“Let me see you.” He stops me with a hand at my hip and rolls to his knees. “It’s only fair.”
Goosebumps pebble beneath his fingers as he skims over my skin. The weight of his attention is a physical thing, and I shudder while my cock slowly fills. When he leans in to nuzzle the juncture of my thigh, all the air leaves me in a rush, and I clutch at his shoulders, struggling to breathe.
“I knew it would be gorgeous,” he murmurs, then plants a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the base of my crown. “Now put it inside me.”
With trembling fingers, I fumble a condom from the nightstand and roll it down my shaft.
“What now?” I ask, when I’m tucked back behind him, packet of lube in hand.
“I’m basically prepped from earlier. Coat that pretty cock of yours, and you’ll slip right in, I promise.”
“And you’ll tell me if it hurts?”
“It’s gonna hurt in the best way imaginable.”
When I frown down at him, his teeth flash.
“Seriously,” he says. “You should try it sometime.”
Well. Okay, then.
I try to go slow, but he reaches back to grip my thigh, and with one smooth roll of his hips, I—
slip
right
in.
“Don’t break my heart,” he whispers, or maybe I dream it. The tight heat of him is unreal, an oasis in the scorched desert of my self-denial, and I’m drowning in the sheer revelation of him. My mind is full of crazy, impossible words likeloveandmineandforever, but all I let fall from my lips is his name.
He turns his head to kiss me and sucks on my tongue, arching to meet my every careful thrust. It’s drowsy and languid, and he doesn’t rush or plead—just rides me like an inexorable current until I’m the one rolling to crush him into the mattress, until my hips are the ones chasingharder, deeper,more.
Until I’m the one begging in his ear.
And even though I’ve already come twice tonight, and even though I never want it to end, there’s no way to resist him.
“It’s okay,” he says, as if reading my mind—and maybe we’re close enough right now that he can. “I’m right there. Take me with you.”
In the end, he comes first, writhing and clenching with a breathy, gasping cry. It drags me to ruin, and I spill into him, nails carving hips and teeth sunk in the back of his neck.
“That was perfect,” he tells me, as oblivion comes to claim my sated limbs. “You were perfect.”
Stay, then. Be perfect with me.
When I wake up, I’m alone.
CHAPTER 08: FEN
“Tell me his name wasn’t Chris,” Libby says, observing my ragged attire and the bruised circles no amount of green tea eye patches could resolve.
“Not Chris,” I groan. “Ollie.”
“Ollie? That’s adorable.”
“I know.” I take the coffee she offers and drag her away from the cart in the student quad. “It gets worse.”
“Worse than Ollie?” She bites her lip, fighting a grin.
