Page 11 of Until We Fall

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“It’s fine,” he says, although there’s a hint of tightness in his voice. “I want to get unpacked.”

I scratch at the back of my neck. Okay, I’ll go with the shared bed for now. Give him time to think, and then I’ll check in again later. He can always change his mind. “What can I help with?”

“I think I’d like to do it.” He’s not fully looking at me—mostly concentrating on everything else in the room. “By myself.”

Shit, I’m crowding him.

I need to get cleaned up, anyway. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

He hovers over his bag. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Alright.” I snag my suitcase and zip it open, rooting around for some lounge pants and toiletries before heading into the bathroom. I take a piss, and then I flip on the shower, which is a gray-tiled extravagance with an open doorway, and I groan when I step under the rainwater shower head. I close my eyes, the water cooling my scalp and running over my shoulders, down my back, and dripping off my asscheeks.

I need to make a plan for the rest of the trip. Calm myself down around Rory.

I blow out a breath, trying to relax.

It was a good day. Getting packed this morning and taking the Uber to the airport with the guys. Finding our seats on the plane, the excitement of thislasttrip. A soft blush onRory’s cheeks when he looked at me during take-off, his seatbelt clipped over his lap. His wrist, with that bump of bone, and the soft hairs along his forearm, the swipe of his lashes on the inside of his glasses and the way it makes butterflies pop in my stomach, all crowded together like?—

Oh fuck, I’m fisting myself.

When didthathappen? I literally didn’t even realize until I take a slow stroke. I’m not fully hard, kinda relaxed in my hand. Except, with another stroke, that’s changing and… whatthe fuckam I doing?

I can’t… I shouldn’t…

I…

In my mind’s eye, his finger grazes along the edge of his reader. Then his thumb taps to turn the page. The slip of his tongue across his upper lip. Andwhathe was reading. Docking. Oliver giving Leo that slow, delicious stroke.

Fuck, I do the same. Another stroke and my breath shallows. I look down to watch my hand moving.

I groan at the visual.

It feels like pure bliss as I pick up the pace, water clustering on my lashes, dripping down my nose and falling onto my hand as I bite back a louder moan. My hips start to move.

I let my brain spiral. For better or worse, I just do it—picturing everything that comes to mind. And half of it’s not sexualat all. Like Rory packing this morning, with his clothes folded on his bed, checking off his list. Or waiting in the airport terminal, his reader in his lap. The sun beaming through those floor-to-ceiling airport windows, lighting his hair so it seemed almost aflame. Those late nights studying, sharing earbuds, chatting about a million different things. The way he listens to all my words.

Fuck.Fuck. Pressure grows deep in my pelvis, humming into my balls, my abs constricting. The gray-tiled shower fuzzes between my lashes.

“Rory.” I drive myself higher, clutching onto the edge of my orgasm, grinding out a too-loud moan as the images of him flash faster. His smile on the beach. Chasing him up the sand. A handful of water launched at my shirt.

My breaths become ragged, my release an uncontainable, building warmth.

I bite down as I come, my eyes squeezing shut, my chest collapsing with relief, my knees trembling, my hand finally loosening as everything relaxes in that euphoric after-release moment.

Holy shit, I just came to Rory.

I blink open my eyes, shaking my head as I wipe the water off my face and squint from the lights. Did it all while he’s in the other?—

Wide gray eyes, red hair, parted lips, standing just outside the shower, clutching his checkerboard-patterned toiletry bag to his chest.

I believe for half a second that he’s not really here. That I’m just imagining him.

“Rory?” I croak out.

He stumbles backward, feet shuffling as he shakes his head. He turns and darts out, swinging the door closed behind him.

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