Page 64 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
fabric of his shirt, twisting hard like I need to anchor him to me, because the truth is — maybe I do.
There’sno finesse in it. It’s messy and fierce, all teeth and heat and the taste of copper from where his lip must’ve split
during the fight. His heartbeat is pounding so hard I can feel it through my chest, and mine answers in kind, this frantic
rhythm that matches the storm in my head.
He pulls back just enoughto breathe, but he doesn’t let me go. His forehead rests against mine, our breath tangling.
“You don’t…you don’t do that again,” I manage, my voice breaking in the middle. “You don’t throw yourself in front of?—”
“I will,”he interrupts, the words rough and certain. “Every time.”
It’s not romantic.. It’s fact, as immovable as gravity. And maybe that should terrify me — the idea that he’s decided this,that it’s not up for debate — but all I can feel is this deep, pulling ache in my chest.
I don’t knowhow long we stand there like that. Eventually, his grip loosens, but he doesn’t step away.
Back in my dorm apartment,the quiet feels unreal. The storm outside rattles the window, but inside it’s only him and me,
and the air feels charged, waiting.
When his mouthfinds mine again, it’s different — slower, deeper, deliberate. His hands roam, tracing my curves through
my sweater, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts until I gasp into his kiss. He pulls back just enough to watch my
face as his hands slide beneath my clothes, palms hot against bare skin.
“Rovax…”My voice is already shaking.
“I need you,”he says simply, and there’s nothing in his tone but truth.
He lifts me easily,carrying me toward my bedroom as if I weigh nothing. The bed dips under us and his mouth is on my neck,
my collarbone, trailing heat lower. My sweater is gone before I realize he’s pulled it off, and his eyes rake over me like he’s memorizing every freckle.
His fingers hookin my leggings, dragging them down slowly, watching the way my breathing quickens. His touch over my
panties is deliberate, rubbing over my pussy until I arch into his hand.
“You’re already wet,”he murmurs, and the sound of his voice saying it makes me whimper.
He slidesthe fabric aside and his fingers find me, stroking through slick heat before pressing two inside. I cry out,
gripping his forearm, feeling the runes on his skin pulse faintly under my palm. He works me open, curling his fingers just
right until I’m gasping.
When he withdraws,I almost protest, but then he’s unfastening his pants. My breath catches when his cock springs free —
thick, long, dark as the rest of him, veins standing out along its length.
He pushesme back against the pillows, positioning himself between my thighs. The head of his cock teases my entrance,
sliding through wet folds until I’m trembling.
“Tell me,”he says, voice low, “that you want this.”
“I want you,”I breathe, and it’s the most certain thing I’ve ever said.
