Page 92 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“I love you,” I whisper.
He stills for a heartbeat, eyes searching mine like he’s making sure he heard right. Then he exhales, shaky but sure, and leans in until his lips are against my temple.
“I love you too, Max,” he says, so quietly it almost disappears into the morning light.
And the world just…stops.
There’s no rush, no noise, no performance—just the two of us, tangled in sheets and sunlight, hearts pounding in sync. For the first time in longer than I can remember, everything feels simple.
As though love was always supposed to sound like this—soft, certain, and real.
He’s still looking at me like he can’t quite believe what I said when I reach up, catch the back of his neck, and kiss him again—deeper this time. His breath stutters, and I feel it, the exact second the moment shifts.
I roll us carefully, pressing him into the mattress, his curls fanning out against the pillow. His eyes go wide for a beat, and then his hands are in my hair, tugging me closer.
The sunlight spills over us, warm against skin, and everything feels heightened—the slide of breath, the press of bodies, the quiet sounds that escape between kisses. I trace my fingers along the line of his ribs, the flutter of his pulse under my palm.
He arches up into me, a soft sound catching in his throat. “Max…”
“Shh.” I press my mouth to his jaw, his neck, the place just below his ear that makes him shiver. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
His hands tighten on my shoulders, pulling me down until there’s no space left between us. Each kiss grows slower, deeper, filled with everything I haven’t said until now. The air hums with it—all that want, all that care.
Eli looks up at me, eyes dark and glassy in the light. “Say it again,” he whispers.
I do. Quietly. Like a promise. “I love you.”
His chest lifts, a shaky breath leaving him as he smiles—soft and a little wrecked. His thumb traces the corner of my mouth. “Then show me.”
I do that, too. Not rushed, not desperate—just a slow, steady rhythm of closeness. The kind where every touch feels like it means something. His breath catches; mine does too.
The sheets shift under us, the air warm and heavy with the quiet sound of skin brushing skin, of whispered names and half-formed sighs. His fingers drag down my back, leaving trails that make me shiver. I watch his face, every flicker of it—the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his lips part when I run my fingers between us and stroke him long and slow, until he arches up into my touch.
Then I reach for the lube in his bedside table where we stored it and prepare him for me until he’s moaning softly. When he’s ready, I roll on a condom, wishing not for the first time that we could do this without one. Soon. I mentally promise myself.
I press into him, groaning low into his shoulder as I do. Fuck, he’s always so tight. I’ll never get enough of him. Even as I move over him, each stroke deeper than the last, I’m thinking of ways to make this work on campus, how we can do this without hiding from everyone.
“You feel so good, Eli. I love you so fucking much. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you.” The words spill out of me, completely unrestrained, and he gasps in pleasure with each one, making me want to shower him with how much I love him.
I stroke him in time to my thrusts, determined to make him orgasm with me. My motion becomes erratic the closer I get, and he arches into me, spreading wider. Then he’s cumming and I’m right there with him. Falling over the edge and into the pure bliss of the abyss.
Everything slows down. The world narrows to the rise and fall of his chest against mine, to the steady heartbeat under my palm. The light through the blinds paints us in soft gold, and I think this must be what peace feels like.
He opens his eyes, still hazy, and smiles that small, real smile that’s only ever for me. For a second, it’s just us—no noise, no distance. Just the quiet certainty of being seen and loved exactly as we are.
Eli lifts his hand, presses it softly against my chest where my heart’s still racing. His voice is low, teasing but gentle. “And the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day.”
I laugh under my breath, catching his hand and kissing his knuckles before leaning down to brush a kiss against his nose. “Careful,” I murmur. “Might burst right out of my chest.”
He smiles, eyes closing as he settles against me again, and I hold him there—content to let the morning stretch on forever.
The driveto the coast feels like a dream. Windows down, sunlight flickering through the trees, the radio spilling out old songs that neither of us should know the words to but somehow do. Eli sings loud and off-key, his hand drumming against the console, while I keep glancing over just to watch him. Every time he catches me, he grins and keeps singing louder.
By the time we reach the beach, thanks toGoogle Maps, the sky is the kind of blue that looks painted. The air smells like salt and wild grass. I park, and before I can even grab the bag from the backseat, Eli’s out of the car, wind tugging at his hair.
“Come on, Calder!” he calls, already barefoot, jeans rolled up, leaving a trail of footprints across the sand.
I follow, shoes in hand, until the surf curls around our ankles—cold but not unbearable. He laughs when I flinch at the first wave, the sound carried off by the wind.
