Blake Hart
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The Team's Slut Chapter 9: The Wedding 1/2
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 20:00:08 +0000 UTCEveryone in this story is 18+
I woke up hard.
Hungover and aching, throat dry, head thick. The room was warm, heavy with the scent of sweat and last night’s sex. Beside me, Chase stirred. His bare back rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths, and the sheet had slipped down to his waist, just low enough to tease the curve of his perky and well-rounded ass.
My cock throbbed. Of course it did. After everything.
But when I shifted toward him, nudged gently against his thigh, he didn’t respond. Not in the usual way. No sleepy groan. No smug morning-hard smile. Just a quiet exhale and a subtle turn of his body, away from mine.
I froze.
For a second, I told myself it was nothing. Just tired. Just hungover like me. But the silence stretched. Not cold exactly—just distant. Like there was something between us again, after last night had burned all the space away.
I sat up, rubbing my face, trying to shake the dull ache behind my eyes. I didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
We both got up around the same time, moving around each other like dancers with muscle memory—careful, practiced, avoiding too much eye contact.
He still hadn’t put on pants. Neither had I.
We stood there, naked and stiff and half-swollen, pretending not to notice. He jumped in the shower, closed the door. I reached for my boxers.
Later, after I had showered as well, when we both turned to get dressed at the same time, we nearly bumped into each other—and for a second, we just stood there.
I watched his throat work as he swallowed. He looked at me, but not into me. Not like last night.
“We should get ready,” he said finally.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
We didn’t talk about the wedding. Or the guests. Or the bride. We didn’t talk about how he came inside me yesterday, or how I kissed him like he was mine and no one else had ever mattered.
We finished dressing without speaking much. Shirts buttoned. Hair fixed. A few muttered curses as we tripped over discarded clothes or stumbled half-blind through hangovers. I hadn’t stopped being hard since I woke up, and from the way Chase kept subtly adjusting his waistband, neither had he.
But we didn’t touch. Not like last night.
Once his tie was on but crooked, I stepped in to fix it. My fingers brushed his chest as I straightened the knot. He didn’t move away. Just stood there, eyes on my hands, letting me close the space between us.
When I was done, he did the same for me. His fingers were rougher, more practiced. We were close enough to kiss, and for a second, I thought we might. There was a flicker of something in his expression—like he was about to say something, or maybe take it all back—but it passed before I could catch it.
We stood there like that for a second too long, not speaking, not pulling apart, like we’d both forgotten how to be normal again.
Then a car horn cut through the stillness from outside the hotel window.
Chase looked down, smoothed his shirt, and grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“The limo’s here,” he said.
Just like that, the moment folded in on itself.
I followed him out the door.
◆◆◆
The limo was too nice for the mood we were in.
Everything gleamed. Polished chrome, soft leather, a little fridge that neither of us touched. Chase sat across from me, one leg up on the seat, elbow braced on the window. His phone was in his hand the entire time, screen lighting up every few seconds. He wasn’t texting fast, but he was typing. Deleting. Rewriting. Thinking.
He looked tired, even after a shower. Jaw tense, eyes a little distant. Still stunning and handsome in his suit, of course. But somewhere else.
I didn’t say anything at first. I figured he was hungover. Processing. Maybe embarrassed. I was feeling all those things too, just quieter.
But after ten minutes of silence, I shifted in my seat and let my leg nudge his.
He didn’t look up.
I tried a smile. “Big day.”
That got a breath of a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah.”
I let the quiet settle again. Then, a little more carefully, I said, “You doing okay?”
He finally glanced at me. His voice was softer this time. “Yeah. Just… head’s full.”
I nodded. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”
He looked like he wanted to say something. Jaw worked. Then he just gave me a small nod and went back to his phone.
I let a few more minutes pass. Then I shifted again — this time a little closer. My hand brushed his knee. Not a big move, just a reminder. A suggestion. Testing the waters.
It was stupid and he didn’t react.
So I leaned in slightly, close enough to kiss his neck while moving my hand from his knee towards his crotch. My voice low. “Want a little help relaxing?”
He stiffened—not sharply, but it was enough.
“Not now,” he said.
He wasn’t rude. Just firm.
I pulled back immediately, heart sinking faster than I could stop it. “Sorry.”
Chase shook his head, still not looking at me. “It’s not that. I just… I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
I nodded, though I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. I looked out the window and tried to breathe through the weight gathering in my chest.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.
By the time we pulled up to the chapel, Chase finally put his phone away. His expression was unreadable.
I climbed out behind him, smoothing my jacket, my tie suddenly too tight. I didn’t know what to expect anymore.
◆◆◆
The side room off the chapel was small and under-furnished. An old wooden bench, a mirror, a half-dead bouquet in a chipped vase. It smelled like dust and faded cologne.
Chase paced.
I leaned against the wall and watched him circle the room like a wolf in a suit. He hadn’t said a word since we arrived. His phone was in his hand again, screen dark now, but his thumb kept rubbing along the edge like he wanted to open it. Or throw it.
“She’s late,” he muttered, not really to me.
I checked the clock on the wall. Ten minutes past start time.
“She’s probably just stuck in traffic,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t it.
He didn’t respond.
I let another beat pass, then pushed off the wall. Walked up behind him. My hand brushed his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away.
“I know you’re not okay,” I said, voice low. “You don’t have to pretend.”
He glanced at me, exhaled. “Yeah. I know.”
There was a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t eased since this morning. Like he was holding something in and didn’t know how much longer he could do it. I had to do something, he was a mess.
I let my hand slip lower. Down his bicep, to his wrist, then to the front of his pants. His cock was half-hard — enough to know the blood was still there, waiting.
“I could help,” I said, fingers gently pressing against him. “Just to take the edge off.”
This time he didn’t stop me. Didn’t move at all.
So I went to my knees.
The carpet was thin and rough under me, but I didn’t care. I undid his belt slowly, fingers steady, watching his eyes. His breath caught when I pulled his cock free. Fully hard now. Heavy and veined in my hand. I looked up at him, waiting.
His jaw was tight, but he nodded once. Barely.
I leaned in and took him into my mouth.
The first sound he made was a sharp inhale. Not loud — not exaggerated — just real. Raw. His hand came down and rested on the back of my head, not pushing, just there.
I worked him slowly at first. Long licks. Deep pulls. Letting him feel the heat of my mouth. The wet suction. His thighs were tense under my hands, his hips still. He wasn’t moving — wasn’t chasing it — just letting me do the work. Letting me take care of him.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
His fingers tightened slightly in my hair.
“Darren…”
It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t regret. Just my name, said like a release valve.
I kept going. Deeper. Faster. My throat stretching around him, spit leaking from the corners of my mouth. I was hard in my pants, aching, but I didn’t touch myself. This wasn’t about me.
It was about him.
He groaned softly, and I felt his hips twitch. A second later, he pulled back, just enough to stop from finishing.
I looked up.
His cock glistened and throbbed in the air between us. My lips were wet. My knees ached.
But the tightness in his face had eased. His shoulders had dropped. His eyes, when they met mine, were softer.
We stayed like that for a moment. Quiet. Breathing.
Then a knock sounded at the door.
A voice — someone from the wedding party. “They still haven’t arrived. You okay in there?”
Chase cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he called back. “Just—give us a minute.”
When the footsteps faded, he looked down at me and reached out a hand.
I took it.
He pulled me up slowly, tucking himself back into his pants, breathing steady now.
“Thanks, but she will be here any minute,” he said, barely above a whisper.
I wanted to ask a hundred questions. But I didn’t.
Not yet.
