Winter Ball Read Online Free PDF Page B

Richie’s smile was a little wobbly, Skip couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t on solid ground either. The whole world trembled under the two of them, and the only time it felt right and solid was when they were close like this, close enough to touch.
    Skip pushed up and took his mouth again, gentler this time, a sort of promise that he wasn’t going to make fun of Richie’s small stature or his red hair. Kids did that— guys did that. Skip caught hell for not having a beard, even after a week, for putting on five pounds if he wasn’t careful, for having a slightly roman nose. He could take it. He was a big boy. But here, naked, new, Richie couldn’t take it. Skip wouldn’t dish it out. That wasn’t fair.
    Richie’s body felt solid on top of Skip’s, and their skin, oh Lord, all of the skin was touching. Oh, this was good—Skipper could do this all night. Keeping his fingers knotted in Richie’s hair, he ravaged Richie’s mouth again and again and again. Richie whimpered and clutched his shoulders, bucking his hips against Skipper’s, their cocks rubbing together, catching haphazardly, arousing, building, climbing to a pitch but not getting off—nope, not close. Just hanging there, suspended, in an agony of arousal.
    Richie groaned and broke off the kiss.
    “I promised,” he graveled and then slid down Skipper’s body, every ridge of muscle, every hair, every moist patch of skin catching on Skip’s cock and his swollen testicles until Skip was ready to scream.
    By the time Richie got to where he could grip Skip’s cock and squeeze, Skip was incoherent, breathless, batting restlessly at Richie’s head and shoulders while he tried to lock his mind around what he wanted.
    “Sh….” Richie reached up and grasped one of his hands, lacing their fingers together, and Skip’s frantic movements stilled. Richie’s hand, practical and earthy, grounded him, and Skip squeezed tight and took a deep breath.
    “Richie?” he whispered, not sure what he needed.
    “Right here.” Richie’s breath brushed his cockhead, and Skip gasped.
    “I’m….” A guy didn’t say he was afraid. He didn’t say that sex just got huge and unfathomable just because another man was touching him. But that’s what was happening, and Skip knew that Richie’s mouth on him would send him spiraling into a place he’d never imagined. “I’m….”
    “Me too,” Richie mumbled, and Skip relaxed. He didn’t even know what Richie thought he’d been planning to say, but “me too” implied that they were in this together. Richie’s evil little tongue darted out and licked the bell of Skip’s cock, and Skip moaned. Together. They were in this togeth—
    In one smooth movement, like he’d been practicing in his mind, Richie squeezed Skip’s cock while stroking up and engulfed the head so he could suck.
    The sound Skip made next came from some vital place inside him, the sensation so exquisite he felt tears start, and then forgot them.
    Richie did it again and again and again, and Skipper arched his hips off the couch, thrusting into Richie’s mouth, one hand gripping the cushion on the back of the couch and the other so tightly laced with Richie’s fingers that his fingers grew cold.
    For a moment Skipper tried to keep his eyes open, tried to keep his cool, tried to assimilate every feeling: the safety of Richie’s hands, the sound of his own harsh breathing, even the slurping sounds of Richie’s mouth enveloping Skipper’s flesh.
    That last one destroyed him. Richie was sucking his cock , and Skipper closed his eyes against the explosion of white lights behind them, against the convulsions of his body, the searing joy of his come….
    The stupid tears seeping from under his eyelids and down his temples.
    Finally Richie’s mouth was too hard and Skip’s cockhead too tender. He let out a pain sound and pushed Richie’s head. “Done,” he croaked, and Richie nodded and moaned, dropping his head to Skipper’s thigh.
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