“Yes,” I gasp, fingers moving faster.
“That’s it,” he grits, stroking himself openly now, his breath ragged through the speaker. “Such a good fucking girl. Ride your fingers, baby. Show me how you come for me.”
The praise detonates inside me. I whimper his name, hips rocking wildly. The sound that comes through the speaker—his groan, deep and reverent—tips me right over the edge.
“Fuck, Lulu. Tell me, baby. Who are you coming for?”
“Y-you,” I stammer, still trembling, still unraveling.
His eyes slam shut. “Fuuuck.”
I come hard, crying out, my body shuddering as wave after wave breaks through me. My fingers can’t stop, chest heaving, my back arching off the mattress.
He groans harshly, eyes locked back on me, his hips jerking as his own control snaps. His chest heaves, a guttural moan tearing out of him as he comes, hand fisting tight around his cock as he tips his head back.
For a moment, the only sound is both of us gasping for breath, tethered across the distance by the sight of each other falling apart.
When he finally looks at me again, his jaw is tight. “Don’t you move. Don’t touch the sheets. I want them exactly like this when I get back.”
A shiver races through me, and I tug his pillow closer until it’s tucked under my cheek, breathing in the scent of him wrapping around me. “Guess that means I’m sleeping here tonight.”
His exhale is rough, almost a groan. “Christ, Lulu.” His gaze drags over me, sprawled in his bed. “You’re gonna ruin me. You look… fuck. You look unreal.”
Heat blooms in my chest, a different kind this time. Slower and warmer. “You too,” I whisper, because he does. Hair mussed, throat flushed, eyes still heavy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, more certain than I should be.
He huffs a laugh, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s just full.
Then he clears his throat. “You okay?”
I nod, tugging his covers up over me a bit. “More than okay. Kind of perfect, actually.”
That earns me the ghost of a smirk. “Good. That was the point.”
Something in me melts, because he means it. Not just the orgasm, not just the dirty talk. He means how I feel right now.
I giggle softly, breaking the spell. “Can’t believe I let you boss me around from a hotel room.”
“You loved it.”
“Maybe,” I tease, still flushed. “Don’t let it go to your head, Coach.”
“Too late.”
We both laugh, and the air between us lightens, softens.
That’s when I blurt, reckless from the high, “You know who’d make a great guest speaker at Career Day?”
The smile drops right off his face. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”
“You were gonna say me,” he mutters, scowling. “And the answer’s no.”
“Come on,” I push, grinning. “You’d be amazing. Big scary hockey player, secretly soft underneath? They’d eat it up.”
