Making The Save, MM Romance, Hockey Romance, RJ Scott, V.L. Locey

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Episode 11


Waiting at his door with my overnight bag and a bottle of wine in my hand was bizarre.

I felt giddy almost, as if this were my first time being with a man. In a way it was, but not physically, obviously. This new thing with Sacha was unique. Unsettling a bit in it’s uniqueness. He seemed to be the one man who truly understood me and my needs. So, in a way, it was like my first time.

The door opened and I blinked at the man smiling at me. God he was magnificent. A solid wall of hard muscle, firm dictates, and a soft smile that did unruly things to my self-composure.

“You look nice,” he said as he waved me into his tidy space. The aroma of garlic and browned meat tickled my nose. “I made us some Bolognese so this lovely little Zinfandel will go nicely.”

“Ah good, I like Italian food. You look nice too.” That was no lie. The gray shirt fit him well, the material stretching perfectly over his wide shoulders and thick biceps when he moved to take the wine from my hand. He’d paired the dress shirt with a pair of black jeans, leaving the shirt untucked. His hair was in place, his cheeks smooth, his cologne stirring up the banked passion simmering inside me.

“Thank you.” He leaned in to steal a kiss. A soft, tender one that held all manner of wicked promises. “Why don’t you tend to your belongings while I let this breathe a bit. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. Your drawer will be the one under the toy drawer. Put your folded clothing in that drawer and that drawer only.”

“Yes, Sacha.” His eyes lit up and I got another little kiss. I then moved to his bedroom, eying the perfectly made bed. Soon we’d be upon it. My cock throbbed. It had been too long. I needed to rein my lust in. I ran over more stats as I unpacked my clothes and placed them neatly into my drawer. There was a small bar of scented soap lying in the corner. I picked it up and sniffed. The soap was the same scent of Sacha’s warm skin. A tantalizing mixture of spices and cedar.

When I was done I found him in the kitchen. He moved around the food prep area with confidence, his phone was resting in a dock and some sort of opera was flowing from it.

“Do you enjoy opera?” he asked as he chopped carrots into small bits, his knife hitting the cutting board in perfect time to the music.

“Not so much,” I confessed. “I’ve not heard much and what I do hear I can’t understand. Is this Italian?”

“Yes, it’s Rigoletto,the man singing now is Luciano Pavarotti. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“I know the name. May I help in some way?”

“You can pour us a small bit of the wine you brought. It’s not been open to the air quite long enough but I love a nice, sweet red.”

So, I poured us both some wine. He took his glass, swirled it, and then took a small sip. I did the same. The sexual tension was so thick he could have chopped it into small bits with the carrots for the salad. I stood in the corner, sipping my wine, as he patiently explained what the opera singers were saying.

When the meal was ready, we sat in his tasteful dining room, the opera still flowing in the kitchen, and spoke of many things. It was perhaps one of the most refined meals I had ever had at another man’s house. Most of the time the sex came first but tonight Sacha was playing the perfect host.

“So, you looked good on your last road trip. Focused, less confrontational, able to track the puck well.”

“Thank you. Much of that is because of you.”

“It is you who does the work, Alfie, but I’m thrilled to hear our relationship is helping you. Now that we’ve done eating, I want you to go brush your teeth, remove all your clothes, place them in the hamper that I’ve set up for you in the bathroom, and then sit on the bed and wait for me to come to you. You will sit there quietly until I have cleaned up the kitchen.”

My cock, semi-hard for the past hour, filled fully with blood. “Yes, Sacha.”

I rose from my chair, pushed it in, and walked past the man watching me with admiration.

Forty minutes I sat on the edge of his bed, naked, my dick weeping in anticipation. When he finally stepped into the bedroom, my balls tightened. He said nothing to me, simply walked to his wingback chair in the corner, sat down, and then beckoned me with three words that nearly made me come right then and there.

“Crawl to me,” he purred and I went to my hands and knees like some well-heeled pug dog. “Yes, lovely. You listen well. Sit there and let me look at you.” I sat back on my heels, my skin prickled with want, and let his gaze roam over me. “I dream of seeing you like this every night.” My eyes rounded. “Does that surprise you?” I nodded. “Speak and use my name.”

“Yes, Sacha, it does.”

He reached out to run the back of his fingers over my cheek. I moaned. “Such a beautiful man. Your lips and eyes haunt my sleep. You may take my dick out of my pants and suck on it. Just the head. Your eyes will stay on me.”

Hands shaking, I unzipped his fly and freed his thick cock. Locking gazes with him, I took the fat head between my lips, pushing against the underside of his cockhead with my tongue.

“Now suckle hard,” he told me, his voice raspy. I did as he wished, sucking on the head greedily, spittle coating my lips and his prick. “Enough…” he panted just a few moments later. “Go to our drawer, remove one toy you wish to use and the small blue pump bottle of lube. That is your reward for being so patient and doing as asked.”

“Thank you, Sacha.”

I rose and padded to the dresser where I removed a string of anal beads.

“Lovely choice. Place them and the lube on the mattress then lay down beside them.” I did, my breathing speeding up as I positioned myself on my back. “Mm, such a sight you are, Alfie. Spread your legs wide as you did when you blocked that one shot.”

I hurried to do his bidding. I was as exposed as I had ever been. My legs spread wide, my fingers gripping my ankles, my dick and balls and ass open to his hungry gaze.

“You are to stay in that position until we’re done.” He pushed up from the chair then slowly took off his clothing, folding each garment then laying it aside. My hamstrings were complaining mildly but the slight sting was only adding to the moment. When he was nude he walked to the bed, pumped some lube into his hand, and stood between my splayed legs, jerking himself off until he shot a hot wad of cum right on my weepy cock.

“Ah Sacha,” I groaned aloud when he bent down to clean his spunk from my dick. I writhed and squirmed, my hamstrings now yelling as he lapped at the cum that had dripped to my balls. “Please, please, please…”

He straightened, licked his lips, and lifted the beads from the mattress. “Are you in too much pain?” He ran a cum-sticky hand over the inside of my thigh. I shook my head. “I love how open your hips are, how wide your hole is stretched. Imagine how it will feel when I put my cock into it.” Words that were a mangled mix of English and French fell out of me. My fingers tightened on my ankles, my hamstrings were burning yet I bit back any complaint. “You’re not getting my dick yet as you chose the beads. Had you picked the cock ring then perhaps…”

I cursed myself for my choice. He chuckled at the obscenities then slicked up the beads and began inserting them one at a time. I came before he had the biggest one pushed into me. He worked that ball in anyway then bent down to catch the cum flying out of me with his mouth. It speckled his chin and face, dotting his eyelashes.

“Delicious,” he sighed, his quick pink tongue darting out to lap the pearly droplets as they appeared. “You may release your legs but do not take the beads out. Only I can remove them.”

I let go of my legs and whined in pleasure/pain as the muscles hummed on the verge of cramping.

“Focus on the pleasure and the pain will subside,” he told me, his lips smeared with spend, both his and mine. Concentrating on the beads inside me and his mouth moving over mine the flare-up abated. I melted into the coverings and threw my arms around him, lapping into his mouth time and again. “Are you happy?”

“Yes, Sacha, so much happy,” I said on a long sigh.

“Good, I wish for you to always be happy and controlled.” He offered me his hand and led me into the master bath, cleaned me off among kisses and words of sweet admiration, then he took me back to bed. “Sleep now, bel homme.”

“But the beads…” Hearing him speak to me in my native tongue – calling me a beautiful man – made my heart sing.

“We’ll tend to them later,” he whispered beside my ear then turned out the lights.

The following morning, as the sun came up the beads came out, and my howls of pleasure filled the room as he wrung another mind-melting orgasm from me. I wondered as I lay there spent in his arms, his now flaccid cock resting in my hand, how funny I would look at morning skate with such rubbery legs.

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