Page 101 of Shut Up and Score
Strong hands push my hoodie up, his fingers tracing the line of my abs, all possessive heat. My breath stutters, my back pressing harder against the door as heat pools low in my stomach.
Then he drops to his knees.
My brain shorts out.
Micah looks up at me from the floor, blue eyes dark, a wicked curve to his mouth. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my sweats and tugs just enough to make me twitch.
“I’ve been thinking about this since I tasted you in the shower,” he says, voice a low growl that slides straight through me. “About how good you taste. About how you sound when you’re trying not to beg.”
My throat is dry. My fingers curl against the doorframe to keep from sinking to the floor with him.
“I want you in my mouth, Colt,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I want to taste all of you. Let me have you.”
My head thumps back against the door as Micah shoves my sweats down, my cock springing free into his palm. I’m already hard, already leaking, and his low, satisfied hum vibrates straight through my spine.
“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, before dragging his tongue up my length in one slow, possessive lick. My knees nearly buckle.
Then his mouth closes over the tip, hot and wet and sinful. I choke out a sound I didn’t know I could make, my fingers tangling in his hair. He doesn’t wait. He takes me deeper, steady and sure, his throat flexing as I slide against that tight, perfect heat.
“Micah—” I gasp, but he only hums around me, the vibration making me twitch against his tongue. His hand grips my thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding me in place as he sets a punishing rhythm, sucking me, and claiming every sound I make as his own.
A knock rattles the door behind me, jolting through my whole body.
“Yo, QB!” Caleb’s voice booms through the wood, cheerful and oblivious. “Come on, man! We’re grabbing pizza to celebrate that last touchdown. You and Blackman alive in there?”
I can’t answer. My mouth opens, a strangled noise slipping out as Micah swallows me deeper, his blue eyes glinting with wicked triumph. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he sucks harder, cupping my balls in his palm at the same time, dragging a groan from my chest that I can’t smother.
“Uh—y-yeah!” I stammer, voice cracking as heat coils in my gut. “I’m—ah—g-good!”
Caleb laughs. “Alright, don’t take too long! We’re starving!” His footsteps fade down the hall.
Micah pulls back just long enough to whisper against the tip, his voice low and lethal. “Be a good boy. Come for me while your teammate thinks you’re tying your damn shoes.”
My whole body locks up. The thrill, the impossible heat of his throat—my orgasm rips through me with a helpless, choked moan. Micah swallows every drop, holding me up by the thighs until the world stops shaking.
He pulls back with a wet pop, his mouth slick, and smirks up at me like the devil himself. “That’s my good quarterback,” he murmurs, voice dipped in mockery and heat all at once.
By the time I come out of the bathroom, my face is no longer red, and my clothing is back in place. My body’s humming with the memory of his mouth, his tongue, the cold brush of that piercing, and his hands so fucking possessive on my thighs. My throat’s dry, my hands twitchy as though they need somewhere to go.
Micah’s sprawled on the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone and acting as though he didn’t just ruin me. His gaze flicks up for a single second, catching mine, and that half-smirk curls his mouth. I feel it in my gut. He knows I’m thinking about it—about what it would be like if I was on my stomach, sweats peeled down, if he finally gave me everything I’ve been craving.
“Team’s waiting,” I mutter, then clear my throat, because those words came out croaked.
He stands and stretches, all lazy, predatory grace. As he walks past me, his hand ghosts over the small of my back, barely a brush of fingertips through cotton, but it might as well be a brand. My pulse jumps.
By the time we make it outside, the night air is cool, but it doesn’t do a damn thing for the heat coiled in me. Guys are laughing and shoving each other around the bus steps, still buzzed from the win. I paste on my perfect golden boy quarterback smile, and pretend my body isn’t still betraying me.
Micah climbs the bus first, and I follow on autopilot. I can’t even imagine sitting somewhere that isn’t in his orbit. Our arms bump, his warmth bleeding into me. When I slide into the seat beside him, his thigh presses against mine, the fabric of my sweats soft and thin enough that I feel him anyway. My cock twitches, traitorous, remembering the pressure of his hand, his mouth.
Caleb drops into the seat across the aisle, grinning. “Good game, man. You looked…amped tonight.”
I force a casual shrug. “Yeah. Felt good.”
Micah hums low in his chest, a sound meant for me alone, and my fingers tighten on my phone.
The whole ride to the pizza place is an exercise in self-control. Micah leans back, his arm stretching across the seat behind me, casual, like it’s nothing. But his fingers brush my shoulder once…twice. And I’m stuck there, sweatpants doing nothing to hide how badly I want him to touch me again.
He pulls his arm away and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. Clearly satisfied with teasing me.
