Page 95 of Iced Out

But this wins. By a fucking landslide.

“Better than the shower,” I confirm.

And I’m now realizing Quinn might’ve found some sort of hidden thrill-seeker hiding inside me. The possibility of being caught gets me off. Him too, apparently.

But even with a new kink unlocked, it’s not true exhibitionism, and I definitely don’twantto be caught. The orgasm I was chasing made it so I didn’t care, but now with the high wearing off, it doesn’t sound pleasant in any capacity. No matter how worth it the release was.

So even though I’m ready to collapse into a sweaty, cum soaked mess with him and not move for hours, I pull free from his body and start righting myself. He does too, clearly agreeing we’ve been risky enough for one day. No need to add any extra minutes to get caught.

Once we’re both decent, cocks put away and sweatpants pulled up our hips, I crowd him back against the shelves and kiss him.

Soft and slow, like it’s the only thing in the world I want to be doing.

And right now, it is.

When I pull away, once again gasping for air, there’s a dopey, euphoric smile on his face. “We’re so doing that again.”

I chuckle and rest my forehead against his. “Maybe we should make sure we’ve escaped unnoticed this time before we plan another round?”

“You’re probably right.” He lets out a soft sigh, adding, “And why limit ourselves to just the library? We’ve already christened the locker room. There’s plenty of other academic buildings for us to fornicate in.”

I lean away to look at his face. “Did you seriously just sayfornicate?”

A small smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “What can I say? Maybe you fucked me so hard into these shelves, some of the knowledge on them got inside me too.”

“Wow,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

He laughs, leaning in to kiss me again, but I shove my hand in his face and push him away.

“I literally think I hate you sometimes.”

Rather than allowing me to deny him, he grabs the back of my neck and hauls me in and takes what he wants. He kisses me hard, the kind that curls my toes, before whispering against my lips.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Twenty-Six

Oakley

Quinton and I are lounging across the couch in his living room, some sitcom on the television screen, on one of the first nights we’ve snagged together all week.

Our schedules are both hectic this semester, not even lining up enough to grab lunch or dinner together like we did last term. Besides practice, I haven’t even seen him. We’ve been too busy to do much besides send a few flirty check-in texts, thanks to classes now being in full swing.

And if our little rendezvous in the library taught me anything, it’s that even studying together might not be the safest option if we want to actuallystudy.

But we took a break from cramming tonight, and I have to admit, I’m glad. Happy to exist in this little pocket of space with him where we can relax and just…be.

He laughs at something one of the characters says on the screen, the decadent sound going straight to the organ in my chest as his fingers trail up and down the exposed skin on my arm.

Lately, he’s always touching me. Not sexually, but just seeking contact.

His thigh pressed against mine when we’d sit together on the bus to away games, or brushing against me in the locker room as we’re coming and going.

Some piece of his body connected to mine whenever possible.

Touches I much prefer over the kind we used to have. Harsh bumps and angry shoves whenever the words we’d toss weren’t enough. And then there’s the time I decked him, which neither of us are soon to forget. Even if it was four years ago now.

The memory sweeping into my mind takes over, and I realize, while we might’ve hashed out some details from the altercation, I still don’t entirely understand how it started.

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