Page 120 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“Good thing we’ve got forever, unless I die first, because you’re not fucking me.”
I move, pulling out before thrusting back into his warmth. If I could climb inside of him, I would. The second stroke feels even better than the first, and pleasure gathers at the base of my spine, tightening my balls even as they slap against his. Reaching around him, I grip his cock, stroking him in time to my thrusts.
Our pants and the sound of our bodies coming together over and over again fill his room. Until I’m spilling inside of him, my cum seeping out around my shaft with each stroke as I ride out my orgasm. Eli cums all over my hand and the bedspread as I grind into him, needing to be as deep as I can as he milks me for every last drop.
We stay like that for a while, long enough for the world to come back into focus. His breathing evens out under me, slower, steadier, and that’s when it hits me that I’m probably crushing him into the mattress. I shift, easing back just enough for him to breathe, both of us reluctant to move too far away.
Then I slowly pull out, watching as my cum drips out with me. It is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. And I want to do it again, until he’s reminded of me every second of every day. Fuck, I might be addicted.
My body feels heavy and unsteady, but I still drag myself to the small bathroom to grab a towel and run it under warm water. The sound of the tap fills the quiet, grounding me in the ordinary. When I come back, he’s sprawled across the bed, eyes half-closed, hair sticking up in about six directions.
“Hey,” I murmur. He hums something that might be a word, might not. I smile and take my time, careful, wiping away the come along his chest and stomach, small, slow movements meant to soothe more than clean.
“Didn’t know you were the nurturing type,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion.
“Yeah, I think it’s part of the job description for being a trainer. But don’t tell anyone,” I say, and he laughs—soft, drowsy, the kind of sound that makes the room feel lighter.
When I’m done cleaning him and the bed off, I toss the towel into the hamper and head back to the sink to rinse my hands. The mirror catches me on the way out: flushed, a little wrecked, but smiling anyway.
By the time I crawl back into bed, Eli’s already half-asleep, one hand reaching for me even before his eyes open. I catch it, tugging gently until he’s pressed against my chest. He makes a small sound—content, worn-out—and settles there like he was made to fit.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing start to sync with mine. The room hums with leftover warmth and the faint hiss of the radiator. It’s ordinary in all the best ways.
He shifts once, murmuring something I don’t quite catch, then goes still again. I bury my face in his hair, breathing him in until the scent of soap and skin feels like home.
This,I think as my eyes start to close,this is perfect.
Morning findsus in a tangle of sheets and limbs, sunlight sneaking through the blinds in thin gold lines that stripe across his back. For a moment, I don’t move. I just breathe him in—the faint citrus of his shampoo, the warmth radiating off his skin, the soft hitch in his breathing that always happens when he’s still half-asleep.
He’s plastered against me, head tucked under my chin, one leg hooked over mine like he’s afraid I might slip away. Theweight of him is steady and familiar now, the kind of closeness that makes every muscle in my body forget how to hold tension.
I shift a little to look at him. His hair’s a mess, his mouth slack with sleep, and somehow it still hits me like the first time I saw him smile. I reach up and trace my thumb along the curve of his jaw, careful not to wake him, but his eyes blink open anyway—blue and soft and so full of trust it hurts to look straight at it.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
“Morning, Princess.”
He groans at the nickname but doesn’t let go. If anything, he pulls me closer, burying his face against my neck. I laugh quietly, the sound muffled in his hair.
We stay like that, half-awake, our hearts finding the same rhythm. It’s ridiculous how easy it feels—how right. I’ve spent months trying not to want this, and now that I have it, I don’t know how I ever thought I could go without it.
He tilts his head just enough to meet my eyes again, smiling that small, sleepy smile that ruins me every time.
“Peppermint latte time?” he murmurs with a hopeful smile. “They are going to get rid of it soon, and I’ll have to wait another year for it to come back.”
“Is sugar all you think about?” I grumble, not wanting to get out of bed or let him go.
He purses his lips. “I think about hockey, too.” He lifts up enough to drop a kiss to my lips. “And you. I think about you a lot.”
I snort.
“And I think about the next time I can have you inside of me, filling my ass with your cum.”
Yeah, that does it. I’m hard as a fucking rock, ready for another round. It doesn’t matter that we woke up a few times during the night, and he’s probably sore from it. He presses against me, and I groan.
“Help me shower, Calder.” He kisses me again, and then he climbs out of the bed and walks naked to the bathroom, looking over his shoulder once he reaches the doorway. “Then we can get my sugar.”
By the time we make it out of the shower, the mirror in his dorm room bathroom is completely fogged. Eli’s laughing as he swipes a hand across the glass to see himself, water still dripping from his hair. The towel around his waist is barely hanging on.
