Colten backs away just enough to look at me. I open my eyes, blinking slowly and confused, not sure why he stopped. The light shining around him is like a halo, the pinks and purples of the sunset framing him beyond his bright glow.
He holds my jaw in place, searching for something in my gaze, before rolling his hips forward again and grinding against my dick.
I can’t help it—I let out another low moan, biting my lip and squeezing my eyes shut as my hips try to meet his, but then he meanly takes his hips back. I snap my eyes back open.
“You’re a bit of a slut, huh?” Colten asks, which, uh,rude?
But also, my hips jerk up, so I guess I’m into it. Colten tightens his grip on my jaw, turning me this way and that as he looks me over.
“It’s a good look on you,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth.
I squeeze my eyes shut again and shiver, though it’s not because I’m shirtless. I know I can pull him closer, get his lips back on mine, but something about the way he’s looking at me keeps me from doing so.
It makes sense. During our friendship, I’ve always followed his lead, and I trust him more than I trust myself.
Of course, it makes sense I’d follow him in this, too.
Colten leans back in, the heat of his mouth welcome as I easily open up for him. His hips find mine again, slowly grinding against me, and I almost sob with relief. My fingers tighten in his shirt, and no doubt stretch it out as my hips grind up towards his.
Colten’s mouth moves against mine, warm and insistent, and my hands clutch onto the front of his shirt like I might float away if I let go. Which feels very possible, given how floaty I feel.
I feel drunker than before, as if the alcohol in his mouth was enough to push me further over the edge—
“Hey!” someone shouts from the field.
Neither of us stops because people shout at each other on the field all the time while playing soccer. It’s basically our entire culture.
Colten kisses me again, slower this time, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth before tilting my head slightly so he can kiss me deeper. I lose myself to the feeling of our slick mouths moving together, the taste of him pushing deeper into my mouth.
Then—
“Turn the music off!”
The speaker from the field cuts mid-song, and Colten freezes.
I make a deeply offended noise when he pulls back.
“Hey,” I protest.
“Shh,” he hushes me while looking back toward the field. His hand is still on the back of my neck, which feels promising.
Then we hear a tinny voice projecting: “You guys need to break it up right now. Security’s on the way. There will be violations issued.”
A chorus of panicked shouting erupts from the field. Despite our hidden spot away from it all, I can still make out some of the shouts.
“Security?”
“Grab those bags!”
“Who brought the cooler?!”
Colten’s eyes widen as he stands up, looking past the shed and over to the field.
“Patrick, we need to leave,” he says urgently.
“Ah.” Right, we’retechnicallytrespassing right now. Whoops.
I grab his hand when he holds it out and let him pull me up, but my legs immediately wobble.
