He chuckles, dark and promising. “That’s my good boy.”
The praise shoots straight to my cock, and I moan loudly, desperately. Every day has been a revelation. Every day, Drew shows me something new—how to deep throat without gagging (still working on that one), the perfect angle to hit my prostate, how to use my big quarterback hands to take him apart. I’ve become addicted to the way he trembles when I touch him, the sounds he makes when he’s inside me.
The dildo buzzes to life, and my body tenses. Drew runs it along my crack, teasing, not quite touching where I need it most.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his free hand stroking my lower back.
I force myself to exhale as he presses the tip against my hole. Even after all his prep, the stretch is intense, made more so by the vibrations that light up every nerve ending. Inch by inch, he works it inside, pausing whenever I tense up, whispering praise and filth in equal measure.
“Look at you,” he says, voice full of awe. “You’re perfect, Jacky. Absolutely perfect.”
When it’s fully seated, he turns up the intensity, and I nearly come right then. The vibrations are everywhere—against my prostate and through my whole pelvis—making my cock leak steadily onto his sheets. I’m making noises I didn’t know I could make, desperate and wanton.
“That’s it,” Drew encourages, slowly fucking me with the toy. “Let me hear you.”
I should be embarrassed by how loud I’m being, but I’m past caring. The Hockey House has heard worse. Gerard’s sex roars are legendary.
“Drew,” I gasp as he angles the dildo just right. “Fuck, I’m gonna?—”
“Not yet,” he says, slowing his movements. “Got more to show you first.”
The next hour melts into a haze of sweat and ragged breath. Drew whispers sweet nothings against my ear, his fingers tightening around the base of my cock each time my thighs start to quiver because the dildo is vibrating my entire body.
“Like this,” he murmurs later, guiding my legs around his waist as he positions himself beneath me before I sink onto his thick cock. His hands grip my hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows beside my hipbones. “Slow circles,” he instructs, demonstrating with a gentle push and pull that makes my jaw drop, and my eyes roll back.
My muscles burn as I learn the rhythm, the sweet spot that makes his eyes roll back and my name tumble from his lips like a prayer.
I come twice, my whole body convulsing with pleasure as I splatter his face with my release.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied. This has become our routine—fuck until we can’t move, then cuddle until dinner time.
Drew’s tracing patterns on my back, and I’m half-asleep when he speaks. “Want to try something different at some point?”
I crack one eye open. “Different how?”
He looks almost shy, which is a new development. Drew Larney doesn’t do shy. “I want you to fuck me. Doggy style.”
My cock gives a valiant twitch despite being completely spent. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He’s blushing now, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen him do. “You’ve gotten so good with your hands that I think it would be hot. You taking control of me.”
“We can do that,” I whisper.
He grins, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “Good. Now sleep, Jacky.”
But sleep doesn’t come easily. I lie there thinking about Ryan, about how I’ve essentially abandoned my best friend for dick. I should go back to the dorm and try to salvage our friendship before it’s too late. But tomorrow becomes another day lost in Drew’s bed, learning new ways to make each other fall apart.
Suddenly, two weeks have passed, and I can barely remember that I have a dorm room to go back to.
I should feel guilty. I really should.
But it’s hard to feel anything but undiluted want when Drew Larney is involved.
The campus isquiet as I make my way to the library. My body still aches in the best way; muscles sore from holding positions I didn’t know existed until Drew showed me—one leg straight up, the other bent; both legs spread wide like a fucking wishbone. When I push through the glass doors, I’m met with silence and emptiness. No Elliot shelving books with his perpetual scowl, no Sarah lurking behind the stacks with her notepad. Just the familiar smell of old paper and that weird carpet cleaner they use.
I find Ryan in his usual spot on the third floor, surrounded by astronomy textbooks and color-coded notes. He glances up when I approach, and I brace for anger, for hurt, for any of the reactions I deserve after ghosting him.
Instead, he smiles. “Well, look who remembers I exist.”
