I wrapped my arms around him, the need to hold him overwhelming. He was all sweat and skin and need, pressed so close, I thought we’d fuse together.
“Eddie,” I breathed into his hair, and he shuddered, arms tightening around my shoulders.
He was shaking, not from cold or fear, but from effort—the muscles in his legs flexing against my hips, his hands clawing at my back, desperate for more friction, more connection. I wanted nothing more than to give it to him.
“Bash,” he whispered, and the way he said my name—so open, so raw—wrecked me. I thrust again, and this time, he arched up to meet me, matching me stroke for stroke. I found a rhythm, slow but deep, and let myself be swept away, drowning in him, in us, in what we were making together.
His face was flushed, mouth open, his eyes locked on mine. They were determined, needy, and so goddamn beautiful, I felt a pang in the center of my chest, like an old wound splitting open, letting all the feeling pour out.
His head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat, and I kissed my way down the column, tasting sweat and salt and something uniquely Eddie. He moaned, a high, desperate sound, and rocked into me harder, greedy for every inch I could give him.
Eventually, I picked up the pace. I watched his face the whole time, not wanting to miss even one micro-expression. He started to push back in time with my rhythm, bracing himself on the bed with the arm not clamped in my grip. I found a motion that hit that spot inside him and didn’t let up; after only a few minutes, he was a mess, moaning my name, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, teeth biting down on his parted lower lip.
I reached for his cock, already hard and leaking, and stroked along the length in time with my thrusts. He cried out, eyes squeezing shut, and I felt his thighs clamp in tighter around me as I kept fucking him.
He was so close, I could feel the heat and tension building in him, every muscle bracing for the inevitable. I locked my eyes on his face, barely able to blink, not wanting to miss whatever came next. My own body was right at the edge too, pleasure spiraling up so fast I was half-afraid I’d lose control.
He started to break first. Two thrusts later, fingers locked so tight in my hair, it almost hurt, he threw his head back. He came hard, a hoarse sound torn out of him that echoed off the cheap motel walls. I kept stroking him through it, not letting up, and the way his body locked and convulsed around me was goddamn transcendent.
The sight of him—eyes rolled back, mouth open in stunned disbelief, his whole body blinking between pain and bliss—was enough to push me over. I lost it, hips stuttering out of instinct, pace growing frantic, all the while anchored by his arms around my neck. I barely choked out his name before I followed, pressing in as deep as I could go, the sensation so intense, I saw sparks behind my eyelids.
For a handful of seconds, the only sound in the room was our breathing, ragged and synced up, sweat cooling on our skin. I collapsed forward, only catching myself with an elbow before I crushed Eddie beneath me. He was limp, boneless as a ragdoll, and even now he wouldn’t let go of me, arms wrapped around my back like if he just held tight enough, this moment wouldn’t end.
God, I wished.
How I wished we could stay like this forever.
20
EDDIE
I woke up wrapped in Bash’s arms for the fourth morning in a row, and the novelty still hadn’t worn off. If anything, it had become more precious with each passing day, this quiet intimacy that felt like the most natural thing in the world. His breath was warm against my neck, one arm slung protectively across my waist, and was reluctant to move despite the fact that I’d been awake for several minutes.
Everything felt different now. Not just the physical aspects—though the lingering soreness from our first night together had served as a constant, not unpleasant reminder of what we’d shared—but something deeper. I felt more settled in my own skin, more confident in who I was and what I wanted. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be truly intimate with another person, to trust someone completely with both my body and my secrets.
The journey from that shabby motel room to this narrow university bed had been a revelation in ways I was still processing.
Our last morning in North Carolina had been tender and domestic in a way I’d never experienced. We’d showered together again, Bash’s hands gentle as he washed my hair, both of us moving with the easy comfort of lovers. There had been soft kisses and quiet laughter, and when I’d caught sight of us in the bathroom mirror—hair damp, skin still flushed from the warm water, completely at ease with each other—I’d felt a giddy happiness mixed in with pride.
The final visit with his parents had been more challenging. Not because they’d been anything less than welcoming, but because maintaining appropriate distance had become nearly impossible. Every instinct I had was to stay close to Bash, to touch him casually, to respond to his presence the way I would have back in our apartment. Instead, I’d had to maintain that careful distance while watching him interact warmly with his family, knowing that what we’d shared the night before had to remain invisible.
There had been a moment when his mother had been showing me her garden and Bash had appeared behind us, close enough that I could smell his aftershave, and I’d had to physically stop myself from leaning back against him. The want had been so natural, so automatic, that its suppression felt like holding my breath underwater.
The private jet home had been our salvation. Once we were alone in that luxurious cabin, the pretense had dropped away entirely. We’d sat close together, Bash’s hand covering mine on the armrest, talking quietly about everything and nothing while the landscape passed below us. It was during that flight, watching him look out the window with such contentment, that the word had crystallized in my mind with startling clarity.
Love.
I was in love with him.
The realization hadn’t come as a shock so much as a settling, like something I’d been circling around finally clicking into place. Of course I loved him. How could I not? The way he took care of me, the gentle strength in his hands, the complete safety I felt in his presence—it all added up to something far deeper than attraction or friendship or even the intense connection we’d been building.
I hadn’t said it yet. The moment hadn’t felt right during the flight, both of us still processing the intimacy we’d shared and the complexity of returning to our campus life. But the knowledge sat warm in my chest, patient and certain, waiting for the right time to be spoken aloud.
These past few days back at Cascade Bay University had been an exercise in controlled bliss. Outwardly, nothing had changed—we still attended classes together, studied with Jessica, Tom, and Kolby, maintained our public facade of polite friendship. Bash still kept his head on a swivel, never losing that vigilance. But privately, in our small apartment, we’d fallen into a different rhythm.
Bash no longer slept on the sofa but in my bed.Ourbed. That also meant he no longer did his workouts in the morning, as he preferred to wake up with me. Instead, he went to the gym right before dinner, and I dutifully stayed inside the apartment.
We woke up together, had breakfast together, shared news and updates over coffee, exchanged words with the easy banter of people who loved each other’s company. The physical intimacy continued as well with slower explorations, gentle touches, the kind of thorough mapping of each other’s bodies that came with time and growing confidence.
