Page 87 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

“Obviously the Zamboni,” I tease, the corners of my mouth tugging upward.

She laughs, soft and genuine, and her hand playfully smacks against my chest.

“No,” she says, her tone light but steady. “The best part was you. Just being with you.”

The words hit me harder than I expect, settling deep in a place I don’t think I’ve let anyone reach before. I don’t answer right away because I’m not sure I can. So instead, I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her as though that will somehow show her what I can’t quite put into words.

We kiss again, her hands caressing my chest, the light touchskimming my pecs. Fingers trail over my flesh, giving me goosebumps.

I can’t help but move, rolling us so I’m over her, bracing myself on my forearms as I lean down. My lips already know the shape of her body in the dark…the curve of her shoulder…the dip of her clavicle.

It’s a map I’ve memorized without even realizing it.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell the darkness.

And yeah—my cock is stiff, so what?

Her hands slide down my back, fingertips tracing the lines of my thick muscles—when she leans toward the side table, her hands fumbling to find the drawer, I know she’s going to thank me for the compliment by fucking me.

A slow…

Lazy…

Fuck.

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austin

“You cannot keep getting hard.” I yawn, rolling the wrong way—of course I do—and it only makes things worse. Gio scoots closer, spooning me tighter, and I swear his dick wedges itself even more firmly between my thighs. “Oh my God, Gio, I won’t be able to walk today.”

My words are muffled against the pillow, but I know he hears me because his laugh rumbles low and soft against my back.

Thank God I don’t have a class.

I would be limping.

His mouth finds the space between my shoulder blades, his lips warm and soft against my skin. The sensation sends a shiver down my spine, and I burrow deeper into the comforter, snuggling down into the mattress.

Most comfortable.

Bed.

Ever.

I could live in here.

I hum, drowsily. “Never leaving.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his hand slipping under the comforter to rest on my hip.

His fingers are warm, his touch gentle, with the undercurrent of possessiveness in the way he holds me. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling.

I can feel it, the curve of his grin against the back of my neck.

I try to focus on the warmth of his blankets—they smell like him too—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his arms feel like the safest place in the world. Every nerve in my body is tuned into him, into the way he feels against me, into the quiet intensity of his touch.

“Comfortable?” Gio murmurs, his low rasp causes me to shiver despite the warmth of the blankets.

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