I can hear his intake of breath behind me. I wouldn’t have thought a guy like him needed any kind of praise or reassurance when he gets it all over campus and from the press. Maybe he’s never heard praise from someone he wants to fuck. When he grazes his tip up and down over my hole, I have to fight the urge to push back onto it. I wanted the evening to last as long as possible, but to hell with drawing anything out anymore.
“Fuck me, Chris.”
His fingers grip my hip tighter, and he presses against and through my ring in one go. Sheets balled in my fists, I swallow a cry and gulp for breath.
“Shit, Remy,” he grits. “Shit.”
He must understand that expression about the mind being willing because he makes a pass over my ass with his warm palm while I wait for my body to relax. He said my name. That helps. I love it when he says my name. Dropping to my elbows, I bask in the scent of him, ofus, in my room. This empty space of memories. All the clutter and trinkets I acquired—none of them mattered. All I ever needed, apparently, was this mattress and him. Nudging my hips backward, I take more of him in. He lets out a guttural breath and grips my hip again, gently this time, as though he doesn’t want to interrupt my plan.
“You’re a slut for me tonight, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, thank goodness. I’m not about to admit that truth, but maybe I do anyway because, when he thrusts to meet me, I moan long and loud.
“Aw, yeah,” he concurs, sliding back and doing it again, hedging deeper this time.
We create a chorus of huffs, grunts, and groans—my body thrumming from head to toe—until his soft thatch of hair brushes flush against my ass. I am consumed completely. It’s a touching and yet overwhelming sensation.
Chris retreats a fraction, and I discover it’s so he can bend down over me. His palms land on either side of mine, his thick arms pressed against my own. Lips brushing against the side of my neck, he just stays that way, breathing heavily.
I know,I want to tell him.All the things you won’t or don’t know how to say—I know.
And then he moves like he can’t stand the deafening silence any longer than I can, his animalistic side taking over. The side of him that chews up and spits out anything resembling feelingsand weakness. It’s the side that made him a winner and me a total slut for him, apparently.
He must know by my sounds when he’s found the best rhythm to tease my gland, because he shortens his thrusts. He rocks back and forth over it several times, reducing me to a mess of whimpers and groans. The man may have started out as a terrible top, but his dedication to perfecting game plays has paid off in the bedroom over the last two years.
“Is it good?” he huffs, warming my heart that he’s asking for a change. He’s been doing that more in the past few months.
I’m panting so hard my lungs are burning. Why is he trying to make me speak?
“You know…it is,” I get out, hooking my pinky over his index finger, not caring if the gesture is a penalty in the Chris Mightener rules of affection book.
He murmurs something, sounding almost annoyed, but there’s no way I imagined it. “Shouldn’t…think about this ass…so much.”
He thinks about me? About us?This?
Groaning, I push back onto him, not caring if it’s going to make me sore tomorrow. He curses under his breath and picks up his pace. Each slap of our skin nudges me forward until my arms give out. I sink onto the mattress, trying to hold my hips aloft so we won’t lose our connection.
His beautiful, heavy weight, settles onto me. He’s crushing me, but I’m in heaven.
Breathing? Who the hell needs to breathe when they can feel Chris’ pecs and abs brushing against their back as his cock repeatedly lays claim to their body?
I mumble into my pillow, needy, drunken-sounding syllables, and press my hand to the wall. He clutches my wrist and nips at my earlobe. The friction from my bedsheets isn’t helping my wish to prolong this. Reaching beneath me, I find my cock andwrap my hand around it. Something bashes into my elbow, and I feel rough fingers on my arm. If he tells me not to touch my cock again, I’m going to have to find a way to ignore him. He doesn’t, though. Instead, his hand wraps around mine, grazing against my stomach in the confined space.
“Come. Wanna feel you milk my cock one last time.”
I cry out—and possibly cry a little inside too. I do exactly as he asks, my body a servant to his desires. Fire rises up my legs. I feel the terrifying pressure on my bladder, and then I come. With each pulse, I clench around him.
I’ve seen game playbacks of him growling at opponents and decided I could no longer watch them without getting aroused. He makes the same sound into the top of my shoulder, his heat erupting inside me. Our flesh rubs together with each jerk of his body. His open mouth moves to my cheek, panting against it. Damn, he smells amazing. I lean into the touch like it’s an umbilical cord giving me life.
Graduation is supposed to be a time for celebrating. I can’t, though. How am I going to give this up?
Closing my eyes, I absorb every sound, every breath, each beat of his heart against my back. I want to stay pressed into this mattress like a leaf in a scrapbook. After several moments, however, he slips free from me. It leaves behind a cruel mix of dizziness from my comedown and hollowness from his leaving.
Rolling to his side, the mattress dips next to me when he lands on his back. I turn my head and watch him search for something to clean up with. He finds the pack of baby wipes I left on the floor and catches me staring at the cock that was just inside me.
“That was overdue,” he says with a sigh.
Clearing my throat, I roll over and take the package from him. “Yeah.”
