“I’m all set.”
“Maxwell, just tell me what you want.”
“Come with me,” I sing, tilting my head back and forth to the words. Clayton raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t object. I watch as he gathers his things and slings his backpack over his shoulder. I walk out, him trailing behind me with a huge smile across my face.
We walk together across campus, not holding hands, but close enough that our arms brush each other. Each time it shocks me that he’s walking by my side again.
Getting to my dorm, I open the door and slug my jacket off, hanging it over the chair at the desk. Clayton drops his bag in the chair and strips his hoodie off. As he pulls it up and over his head, his shirt rises and shows the V-lines right above the waistline of his jeans.
I look him up and down, taking in the sight of him because he is real. I am real. We are real. I’m not dreaming.
He’s here, back in my room, and it doesn’t feel so empty anymore.
Grabbing the remote, I throw the TV in the corner and open Prime. “Want to watch The Boondock Saints?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“You know I do.”
This movie is his favorite for some reason. We have watched it countless times.
Turning the volume up a bit, I toss the remote onto the desk and slip my shoes off before climbing onto my bed, leaning against the wall.
Clayton does the same, but instead of getting comfortable, he sits on the edge. He throws a look over his shoulder at me, his eyes full of words unsaid.
“What is it?”
“Is this actually real?” He asks me.
“This is actually real. I meant every apology and every word, Clayton. I’m truly sorry.”
He nods his head, but doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I forgive you, but I don’t trust you.”
“That’s okay. We’ll get there,” I give him a small reassuring smile. “Come here,” I add, tapping the mattress next to me.
He crawls over, sitting right next to me. Both of our backs against the wall, legs touching, and I slide my hand to his thigh and grip it.
Clayton focuses on the movie. My head is tilted back and to the side, looking at him as he watches. Sliding my hand further up his thigh, I take a shot in the dark. Hoping and praying that he’ll let me do this.
His attention turns to me. “What are you doing?”
“What does it feel like I’m doing?” Slowly, my hand inches closer and closer to his dick. He slides his hips down, opening himself up to my touch.
“Maxwell,” he whispers.
“Clayton,” I whisper back, leaning closer and placing a kiss on his jaw.
Tilting his head, he exposes more skin, and my lips follow until I reached the collar of his t-shirt.
“I need your help,” I admit. “I’ve never done this before.” The words are small, vulnerable.
It’s as if what I said was a switch. Clayton rises up to his knees, coaxing me to lay flat on my back before coming over me. His lips reach me and he grabs the side of my face. Leaning back, he looks into my eyes, and falls right back into me. Kissing, licking, and sucking at my mouth like he’s been needing this for a lifetime.
Like he can’t get enough of me.
My hands run over his body as his do over mine.
Grabbing at the bottom of his shirt, I pull it up and over his head. He has abs, his skin is golden and he looks so much like something I want to take a bite of. Looking down at his body, I focus on each line and indent on his torso. The way his chest is sculpted perfectly.
“Do you like what you see?” He asks.
