Page 116 of Shut Up and Score
The squeeze drags me over the edge. My hips stutter, and I bury myself deep, groaning into his neck as I spill into the condom, pulse after pulse of release leaving me shaking.
For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of our harsh breaths and the creak of the mattress under us. My heart’s hammering like I just sprinted a mile.
Slowly, I lift my head, watching him blink up at me, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his damp forehead. He lookswrecked. Beautiful. Mine.
“Micah…” he whispers, voice raw. There’s something soft in his eyes that guts me, something I can’t let myself name.
I swallow hard, chest tight, and lean down to kiss him slowly. Different from the messy, hungry kisses before—this one lingers, as if I can’t help myself.
When I finally pull out, he whimpers, and the sight of him sprawled across the sheets, marked and spent, makes my cock twitch again. I tie off the condom and toss it, then grab a towel next to the bed to clean his stomach, my hands gentler than I mean for them to be.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. Just… holy shit.”
I smirk, but inside, my chest is a riot. I want to do it again. I want to keep him here all night, keep him shaking and begging until he can’t remember his own name.
Instead, I make myself lean back next to him on the mattress, dragging my hand through my hair.
This was supposed to be revenge. It was supposed to be me proving a point, taking him apart for how he destroyed me two years ago.
But now?
Now all I can think about is that I don’t want to stop.
Colton sags into the bed, boneless, his chest rising in shaky breaths. His skin is flushed and damp, his lashes heavy, and for a second I just lay there, staring.
I should get up. Clean us up. Put distance between us before my heart starts doing the thing I swore it wouldn’t.
But then he moves, slow and lazy, and presses himself into my side. His arm slides across my stomach, his head tucking against my chest where it belongs. I can feel his breath on my skin, soft and even.
“Colt…” I whisper, unsure if I should push him off or let him stay. My arms hover awkwardly in the air.
He makes a little noise, barely awake, more instinct than words,and curls closer. His leg hooks over mine, claiming me without even thinking about it.
I freeze. My chest is tight, and my heart’s doing double-time because this—this isn’t sex. This isn’t revenge. This is dangerous.
I tell myself to move. To shove him away.
Instead, my arms drop. One around his shoulders, one splayed across his back. My fingers find the soft curls at the nape of his neck, and I feel him sigh against me, sinking deeper into the mattress.
And God help me, I like it. I like the weight of him against me, the warmth, the trust. It’s addicting in a way I didn’t see coming.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to the slow shift of his breathing, the faint hum of traffic outside, the occasional shuffle of feet in the hall. My own eyes are growing heavy.
I came back to this college planning to get him out of my system. To take what I wanted and walk away. But with him curled against me, smelling like sweat and sex and us, I don’t move.
I let my hand drift in slow circles over his back. I let him hold me as though I’m something he needs. And eventually, against my better judgment, I fall asleep with him in my arms.
The soft chimeof my phone alarm slices through the quiet, and for a second, I don’t know where I am.
Then I feel it—heat, heavy and solid, pressed against me. A bare arm draped across my stomach. A leg tangled with mine.The rise and fall of slow, even breathing against my chest.
Colton.
And he’s naked.
We’re both naked.
