All Played Out (Rusk University 3)

I drag her back into place and up to my mouth and whisper against those plump lips, “You’re beautiful, Nell. Thank you. Thank you for this.”

And then for the second time, I guide myself to her wet heat and begin the slow, torturous slide inside her.

She’s tighter than I could have imagined, and even though she’s practically melting around me, it’s not easy to push forward. I dip my head to pull her nipple into my mouth, and she rocks back a little, drawing me a little farther inside.

“That’s it. Push back while I push forward.”

I suck at her breast again, before trapping it between my teeth. Her hips bear down against mine, and she cries out. I push my hips up, driving forward a little harder, and our combined movements push me almost all the way inside.

I collapse back on the bed, stunned into stillness for a moment at the mind-numbing pleasure of being clasped inside her. She sits back, and the last inch of me slides inside, until I can feel our bodies press together.

I force myself to look for her reaction, even though my instinct is to thrust, to pull her down against me and drag myself back through that exquisite tightness.

Her eyes are closed, and her hands are back to resting on my chest. Her expression is pulled tight, and I know she’s in pain.

“Talk to me,” I tell her. “Tell me what to do.”

She shakes her head, her expression tensing even more, and I can feel my stomach drop right through the mattress. She’s shutting me out again. I should have known the pain would be enough to undo all the easiness in her. It’s hard enough for her to let go when all she’s feeling is pleasure.

I sit up, intending to hold her and talk her through it, but she gasps at the movement.

“That felt good.” She sounds surprised.

I wrap my arms around her middle and kiss the corner of her mouth. “It will all feel good. Just give yourself some time to adjust.”

But as usual, Nell doesn’t know how to take things slow. She only knows how to move forward, and I’m grateful for that particular attribute when she rises up on her knees a few inches before sinking back down against me.

Somehow, in the time between that first thrust and now, my memory of how tight she was dimmed, but now it’s back in full force as her body squeezes around me.

“Fuck. You feel so good.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, girl genius. Better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.”

And it’s true, not just an in-the-moment utterance. This . . . this right here . . . is the best I’ve ever felt in my life.

She does it again, lifting a little higher this time, dropping a little faster, and I groan. “How do you feel?” I ask.

“Strange.”

“Good strange?”

“I think so.”

I run my hand up her spine to thread my fingers through her hair. I tilt her face down to mine so I can see her expression. Our gazes meet, and she swirls her hips experimentally, and fuck, I lied.

This is the best I’ve felt in my entire life.

Looking into her eyes, seeing the way they glaze over as she rubs her clit against me, feeling her chest brush against mine, all while being held so perfectly inside her.

I must think that phrase a dozen times, two dozen, as she loosens up, and we begin a slow and steady rhythm. Each moment sends pleasure tearing through my limbs, eclipsing the moment that came before.

Eventually, the position is too restricting for our mutual need to go faster, harder, so I roll, pressing her back against her pillows, and brace my arms on either side of her body. Then I’m slamming into her while her nails score my back and she throws her head back in pleasure. I can feel her getting tighter around me, and I speed up my movement, watching the way her body absorbs my hard thrusts.

She says my name, and that alone nearly drags me over the edge, but I manage to hold on, pausing while I’m buried deep inside her.

I reach between us, rubbing at the sensitive spot between her legs, and am rewarded with the bucking of her hips. I drag myself out, slow and steady, rubbing harder against her. I know she’s close when her legs start to move at my sides. Her hips twist and lift, like she’s reaching for something.

“Mateo,” she says again, and I press my thumb down hard as I slam back into her.

Then her body clutches impossibly tight around me, pulsing and rippling, and I’m gone with her. The pleasure jerks at the base of my spine, and then roars through the rest of me. It burns through my blood, swallowing me up whole, and my last thought as I collapse against Nell’s soft form and take her mouth in a kiss is that I’ve told my final lie.

This.

This is the moment.

Chapter 21

Nell’s To-Do List

• Normal College Thing #5: Lose my virginity.

I wake up hot. And sweaty. And sticky. Exhausted, I start kicking at my covers, but the muscles in my legs are sore and heavy.

Hold on.

Hot, sweaty, sticky, and sore are definitely not part of my normal morning routine. I don’t do anything that can make me sore on a normal basis. (Work out? Please.) And I sleep with the air-conditioning set low because I hate waking up hot and sweaty. I continue trying to wiggle out from under the covers, pondering these four oddities, and I become aware of a fifth.

I can’t kick the covers off properly because there’s a heavy weight over my legs—and over my waist, too, now that I think about it. I try to lean up onto my elbow, but when I move, the weight around my waist squeezes so tight that I’m abruptly awake. Very awake. And there’s a bare chest inches away from my nose.

“Stop moving,” a deep voice growls above my head.

I do stop. I stop so fast that my sore muscles spasm momentarily when I freeze up.

Torres. In my bed.

“And she freaks out in three . . . two . . .”

I push the arm off my waist and sit up straight. That’s about the time I process my nakedness, when I feel the cool air of the bedroom fan over my sweaty skin. It feels good, but I’m more concerned with just how very bright the morning light has made my room. Scrambling, I pluck at the sheet and pull it up to cover my breasts.

Torres groans behind me. (Torres? Mateo? God, why are names so stupid?)

I feel the barest touch low on my spine, just above the curve of my bottom that I know is entirely visible to him. He begins dragging his fingernail up the length of my spine, and I straighten, resisting the urge to squirm under that small exploration. But I can’t control the goose bumps that pebble over my skin or the breath that catches in my throat when the bed shifts and I feel his mouth begin the same trek up my back.