33. Colton
THIRTY-THREE
COLTON
I don’t even bother pretending to head toward my own dorm.
Micah’s got his head down, hood up, moving fast across campus like he can outrun me, functioning as if last night and this morning aren’t still humming under both of our skins. I fall into step half stride behind him, my eyes glued to the tense line of his shoulders.
He’s quiet. Too quiet. Which would sting if I didn’t know him better now. Silence means he’s overthinking, scrambling for an angle where he’s still in control.
I let him lead, all the way across the quad. It’s late morning, sunlight bouncing off the windows, other students everywhere. I should care. I should think about the team, about my reputation, about my family.
I don’t.
All I can think about is the way he gasped when I pushed into him, the way his nails left crescents in my shoulders, the way he kissed me as if he’d been starving for years.
He swipes his key card and shoulders his dorm door open, muttering something under his breath, and I follow him in without hesitation.
The door clicks shut behind us, and my eyes land on his unmade bed. Sheets kicked down, pillows askew. A bottle of lube still on the nightstand from this morning. My cock twitches instantly, heat rushing south like my body doesn’t understand the concept of restraint anymore.
Micah notices where I’m looking and swears under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Colt?—”
“No,” I cut in, voice low, steady, the same way I would call the last play of the game. I step into his space, my hands finding his hips before he can retreat. “I’m not letting you run. Not from this. Not from me.”
His chest heaves against mine, and for a second, I think he’ll shove me away. But his fingers curl in my shirt instead, tight and desperate, and that’s all the invitation I need.
“I want more, Micah,” I murmur against his mouth. “I want you . Not for a night. Not in secret. For real. For good. In front of the whole world. I always have.”
His breath hitches, and I feel the last of his walls crack under my hands.
His breath stutters against my cheek, hot and uneven. He doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t move at all, caught between fight and surrender.
“Colt…” His voice cracks on my name, barely there.
I cup his jaw, tilting his face toward mine. “You can tell me to stop,” I murmur, “but I’m not walking away. Not now. Not ever.”
He swallows hard, the pulse in his throat jumping against my thumb. His fingers curl tighter in my shirt, holding on, even if his mouth won’t say it. That’s enough.
I kiss him slowly at first, pouring everything I’ve been holding in into the press of my lips. He tastes like heat and salt and Micah, and when he opens to me, I groan against his tongue.
The hoodie he threw on after practice is in my hands one second and on the floor the next. He’s warm and solid under my palms, the same chest I kissed this morning, the same one I want to wake up to every day. My mouth finds his throat, and he tips his head back, giving me more.
“Colt…” he whispers again, but now it’s a plea.
I back him toward the bed, step by step, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He goes down with a soft thud, propped on his elbows, staring up at me with wide, dark eyes that make my chest ache.
“God, you’re…” I swallow hard, my voice rough. “You’re it for me, Micah. I don’t care who knows. I just need you.”
His walls are completely crumbling now, and I can see it—the way he’s fighting himself, the way he wants to believe me.
I crawl over him, kissing him again, softer this time, letting it sink in. My hands roam over his sides, his stomach, down to the waistband of his sweats. He lifts his hips without me asking, and the sound I make isn’t human.
I take my time. Peeling clothes away. Kissing every new inch of skin I uncover. Relearning him with my hands, with my mouth. I don’t want fast. I don’t want frantic. I want him to feel me in his bones.
By the time I push into him, slow and careful, his hands are gripping my arms as though he might fall apart. I hold his gaze, chest tight, moving gently, steadily, everything in me focused on the man under me.
“This isn’t just sex,” I whisper against his lips, my rhythm unhurried, my whole heart in every thrust. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
Micah shudders, his walls completely gone now, and when he finally moans my name, it’s a promise I’ve been chasing for two years.
I move in him slowly, the world outside this dorm doesn’t exist. Every inch of him is heat and home, and I can feel him under my hands, in my chest, everywhere.
His legs hook around my hips, pulling me closer, and his eyes—God, those eyes—stay locked on mine as though he’s finally letting me see all of him.
“Colt,” he breathes, and it’s not a warning this time. It’s a surrender.
I kiss him like it’s the only thing I know how to do, swallowing the soft sounds he makes as I roll my hips, slow and deep. Each thrust is a confession I never said out loud. I love you. I want you. I’m yours if you’ll have me.
He clenches around me, and I can feel him shaking, feel every tremor run through his body into mine. My hand slips between us, fingers curling around him, stroking in time with my movements.
“Fuck—Colt—” He arches up, his back bowing off the bed, his hands gripping my shoulders as if I’m the only solid thing in the room.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, kissing his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Always.”
He comes with a choked gasp, spilling over my hand and stomach, his whole body trembling as he shudders beneath me.
The sight—the sound of my name breaking on his lips—rips my own release out of me.
I groan into his shoulder, hips stuttering as I fill the condom, burying myself deep as the world narrows to him and only h im.
For a long moment, all I can do is breathe against his neck, my heart hammering like I just ran a hundred-yard sprint in ten seconds.
When I finally pull out, I take care of the condom and grab the towel from the floor, cleaning him gently. He lets me, quiet and pliant, his eyes hazy with something that looks a hell of a lot like the thing I’ve been carrying for him since we were kids.
I climb back onto the bed, curling around him without asking, fitting myself to his side. His skin is warm against mine, his pulse still fast under my palm where it rests on his chest.
He doesn’t speak. I don’t either. I just listen to his breathing, memorize the rise and fall of his chest, and let the truth settle in my bones.
It’s him.
It’s always been him.
The room smells like us. Sweat and sex and Micah’s sharp, clean soap clinging to the sheets. The sun’s lower now, slanting through his blinds in warm stripes that paint his bare chest gold.
He’s sprawled against me, head on my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine attempting to fuse us together. His fingers are tracing lazy circles over my stomach, and every brush of his skin against mine is a brand.
I can’t stop touching him. My hand drifts over the curve of his spine, memorizing each dip, each ridge. He sighs, soft and content in a way I’ve never heard from him, and my chest aches.
This isn’t the same as last night. Or this morning. Or even the way I chased him across campus, desperate to break through every wall he threw up .
This is…quiet. Whole.
“You okay?” I whisper, pressing a kiss into his messy hair.
He hums, nuzzling closer. “Yeah.” A pause, then quieter, “Yeah. I think I am.”
My throat tightens. I pull him further into me, our legs tangling, our hearts settling into the same slow rhythm.
For the first time since that kiss two years ago, there’s nothing between us.
No lies. No distance. Just him and me, breathing the same air, our skin still damp from everything we didn’t hold back.
Everything I wanted back then and want even more now.
I tip his chin up, and he lets me kiss him—slow and soft, like sealing a promise. His lips curve against mine, the faintest smile.
"I still want your filthy mouth to talk dirty to me," I say against his lips.
He laughs into my mouth, low and rough. “You’re insatiable,” he murmurs, the words brushing my lips.
“Maybe,” I admit, grinning as I trail kisses along his jaw, down to the spot under his ear that made him shiver earlier. “But I’ve been waiting two years for this, Micah. You don’t get to hold back now.”
He shifts against me, our skin dragging together in a way that makes my pulse jump. His fingers tighten on my hip, and when he finally speaks, his voice drops, dark and sinful. “You enjoy it when I tell you what I’m thinking about doing to you?”
A groan slips out before I can stop it. “Yeah,” I breathe. “God, yeah.”
“Then listen, Golden Boy,” he says, lips grazing my throat. “Next time…I’m gonna have you on your knees before we even make it to the bed. Gonna make you beg for it. ”
My whole body lights up at the promise, my cock twitching against his thigh. “Fuck, Micah…” I bury my face in his shoulder, half-laughing, half-wrecked.
He chuckles, warm and smug. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
I lift my head, kiss him again, tasting the smile on his lips. “Exactly that.”
Micah’s smile fades into something quieter, softer. His thumb brushes along my jaw as if he can’t help it, memorizing me in this moment.
I swallow, nerves and hope tangling in my chest. “I don’t want this to end,” I whisper. “Not this time. Not ever.”
His eyes search mine, that guarded edge I’ve gotten so used to, finally, finally gone.
He exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for two years.
“You think I do?” he murmurs. His fingers curl at the nape of my neck, pulling me closer until our foreheads touch.
“Colt… I tried so hard not to feel like this anymore. And I can’t. I can’t stop.”