Page 56 of The Hearts We Fumble
Zane: Do you know how hard it is to get through a workout with a hard-on that won’t go away?
Zane: I was tempted to sneak into a bathroom stall in the locker room just to rub one out.
Zane: Meet me at my place when you get out of class. I have a couple of hours between when you get out and I have econ.
My eyes keep flicking to the clock on the wall, willing the hands to move faster, but time seems to be working against me. Every time I check, I convince myself twenty minutes have passed—only to realize it’s barely been five.
The anticipation is unbearable.
By the time the bell finally rings, I’m already moving, shoving my laptop into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder as I weave through the crowd of students filing out. I don’t slow down. My heart pounds in sync with my footsteps as I make a beeline for the exit.
The crisp afternoon air hits my face as I step outside, but I barely notice. My focus is singular—getting out of here as fast as humanly possible.
Thankfully, my stroke of bad luck this morning—running late—worked in my favor. Someone from the previous class had just pulled out as I arrived, leaving me with a rare front-row parking spot. Now, it’s paying off.
In less than five minutes, I’m behind the wheel and pulling out of the parking lot, leaving campus in my rearview mirror.
And just like that, the knot in my stomach loosens.
Because I know exactly where I’m going.
Zane: I want you waiting for me in my room. Pants off, bent over grabbing your ankles.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, pressing my thighs together, desperate for any friction to ease the ache building inside me.
How is he so damn good at this? At making me fall apart with just his words?
My mind is a tangled mess of anticipation as I pull into my driveway instead of his. It’s not like I don’t have every right to park at his place, but something about walking in, knowing I’m breaking my own rules for him, only heightens the thrill.
I don’t bother grabbing my bag or even locking my car. My only focus is getting inside, getting ready for him.
The code to his door is second nature now. I punch it in, stepping inside and toeing off my shoes before dropping my purse onto the couch. The silence in his house is thick, charged with the knowledge of what’s coming.
Heat curls low in my stomach at the thought of him walking in to find me waiting.
I pull my fleece sweater over my head, letting it fall to the floor before unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them down my legs. For a second, I hesitate, my fingers lingering at the waistband of my panties. Do I keep them on? Do I leave my bra?
Screw it.
I slip out of both, baring every inch of my skin to the cool air. A shiver skates down my spine, but it has nothing to do with the temperature.
I make my way to his bed, perching on the edge, fingers curling into the sheets as I wait. If I thought sitting through class was unbearable, this is pure torture.
Every second drags.
And then… the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking.
I move fast, stepping into position, angling my body so the moment he walks through the door, he’ll see exactly what’s waiting for him.
The house is quiet except for the measured thud of his boots on the floor.
Then I hear it—the low, appreciative hum that vibrates from his throat.
Followed by the unmistakable clink of metal as he unhooks his belt, tugs it free, and lets it drop to the floor with a heavy thud.
My breath catches, my pulse hammering as his slow, deliberate footsteps move closer.
He still hasn’t said a word, but I can feel the weight of his gaze. And I know—he’s about to ruin me.
