Page 71 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
His nails bite into my shoulders like he’s anchoring himself, and fuck, maybe he is. Maybe I am, too. Because once I start, I can’t stop.
My mouth maps him in hungry strokes, down the sharp ridge of his ribs, across the dip of his stomach, until I’m tasting every inch like it’s mine. His body arches into me, restless, needy, and it lights something dark and feral in my chest.
“Max,” he gasps, voice breaking, and the sound is gasoline on a fire.
I strip the rest of his clothes away, palms dragging over heated skin like I’m trying to memorize him through touch alone. My joggers hit the floor, and then there’s no space left—just sweat, heat, and the desperate throb of wanting.
And fuck, if we were both tested, I’d take him bare. I’d sink in and feelallof him, nothing between us. The thought makes my cock ache.
I wrap my hand around both of us, pressing us together, stroking long and slow. He arches up into my touch, and the sharp jolt of it ricochets through me. Our pre-cum slicks between us, sticky and hot. I swipe my finger through it and hold it to his lips. He doesn’t hesitate—sucks it clean, moaning like it tastes better than sugar. My chest caves. I’m done for.
I pull back just enough to grab the lube and condoms, his legs spreading wider in a silent offering. The sight nearly undoes me. I tear one open, roll it on, and slick my fingers. When I press the first one inside, slow and careful, he clenches around me, gasping my name like it’s a prayer.
“Shh,” I whisper against his mouth, pushing deeper, curling until I feel him quake. “I’ve got you, Princess.”
“Max—fuck—please.” His plea is desperate, and it wrecks me.
I can’t help myself—I nip at his jaw, sucking hard enough to bruise his throat, leaving my claim just below his collar line in purple marks. His body bows beneath mine, all pliant heat and trust, and it makes something violent twist in my chest. Because tomorrow his teammates will see the marks, tease him about some faceless hook-up.
And even if the guys notice in the locker room, they’ll never know it’s me.
And God help me, I’m starting to hate that.
I slick my cock, line myself up, and for a second—I just hover there, forehead pressed to his. His breath ghosts hot against my lips, his eyes wide and blown. He looks at me like he trusts me with everything. And fuck, maybe he does.
The thought nearly guts me. Because if he knew how badly I wanted to keep him—how much I hated the idea of letting go—he’d run. Or worse, he wouldn’t. And then I’d loseeverything.
I push in, slow, inch by inch, watching his mouth fall open, watching the flush crawl high across his cheeks. He clutches at me, nails digging into my shoulders like he needs me to hold him together. The stretch pulls a sound from his throat that makes my vision blur.
“Max,” he moans, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from saying what’s sitting heavy in my chest.I love you. God, I love you.
Instead, I bury deeper until I’m fully seated inside him, both of us trembling from it. My hand cradles the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone like I can soothe the sharp edge of what we just did.
“You feel so good, Princess,” I whisper, rough and low, pressing my mouth to his temple. “Like you were made for me.”
I pull back slowly, then sink in again, steady and deliberate. Each thrust drags a broken sound from him, and I swallow themagainst his skin, my body moving with a control I don’t feel. Every roll of my hips is a confession I don’t dare speak out loud.
And in the back of my head, I know this can’t last. But right now, with him wrapped around me, gasping my name like it’s the only word that matters—right now, I let myself believe it can.
I rock into him carefully, every inch deliberate, every sound he makes seared into me. His head tips back, throat bared, lips parted on these quiet, shuddering moans that sound like prayer.
I drag my hand down his chest, splay it wide over his stomach, feel the tremor that ripples through him when I grind slow and deep instead of quick. He clutches at me, pulls me closer, like he wants me inside his skin.
“Max…” My name spills from him, soft and pleading, but I don’t speed up. I keep him right here, strung out on every movement.
“Easy, Princess,” I murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the pulse in his throat. “I want you to feel all of it. Every second.”
His legs tighten around my waist, anchoring me as though he’s afraid I’ll slip away. My chest aches with it—how much he wants me here. How much I want to stay.
I move again, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in slowly, filling him until he gasps and claws at my shoulders. The look in his eyes nearly undoes me—wide, wrecked, and open in a way that feels dangerous. Like he’s giving me something more than his body.
And I match it, even though I shouldn’t. I press my forehead to his, kiss him lazily and unhurried, like the world isn’t outside this bed. Like time isn’t running out.
Every thrust is slower than the last, as if dragging this out long enough could make it last forever.
I hold myself steady inside him, rocking slow, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until his body is tremblingaround me. His nails drag down my back, leaving little trails of heat, and he’s whispering my name like it’s the only word he knows.
“Please,” he gasps, hips shifting against mine, desperate for more, for faster.
