The Sophomore (College Years 2)

I cover my mouth to stifle any noise I might make. Like laughter. I creep around the bed to the other side and make sure my phone is charging before I turn off the lamp. Then I return to the empty side of the bed and carefully lie down next to him, on top of the covers. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, so I can barely make out his features. Unable to help myself, I reach out and touch him. Trace the length of his strong nose. One sharp cheekbone. Then the other. His lips.

His eyes snap open at the same time his fingers circle around my wrist, stopping my progression. “Gotcha.”

My heart trips over itself. “You scared me. How long have you been awake?”

“The entire time,” he says.

“No way.” I don’t believe him.

“You came out of the bathroom.” He sniffs the air, scooting closer, his face right in my damp hair. “You took a shower.”

“I did. Now I don’t smell like a grill anymore,” I say.

“Yeah, you smell way fucking better.” He releases my wrist to scoop me up, pulling me into his body. “Is Ava okay?”

“No,” I say. “She says she hates it there.”

“She’s homesick. Seeing Eli this weekend will make her feel better.” He dips his head, his mouth on my neck. “You should come to San Diego.”

Is he inviting me to watch him play? Maybe spend time with him? Or is it only for Ava’s sake?

Probably the latter.

“I can’t.” I close my eyes, my hands going to his shoulders. “I have to work.”

“You always have to work.” He drops kiss after kiss on my sensitive skin, making me shiver. “Trade shifts with someone.”

“I need the money. That’s why I always work.”

He says nothing. Just continues to kiss me. Nuzzle me. Lick me. Oh God, when he uses his tongue, my imagination explodes. I wonder what else he can do with it.

Many, many wonderful things, I?

?m sure.

His head lifts and his mouth is on mine. The kiss goes instantly deep, and I pull him to me so I’m on my back and he’s above me. His hands are on my waist, and he slips them beneath my T-shirt, skimming my sides, gooseflesh rising in their wake. When his hands find my breasts, they come to a stop.

“No bra?”

I shake my head. What was the point? At the time, I was hopeful. Plus, I don’t wear a bra to bed. I rid myself of that thing as much as possible.

He cups my breasts, his thumbs streaking across my nipples, making me hiss in a breath. “Let’s take this off.”

Jackson helps me take off my shirt. Somehow, his disappears too. And when he returns to kiss me yet again, I nearly want to cry at how good it feels to be with him, skin on skin. His is hot and smooth and hard, with soft hairs on his chest, right in the center. I run my hands over his broad shoulders, clutching him to me as we kiss and kiss, our legs tangling together.

His hands race over my skin, searching everywhere he can reach. One hand slides over my stomach, heading south, fingers toying with the waistband of my sleep shorts. His other hand cupping my breast before tracing circles around my aching nipple. His mouth is still on mine, our tongues dancing. I’m overwhelmed with sensation. His hands are literally everywhere, his tongue and mouth stealing my breaths, my thoughts. I’m shaking. Nervous. Excited. Anticipating what’s going to happen next.

When he slips his hand beneath my shorts, I don’t stop him. When he encounters nothing but bare flesh, he makes an appreciative sound. And when his hand dips further, his sure fingers finding my pussy, I moan into his mouth, encouraging him.

Oh God, that’s exactly what I want.

Those expert fingers begin to move, parting me. Searching. Sliding over my wet skin. A choked sound escapes me when he finds my clit and strums it, his rhythm slow at first, picking up quickly. I cling to him, my entire being focused on that one spot between my legs as I hold my breath. He removes his mouth from mine, shifting to my ear and whispering, “Relax,” right before he sinks his teeth into my ear lobe.

It stings. It feels good. So good. I move my hips with his hand, straining toward it, wanting more. He withdraws his fingers to get rid of my shorts, fumbling as he yanks them down. I help him, kicking them off, desperate for him to put his hand back on me and then his fingers return, making me cry out in relief.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering above mine. “Don’t want to wake up the roommates.”

He kisses me before I can say anything, his fingers busy, his tongue thrusting. I cling to him, gasping into his mouth when he slips a finger inside of me.