was no way in hell we were sleeping apart again. My bossiness earned me a blowjob. That got rid of my shit mood real fast.

The football game was set to take place at the indoor field where the Wolves practiced and sometimes held scrimmages. It was smaller than the actual outdoor field, so it was never used for actual college games. We could have used it today, but we scheduled it under the dome just in case there happened to be some weather.

Since it didn’t start until later in the morning, I planned on spending some quality quiet time in bed with my guy.

You know what they say about best laid plans?

Me either.

Anyway, half the house was woken up when someone started acting like the doorbell was a freaking piano and pressing on it like he was Mozart.

I sat up in bed, Drew’s arm still draped over my waist and him still totally asleep (I swear the dude could sleep through a freaking alien invasion) and listened for a moment, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening.

Some footsteps in the hall and on the stairs made me think maybe they guys would tell whoever the hell it was to go the hell away.

Instead, all I heard was the slamming of the front door and someone bellowing for Con.

What. The. Fuckity fuck?

A few more doors opened, and some voices echoed in the hall. I kicked off the blankets, and my feet hit the floor.

“Wha—?” Drew said, lifting his bedhead off the pillow and cracking open one eye.

He looked like a surly pirate.

It was hot.

“Someone’s at the door,” I whispered. “I’ll be back in a few.”

His head hit the pillow again, and then his middle finger lifted off the mattress. I grinned, figuring the gesture wasn’t for me, but for whoever was at the door, and picked up the first pair of sweats my hand closed over. They happened to be his.

They were gray and really soft inside.

Damn. Why did all his clothes feel so much more comfortable?

I didn’t even bother with a shirt, just went to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open a crack. Before shutting it completely behind me, I reached around and locked the handle—you know, just because.

By that time, the front door slammed again, and Con’s agitated voice carried up the stairs. The insistent ringing of the doorbell started up again.

“What the shit is going on down here?” I snapped, jogging down the stairs. It caused a little tweak of pain in my ribs, and it only made me more irritated.

I was pretty much healed from the number Con and the three stooges pulled on me, but my ribs were still healing and the bruising around them was slightly yellow.

“Con’s pissed off some biker,” said one of the guys standing in the entryway.

I glanced at Conner, who had an angry, flushed look. “I told you I have no clue who that guy is!”

“What guy?” I said as the doorbell rang again about fifty times in three seconds.

That was some talent right there, making that much racket with a damn doorbell.

I stalked over to the front door and yanked it open.

Sure enough, there was a biker standing on the other side with his finger pressed to the button. He was close to six feet tall, with a stocky, wide build and a bit of a beer gut. His full beard (which was nowhere near as sexy as Drew’s scruff) was peppered with gray to match the dark hair on his head. He was wearing a pair of jeans and leather chaps. To match, he had a black leather jacket and a T-shirt beneath it with the Harley Davidson symbol on it.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked.

“Where is he?” the biker demanded, trying to see around me. I was bigger than him, so he wasn’t having much success. “That little weasel hiding behind you?”

“Which weasel is that?”

“The one who promised me a Harley Davidson Seventy-Two.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “You mind explaining a little bit more?”

“Who the fuck are you?” he growled, trying to look behind me again.

I did him a favor and shoved the door open wide.

All the brothers standing around in the entryway stared out at him.

“What the hell, Con?” one of them whispered loudly.

“He in there!” biker man demanded and started forward.

“Whoa,” I said and put a hand out to stop him. “Sorry, this is private property, members of the Alpha Omega fraternity only.”

“Says who?” the biker challenged.

I straightened and dropped my arms at my sides. “Says me,” I growled. “I’m the president of this house, and if you got a problem with one of my guys, talk to me.”

“You rich types are all the same,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I shoulda known better than to do business with some well-to-do college boy. But these bikes were designed for the moneyed, so I figured that’s where I’d get one.”

I stared at him blankly.

He sighed. “That kid in there, Conner something-or-other, owes me a bike.”

“I don’t know him!” Conner yelled from behind the door.

I reached around and pulled him out of the space and face to face with the angry man. “This kid?” I asked.

The man pulled out a piece of folded paper from inside his leather jacket, smoothed it out, and handed it to me.

I laughed out loud.

“Something funny?” the guy griped.

It was a listing on BikeList.com, which was sort of like the eBay of motorcycles, dirt bikes, four-wheelers, and jet-skis. It was well known for buying and selling a lot of really good and sometimes rare small engines. Including Harley’s.

I took the paper and held it so I could read it, and I felt Conner looking it over as well. The listing was for a Harley Davidson Seventy-Two. The description listed the bike as:
Mint condition Harley with a fully rehabbed body. This bike is especially sought after because it doesn’t represent any specific body type, but instead represents an entire era.
It went on to boast the extras and features, which were frankly impressive.

There were even two pictures of the bike, and right there in the background was the Omega house.

The price was listed, which I found to be an impressive number, and then the deposit, which was marked paid in full, was subtracted from that total.

Five hundred bucks.

The seller listed was Conner.

Stapled to the front listing was a printout of what looked like message or email traffic between this biker (whose username was Hog_Heaven) and Conner (whose username was plain Conner). I skimmed quickly and caught the gist of what was happening.

Conner listed some fancy bike on Bikelist.com, got a bite from an interested buyer, strung him along, and then charged a five hundred-dollar deposit (nonrefundable) to hold the bike until this man could come test drive it and hand over a full check.

Only there was no bike.

So when this guy showed up this morning, expecting to drive home a new piece of hog heaven (hey, his words, not mine) and got the door slammed in his face, he was understandably stubby.

I glanced at Conner. “Why would you sell this nice man a motorcycle you don’t have?”

Conner flushed. “I didn’t!”

“It’s all right here. You can’t deny physical proof.”

Some of the guys behind me stepped up, and I passed the listing back. We were all brothers after all. It was their business.

“He’s lying!” Con shouted.

“You little bastard!” Bearded man lunged at him.

Since I was still half asleep, my reflexes weren’t that great, and I wasn’t fast enough to pull him out of the way.

Oh darn.

Con was snatched up by the front of his white T-shirt and literally dragged out onto the porch.

“Where’s my bike?” the man growled.

“Get off me!” Con demanded, struggling to get away. “I told you I don’t have a bike!”

“I gave you five hundred dollars for a deposit on a bike you don’t have?”

“No—” Con began, and the man shook him.

“You little thief. I want my money back.”

“I didn’t take your money!” Con looked at me, a plea in his eyes. “I didn’t!”

I smiled at him. “Just give him the cash back.”

“I don’t have it!” Con wailed. “I barely have twenty bucks.”

“Prove it,” the biker growled and shoved Conner back. He slammed into the door casing and bent forward.

“Just show him your bank balance,” one of the bothers suggested.

Conner’s face cleared, and he pulled out his phone. We all watched as his fingers flew over the numbers.

I knew the second he was in his account and the news would not be helpful because his face went stark white. “That’s not right,” he muttered.

Biker dude snatched the phone and glanced down at the screen.

“Argh!” he yelled and threw the phone, then a punch.

Con’s head snapped back, and I admit I enjoyed his pain.

When the biker went back for another, I stepped between them. Letting Con take one hit was fine, but any more than that and I’d look like a pansy prez.

“Look. This kid doesn’t have a motorcycle. He was clearly trying to scam decent people like yourself out of their hard-earned money.”