By the time Ryan crawls between the sheets,
he’s anxious and giddy. His heart beats double time, he can feel it
in his fingertips, hear it in his ears, and he can’t seem to stop
grinning. He’s harder than he’s ever been and the comforter lies
over his naked body like an oppressive hand, chafing his swollen
cock. When he tries to think beyond Dante lying down beside him in
the bed, his mind overloads.
He’s not a hopeless romantic—from their talk
in the locker rooms, most of the hockey players he knows aren’t
ones for rose petals in the bed sheets, and he’s been to the
proctologist before, he knows it’s going to hurt. But it can’t hurt
too much, he reasons, or guys would’ve stopped giving it up
to other guys long ago, unless they’re the type to get off on pain.
But the thought o
