Page 92 of Campus Crush
“Abby—” I started, uncertain.
Her arms tightened around my waist, her fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt. “Please, Foster.” The desperation in her voice made my heart clench.
I knew sex wouldn’t take away her pain, but I couldn’t bear the thought of her feeling rejected when I knew how scared and lost she felt.
Leaning down, I placed a gentle kiss against her lips. She responded immediately, pressing herself closer, her mouth seeking mine with an urgency that spoke of her need to feel something—anything—other than the pain that threatened to consume her.
I kissed her deeply, trying to pour all the love I felt for her into that connection. My hands moved to frame her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall silently down her cheeks.
“I’m here,” I whispered against her lips. “I’ve got you.”
She clung to me, her fingers digging into my back as if she were afraid I’d disappear.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
I deepened the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. She opened for me, her own tongue meeting mine in a dance that was both desperate and tender.
I pulled back slightly, needing to see her face. Her eyes were closed, lashes wet with tears, but a faint flush coloredher cheeks. “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice rough with a combination of desire and concern.
She nodded, her eyes opening, a raw vulnerability in their depths that tore at me. “I need this, Foster. I needyou.”
I kissed her again, a promise in that kiss, a vow to be whatever she needed me to be in this moment. I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently before following her, my body hovering over hers.
The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over her skin, highlighting the curve of her neck and the delicate line of her collarbone. Her pulse fluttered beneath my lips as I pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.
She reached up, her fingers threading through my hair, pulling me back to her mouth. We kissed again, deep and unrelenting, like we were trying to memorize the feel of each other.
I reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, revealing the lacy bra beneath. My gaze lingered there, admiring the small swell of her breasts, before moving back to her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with something that looked like the way I felt—raw, reverent, and completely undone.
I unclasped her bra, letting it slip away as I kissed my way down. When I took one of her nipples into my mouth, her back arched off the bed and a soft moan escaped. Her hands gripped my shoulders and her nails dug into my skin when I moved to the other breast, lavishing the same attention on it, until a soft cry came from her lips.
Fuck, I loved the sounds she made.
My hand moved lower until I reached the waistband of her jeans. I quickly unbuttoned them and slid them over herbutt and down her legs. By the time I’d stripped her bare, my hard cock was pushing painfully against my own jeans and desperate to be let out.
I grabbed a condom and shed the last of my clothes, too desperate to care where they landed. Once the condom was on, I crawled onto the bed, positioning myself between Abby’s gorgeous legs. Her arousal glistened in the light and I couldn’t stop myself from tasting her. My mouth covered her clit, sucking teasingly as her flavor burst on my tongue. I loved the breathy moan that escaped her throat at my ministrations.
If she wanted out of her head, I knew what would work the fastest. I repositioned myself so I could lie flat and wrapped my arms around her thighs, hugging her tight as I licked and sucked her clit until she was a panting mess on the bed. Her thighs shook around my ears, and her hands gripped the sheet as an orgasm racked her body.
I lapped at her clit once more before I kissed my way up her body and positioned my cock at her entrance. “You still want this?”
Her eyes met mine and she nodded. “More than anything.”
Without another word, I slid inside her, stretching her as I went. Dropping my head to her shoulder, I let out a groan. “Fuck, you’re still so tight.”
She felt so good—so perfect—pulsing around me with the aftershocks of her last orgasm.
We began to move together, finding a rhythm that spoke of comfort as much as passion. It wasn’t frantic or desperate, but slow and deep, each thrust a reminder that she wasn’t alone in her pain. My hands never stopped touching her—caressing her face, tangling in her hair, tracing the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist.
As our movements grew more urgent, I slipped a hand between us, finding her clit.
“Let go,” I whispered in her ear. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
She came with a soft cry, her body tensing beneath mine. The sight of her, lost in pleasure rather than pain, was enough to push me over the edge. I buried my face in her neck as I found my own release, her name a prayer on my lips.
Afterward, I held her close, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her back. We didn’t speak—there were no words that could make the situation better. But in the quiet aftermath, she seemed more relaxed and less burdened than she had been all day.
