Page 35 of Caden & Theo
“Caden—God—don’t stop,” he pants.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
We’re not going to go all the way tonight—not yet. We talked about it, agreed we’d know when it was right. But that doesn’t mean we’re holding back. Not when we’re both this desperate. Not when every kiss feels like catching fire.
I push my hand down between us, palming him through his boxers. He lets out this needy, broken sound that makes my pulse spike. I love making him come apart like this—love knowing exactly how to touch him to get him there.
He bucks up into my hand, grinding back hard. “You’re the worst,” he mutters, voice wrecked.
“You like it,” I say, nipping his jaw.
“Shut up and—ahh—keep going.”
I do.
My hand slides beneath the fabric, fingers curving around the heat of him. He’s already throbbing in my palm, impossibly hard and twitching with anticipation. I stroke him slow at first—lazy, teasing—just to feel the way his breath catches. His hips jerk up involuntarily, a sharp gasp punching from his chest, and then he lets out a sound that’s more moan than breath, raw and aching.
His eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling. His lips part, full and kiss-bitten, and when I tighten my grip slightly, he groans loudly. I don’t care. Let the whole building hear him. Let the walls hold that sound forever.
No one’s here. No one matters but him.
“You’re so hot like this,” I whisper again, leaning closer, pressing a kiss just under his jaw. His fast pulse thrums erratically there. “I missed watching you fall apart.”
His laughter is short and breathless, breaking on a gasp when I drag my thumb across the head of his cock. He bucks into my hand, his muscles pulling tight like a bowstring.
“You’re—mmh—unbelievable,” he grits out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other gripping my shoulder so hard it’s almost bruising.
I grin against his throat, teeth grazing skin. “You started it. Turning eighteen and showing up looking likethat? What’d you expect me to do?”
He gasps out a shaky laugh, then moans as I quicken the rhythm. “Self-control?”
“Wrong guy,” I mutter, breath hot against his neck.
His body is trembling now, a sheen of sweat shimmering on his chest, catching the dim light of the dorm. His thighs tense on either side of mine, and I can feel the shudder working its wayup his spine. The way he moves—desperate and instinctive—sets fire to my blood. I know this body. I know every gasp, every twitch, every tell.
“Caden—shit—don’t stop, don’t?—”
“I’ve got you,” I promise, kissing the hollow of his throat. “Let go for me.”
He does.
With a low, fractured cry, he arches up, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent gasp as he unravels in my hand. His whole body tightens, then shakes as he comes, warmth spilling over my fingers. I keep stroking him through it—gentle now, coaxing, comforting—while watching every flicker of feeling race across his face like a storm breaking over open sky.
He’s beautiful like this.Wrecked, undone, but still soft around the edges. Vulnerable in a way only I get to see.
As his breathing slows and his body goes slack, he opens his eyes, blinking up at me like he’s not sure what planet we’re on. And I swear, nothing has ever made me feel morerightthan that look.
When he finally slumps back into the sheets, chest heaving, I grin and kiss his temple. “Welcome to Kentucky.”
He groans. “You’re so smug.”
I press my non-sticky hand to my heart. “With reason.”
Theo rolls onto his side, breath still hitching, skin flushed and warm while I grab some tissues and wipe my palm. His eyes are hazy but locked on me, and the soft, lopsided smile he gives me sends heat spiraling through my chest.
“Your turn,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction and something tenderer underneath.
I blink, my throat suddenly dry. “You don’t have to?—”
