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“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it.”

My cock pulses again as he works his thumb slow. In. Out. A twist that makes me shake. Then he pauses inside of me, eyes on my face. I swear if he asks if I’m still good I might take over.

“You want more?”

I don’t know what more is. Two fingers? His mouth again? His cock? Which is honestly a huge step. But I don’t care, I only know I want more of whatever he’s offering. I trust him not to move too quickly.

“Yes. More. I don’t—whatever more is. Yes.”

He pulls his thumb out. The empty feeling is immediate, and I whimper at the loss. I try to follow his hand with my hips, and he makes a wrecked sound and holds me down.

“I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.”

He spits on his pointer and middle finger, slicks them together, and presses both to me. The stretch is bigger. I gasp. He waits for me to adjust, until I nod, frantic for more, and then he sinks them in.

I’m full. So full. My mouth opens on nothing, and I press my head back to the bed.

Then he crooks his fingers and presses something inside of me that whitewashes the whole room.

“Fuck—oh fuck, god, Daniel, right—don’t—don’t stop—holy⁠—”

The words run together until they don’t mean anything to me. I’ve never sworn like that, but I can’t stop. He does it again and again, ruthless in his assault. My back bows off the pillow. Every single atom in my body is focused on what he’s doing to me. Spit and heat and his fingers dragging over that place until I’m shaking apart on his hand, babbling, eyes wet.

“There you go,” he says, awed. “That’s your prostate. It’s a pleasure button.”

I nod like I understand any of those words at the moment. Then I bear down and take his fingers as deep as they’ll go and swear again, a mess of please and fuck and his name stacked on top of each other.

Friends with benefits.

I don’t have a rule for this.

I don’t want one.

FORTY-ONE

DANIEL

He comes apart on my fingers, and I almost lose it into his comforter.

Quinn—quiet, precise, I don’t swear Quinn—is shaking under me with his knees hooked over my shoulders now, saying things that make me almost lose control. His fingers curl into the bedspread as he rides my hand. His cock is flushed against his stomach, leaking more than before, and then he clamps down on my fingers so hard I almost come at the same time he does. It spurts out of him, stripes of cum hitting his chest, his throat, his cheek, the edge of his glasses.

Satisfaction spreads through me. I did that.

“Fuck—inside, I want—please, Daniel, I want you, I want you in me⁠—”

My whole body hums with that single sentence. I drop my forehead to his thigh and grind my cock into the mattress because if I don’t find friction somewhere I’m going to do something stupid. The comforter is rough. It’s not enough. But it is enough to stop me from thrusting into him while he’s still clenching around my fingers and asking for a thing his body isn’t ready for.

“I know,” I rasp. “I hear you. You’re not ready for that.”

“I am—I’m—please, I researched, I can⁠—”

“We need to take this slow. You just came on my hand.” I crook my fingers through the last of his orgasm, gentler now, riding him down instead of winding him up, and he sobs out another pulse. “You just learned what two fingers feel like, brain. My dick is not the extra credit.”

He whimpers like I took his favorite toy away. I grind harder into the bed, swearing into his skin, so turned on I think I can probably come like this. His hole flutters around my fingers. His mouth keeps offering me things I want so badly I could cry.

I don’t take them.

I keep my hips against the cheap dorm cotton and my hand inside him until he’s done pulsing around me, then I ease out slowly so he doesn’t have to feel empty all at once. He moans at the loss anyway, and I kiss his knee. His hip. The mess on his stomach. I want to lick it up, but I don’t yet.