The dim glow of the upscale restaurant wrapped around the 19 year old rising tennis star Fabrice LeBlanc like a second skin, the soft amber lighting catching the golden flecks in his hazel eyes as he leaned back in his chair, one finger tracing the rim of his wineglass. His sheer silk shirt—delicate, almost translucent—clung to the lean muscles of his chest, the fabric shifting with every breath, teasing glimpses of smooth, fair skin beneath. A faint smirk played on his full, pink lips as he watched Levy Connelly, the NFL quarterback across from him, fidget like a man who’d never been nervous in his life.
Levy’s broad shoulders tensed beneath his tailored button-down, his fingers drumming against the stem of his glass. He wasn’t used to this—the way his pulse hammered in his throat, the way his cock twitched every time Fabrice laughed, that rich, melodic sound wrapping around him like a promise. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking like this. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this. But there was something about the way Fabrice’s tousled brown waves fell just so over his forehead, the way that damn beauty mark beneath his left eye seemed to wink at him every time the tennis star tilted his head.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Fabrice purred, his voice smooth as the wine they were sipping. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, the movement making his shirt gape just enough to show the dip of his collarbone, the faint outline of his nipples. “Not what I expected from the great Levy Connelly. I thought quarterbacks were supposed to be full of themselves.”
Levy swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I—uh. Just enjoying the company.”
Fabrice’s smirk deepened, his hazel eyes darkening with something that made Levy’s stomach clench. “Liar.” He took a slow sip of his wine, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop at the corner of his mouth. “You’re thinking about something. Or someone.”
Levy’s grip tightened around his glass. He should’ve known better than to sit across from a man who looked like sin and sounded like temptation. Fabrice was everywhere—the way his athletic legs shifted under the table, the muscles in his thighs flexing against the thin fabric of his trousers, the way his small waist tapered into that ass—fuck, that bubble butt—that Levy had been stealing glances at all night.
“You’re staring,” Fabrice murmured, his voice dropping into a lower, huskier register. He set his glass down, his fingers lingering on the stem before dragging them slowly across the tablecloth, stopping just shy of Levy’s hand. “Do I make you nervous, Levy?”
Levy’s breath hitched. Yes. Fuck, yes. But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit it. So he did the only thing his scrambled brain could think of—he reached for his wallet. “We should—uh. Get out of here.”
Fabrice’s eyebrows lifted, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh? And where are we going?”
Levy’s voice was rough, barely more than a growl. “My place.”
The words hung between them, heavy and electric. Fabrice didn’t answer right away. He just studied Levy, his gaze dragging over the quarterback’s broad chest, the way his biceps strained against his sleeves, the thick thighs that had powered him through countless games. Then, slowly, he smiled—a real one, bright and devastating.
“Lead the way.”
The ride to Levy’s mansion was a blur of tension, the air in the car so thick with want that Levy could barely breathe. He kept his hands clenched on the wheel, knuckles white, while Fabrice lounged in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, his silk shirt riding up just enough to tease the waistband of his trousers. Every time Levy glanced over, Fabrice’s lips were parted, his tongue wet against his lower lip, like he was already tasting something he couldn’t wait to have.
The mansion loomed ahead, all sleek lines and modern luxury, the kind of place that screamed NFL money. Levy killed the engine, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his cock. Fabrice didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped out of the car, stretching like a cat, his back arching, his ass—fuck, that ass—tight in his trousers.
Inside, the fireplace was already lit, casting flickering shadows across the high ceilings. Levy poured two glasses of wine, his hands shaking just enough to make the liquid slosh. Fabrice took his glass with a murmur of thanks, his fingers brushing Levy’s, sending a jolt straight to his groin.
They sat on the couch—too far apart, then too close, then not close enough. Levy’s thigh pressed against Fabrice’s, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. Fabrice’s laced shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the smooth plane of his chest, the faintest dusting of hair trailing down to his navel. Levy’s gaze snagged on it, his mouth watering.
“You’re still nervous,” Fabrice observed, swirling his whiskey before taking a sip. His lips glistened when he pulled the glass away. Fabrice knew what he was doing. “Why?”
Levy’s jaw clenched. He shouldn’t want this. He couldn’t want this. But the way Fabrice was looking at him—like he was the only man in the world, like he was edible—made his resolve crumble.
“I don’t—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I don’t do this.”
Fabrice set his glass down on the coffee table with a soft click. Then, slowly, he turned toward Levy, his hazel eyes dark with hunger. “But you want to.”
Levy’s breath stuttered. Yes. Fuck, yes.
Before he could answer, Fabrice was moving, sliding off the couch and onto his knees between Levy’s spread thighs. The silk of his shirt whispered against Levy’s jeans, the fabric so delicate it might as well have been nothing at all. Levy’s cock jerked, already half-hard, straining against his zipper.
“Fabrice—” His voice was a rasp, a plea, a warning.
Fabrice’s fingers were already at Levy’s belt, deft and sure as they unbuckled it, the leather hissing as it slid free. The sound of the zipper coming down was obscene, the rasp of metal teeth parting, the way Fabrice’s breath hitched as Levy’s cock sprang free, thick and uncut, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
“Fuck,” Fabrice breathed, his voice rough with awe. He wrapped his fingers around the base, his thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge of the crown. “You’re huge.”
Levy groaned, his head falling back against the couch as Fabrice stroked him, his grip firm but teasing. “Fabrice, I—”
“Shh.” Fabrice leaned in, his breath hot against the tip. Then, without another word, he parted his lips and took Levy into his mouth.
Holy fuck.
Levy’s hands flew to Fabrice’s hair, his fingers tangling in the soft waves as that wet, tight heat engulfed him. Fabrice didn’t just suck—he worshipped, his tongue swirling around the crown before dragging down the thick vein on the underside. His cheeks hollowed as he took Levy deeper, his throat opening with a practiced ease that had Levy’s hips jerking off the couch.
“Fuck, Fabrice,” Levy groaned, his voice rough with need. “Your mouth—fuck, it’s like a pussy.”
Fabrice moaned around him, the vibration sending a bolt of pleasure straight to Levy’s balls. His free hand gripped Levy’s thigh, his fingers digging into the muscle as he bobbed his head, taking Levy to the back of his throat before pulling off with a wet pop.
“You like that?” Fabrice murmured, his lips slick with saliva, his eyes dark with lust. “You like when I choke on your cock?”
Levy’s answer was a guttural sound, his hips thrusting up, forcing Fabrice to take him again. Fabrice went willingly, his own cock straining against his trousers, his bubble butt clenching with every movement. He hollowed his cheeks, his tongue working the underside of Levy’s shaft, his throat fluttering as he swallowed around the head.
“Fuck, yes,” Levy hissed, his grip tightening in Fabrice’s hair. “Take it. Take all of it.”
Fabrice obeyed, his nose pressing against the coarse hair at the base of Levy’s cock, his throat working as Levy fucked his face. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy, the slap of skin, the gagging noises Fabrice made every time Levy hit the back of his throat.
“Gonna come,” Levy warned, his voice a growl. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth, Fabrice. Swallow it. All of it.”
Fabrice’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Levy’s gaze as he hollowed his cheeks, his lips sealed tight around the base. Levy’s cock pulsed, the first thick rope of cum hitting the back of Fabrice’s throat. Fabrice swallowed around him, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes watering as Levy kept coming, his hips stuttering, his release painting Fabrice’s tongue, his throat.
When Levy finally stilled, his cock twitching with the last of his orgasm, Fabrice pulled off with a filthy, wet sound. His lips were swollen, his chin glistening with saliva and cum, his hazel eyes dark with satisfaction. He licked his lips, savoring the taste, before rising onto his knees, his body moving with the grace of an athlete.
Levy reached for him, his hands gripping Fabrice’s waist, pulling him forward. Their mouths crashed together, Levy tasting himself on Fabrice’s tongue, the kiss deep and hungry, all teeth and need. His hands roamed down, gripping Fabrice’s ass, squeezing the firm globes, his fingers digging into the muscle.
But then—
Levy froze.
His hands dropped. His breath came fast, his chest heaving. What the fuck was he doing?
He pulled back, his expression shuttering. “Fabrice...”
Fabrice’s lips were still parted, his eyes dazed with lust, but he must’ve seen the panic in Levy’s face. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, his own arousal still tenting his trousers.
Levy’s voice was rough, laced with regret. “Thank you. That was… incredible.”
Fabrice’s smile was sad, knowing. He didn’t push. He never did. He knew he was gorgeous and even though Levy was so very handsome, Fabrice wouldn't beg.
Levy stood abruptly, adjusting himself, his cock still half-hard and glistening. “I’ll call my chauffeur. He’ll take you home.”
Fabrice nodded, his fingers brushing over his kiss-swollen lips. He didn’t say anything as Levy made the call, didn’t protest when the car arrived. But as he turned to leave, he glanced back one last time, his hazel eyes locking onto Levy’s blue ones.
The air between them was thick with everything they weren’t saying.
Then Fabrice was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Levy stood there, his cock still aching, his heart pounding, watching the taillights disappear into the night.
And for the first time in his life, he wondered if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his career.
PD. Leave your comments if you liked the story, there's more to come.
