All Chapters of ALL YOURS: Chapter 451 - Chapter 460

Tate’s breath punched out of him.Knox worked him open right there under the water, one finger, then two, soap and spit and patience that was not really patience. Every time Tate’s hips jerked, Knox’s mouth found his throat and stayed there, sucking a mark low enough that a collar would hide it. The shower roared. That helped. Tate still heard himself on the edges of it, small broken sounds he couldn’t swallow fast enough.Knox pulled his fingers out, shut the water off, and didn’t bother with the towel.They didn’t make it to the bed on the first try. Knox pushed him against the bathroom door, still dripping, and went to his knees on the wet mat. He took Tate into his mouth all at once. No warmup. Throat. Heat. The edge of teeth. Tate’s head hit the door. His hands found Knox’s hair and held on. Knox sucked him like he was angry about the week, about the loss, about the fact that they were doing this in a hotel with a teammate two floors down buying chicken tenders.Tate came too fast

KNOXWe won.Twenty-four to twenty-one. Ugly. Late field goal. The kind of win that should have felt clean and didn’t. I stood in the locker room with the noise crashing around me and waited for the feeling to show up. It didn’t. Guys were yelling. Somebody dumped Gatorade. Miller tried to grab my helmet and I let him. I watched Tate across the room pull his jersey off and I looked at the scrape on his ribs like it belonged to me.The rule is for losses. I made that rule. I said it out loud so it would stay true.I didn’t lock the door.I dressed fast. I told Mara I’d be home. I walked out to the far end of the lot where the lights don’t reach the last row and I sat in my truck with the engine off and my hands on the wheel like I was about to drive.I didn’t drive.Ten minutes later the passenger door opened.Tate climbed in and shut it. He still smelled like the field. Tape glue. Ice. That cheap soap from the showers. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I had left the lot the l

When I let him come I did it by accident and on purpose at the same time. I hit that spot and squeezed his cock and he broke with a sound I had to swallow against my palm. He painted my stomach, my hoodie, his own shirt. His body clamped down so hard I saw white. I shoved up into that tightness three more times and came inside him with my teeth in his shoulder and my whole name in my throat where I did not let it out.We sat there stuck together. His breath on my neck. My cock twitching in him. Come leaking around where we were joined, down onto my sweats, onto the seat I will have to live with.He lifted off me slow. I watched it leave him. Watched it drip. He pulled his sweats up over the mess like that would fix it. It wouldn’t. He would feel me all the way home. Good.He climbed back into the passenger seat. The windows were white with steam. I cracked mine. Cold air cut in. He stared at the dark field like it might explain him.“That wasn’t a loss,” he said.“I know.”“So what was

Tate’s forehead hit the metal. Knox fucked him like he was trying to leave something behind that the off-season could not wash off. Deep. Hard. The slap of it echoed. Tate pushed back to meet every thrust. Knox reached around and stroked him in time, rough, perfect, his other hand covering Tate’s mouth when the sounds got too loud.Then Knox pulled out.Tate turned, wrecked, confused, and Knox sat down on the bench and looked at him.“Come here.”Tate went.Knox lay back on the narrow wood. For a second Tate did not understand. Then he did. Knox’s eyes were on him, hard and wide open, and he pulled Tate down by the hips until Tate was over him.“You,” Knox said.Tate had not done this to him. Not in the film room. Not in the hotel. Not in the truck. The idea of it sat in his gut like a live wire. He spat in his hand. He lined up. He watched Knox’s face when he started to push in.Knox’s mouth opened. No sound at first. Then a raw one he tried to swallow. Tate sank into him slow, inch b

The power died at 9:14.By 9:31 Lena’s apartment was a box of hot air. No fan. No AC. The window faced a brick wall that still held the day’s heat like an oven door. She stood in the dark in a tank top stuck to her back and listened to the building complain. Somebody yelled down a stairwell. A dog barked once and gave up.4B had the corner. She had seen his windows open from the fire escape. She had seen him once, late, shirtless, drinking water at his sink like the building belonged to him.She knocked.He opened the door in shorts and nothing else. Sweat at his throat. A candle already lit on the counter behind him. The air that came out of his place was actually moving.He looked at her mouth first. Then the rest.“I can feel the breeze from the hall,” she said.“Yeah.”“Can I stand in it for a minute.”He stepped aside. Not far. She had to turn sideways to pass him. Her shoulder brushed his chest. He was warmer than the hallway. He smelled like soap that had already given up.His