"I'm going to ride you," I tell him, reaching back to guide him to my entrance. I'm still wet and open from earlier, still loose enough that I don't need prep. "And you're going to lie there and take it."
"Yeah," he breathes. "Fuck. Okay."
I sink down.
The stretch is perfect, that delicious, familiar fullness that I'm already addicted to. I take him inch by inch, bracing my hands on his chest for balance. His pecs flex under my palms. His whole body is taut, trembling, holding back.
"That's it," I murmur when I'm fully seated. "God, you fill me up so good. Feel so big like this."
He reaches for my hips. I let him this time—he needs something to hold onto. His hands span almost my entire waist, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise. I feel small in his grip. Claimed.
But I'm the one in control.
I start to move.
Not fast. Not desperate like the bathroom. Slow, rolling grinds that keep him deep inside me, that drag him against all the right spots. I plant my hands on his chest and find my rhythm.
"Sam," Devan groans. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" I circle my hips, clenching around him. "Tell me."
"Faster. I can't—fuck—"
"You can." I lean down, kissing him even as I keep that maddening, slow pace. "You can wait. You've been patient for two years. What's a few more minutes?"
He makes a sound that's almost a sob. His hips try to buck up, trying to take control, but I press down with my full weight.
It shouldn't work. He's so much stronger than me. He could flip us over, pin me down, take what he wants.
He doesn't.
"This is mine," I whisper against his mouth. "You gave it to me. Let me have it."
Something breaks behind his eyes. I watch it happen, watch him finally, fully let go.
His whole body goes slack against the sheets. His grip on my waist loosens, becoming less desperate and more grounding. He stops fighting.
"There you go," I murmur. "Fuck, look at you. So good for me."
I reward him by picking up the pace. Still not frantic, but faster, deeper, riding him properly now. The new angle has him hitting my prostate on every stroke, and I have to bite my lip to keep from losing it too soon.
"So hot like this," I tell him, and I mean it. "All that control, all that strength... and you're just letting me have you."
"Only you," he manages. "Sam—only ever—"
"I know." I press my forehead to his, sharing breath. "I know. Me too."
I kiss him, sloppy and wet, as I speed up my hips. The sound of skin on skin fills the room. The bed frame is creaking. Someone in the next dorm probably hates us right now.
Don't care.
"I love you," I gasp against his mouth. "No matter what happens with Sterling, with any of it—"
"Sam—" His voice cracks. "I'm close. Fuck, I'm so close—"
I can feel it, the base of his cock starting to swell.
"Give it to me," I tell him. "Want it. Want you to fill me up, lock us together—"
