Easton whimpers, eyes slamming shut, and I watch in surprise as his body shudders.
Did he just ...cum?
My eyes drop to his hands, and both fists remain at his side.
Holy fuck, he did! He came without even being touched.
I fucking snap, the whole thing too much, and so fucking hot. I thrust forward and let my orgasm take its grip. I hold Easton still again and cum hard, cock throbbing as thick waves of cum shoot out and down his throat.
Easton tries to swallow, but there’s too much. He pulls back, coughing. I grab my cock and jerk out the last few ropes so they land on his face.
Slumping back against the wall, my body buzzes in the afterglow. I’m on cloud fucking nine.
I look at Easton and smirk, wanting to grab my phone and take a photo of him on his knees, my cum painting his face.
“Pretty sure you’re my little bitch.” I grin, leaning forward, grabbing his chin. With my thumb, I brush some of the cum from the corner of his mouth and bring it up to my own.
He tracks it with nearly black eyes, chest heaving as I suck the saltiness from my thumb.
Something inside him snaps, because the blissed-out look on his face changes into something dark.
He angrily gets to his feet, grabbing his shirt and wiping his face.
My smile falls, and the moment is gone, the bubble has burst.
“Easton.” The cockiness has evaporated from my tone, replaced with a more tender concern.
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
“Don’t do this,” I beg as I watch him reconstruct the thick steel wall around himself.
“I hate you.” His jaw grinds together. His words hurt, but I know he doesn’t mean them. “I fucking hate you.”
“You might hate me, but I don’t hate you. I never have.”
“I hate you.” There’s a rasp to his tone that pushes me forward. He steps back, and pain trickles back in. “I hate you. I fucking hate you.”
I don’t care if he hits me for this, I grab him and pull him into my arms, wrapping him up in a tight embrace.
He’s still under me, but I don’t move. “I don’t hate you,” I tell him slowly to make sure he hears each word. “I could never hate you, Easton. And any time I told myself I did, I was lying.”
We stand there like this for a long few moments before Easton pushes out of my embrace. I let him go as he throws the bar’s back door open and rushes back inside.
He’s running again, but I let him go.
I won’t force him to confront something he’s not ready for.
I worry about him for the rest of the night. I don’t go back to the dorm, but head to my parents' place instead. I don’t get any sleep, and the next morning everyone can see that I’m in a mood.
My parents ask if I’m okay, but I brush them off.
This is the first Thanksgiving that I’m not full of laughter and smiles. I spend the day in my own little world.
“Wanna talk about it?” Lilly asks me that night. We just got done eating, and I could feel everyone's eyes on me.
All I could think about was Easton. Was he okay? Did he have somewhere to go, or get to celebrate Thanksgiving?
Then I checked socials and saw he was with Taylor’s family.
