Chapter 10
Eric
The party blares on around us, the muffled thump of bass vibrating through the wall like a distant heartbeat. It’s colder tonight than it’s been in weeks, but the vodka numbs the edges of everything. My buzz turns the night soft and hazy around us.
We’ve been out here long enough that the conversation has drifted into easy, rambling territory. I’ve shifted from pressing myself into Dmitri’s side to stretching out with my head on his lap like we’ve done so many times on the quad.
The alcohol has loosened my tongue and slowed my thoughts, but it hasn’t dulled the awareness of him.
I’m mid-sentence—something stupid about how the string lights look like fireflies when you’re drunk—when I notice Dmitri frowning at me.
His brows are drawn together in that quiet, concerned way he gets.
“What’s up?” I ask, sitting up to look at him properly.
“You’re shivering,” he says, voice low, and before I can respond, he scoots closer.
He closes the last inch of space between us, then rubs his palms up and down my arms in slow, firm strokes.
The friction sends heat blooming under my skin, chasing away the chill I hadn’t even registered.
His face is suddenly inches from mine, breath warm against my cheek and eyes locked on my mouth like he’s memorizing the shape of it.
Heat spreads low in my gut as I imagine the rasp of his stubble against my skin, and my muscles coil tight in a way that’s foreign and familiar all at once.
There’s no ignoring the insistent pressure building in my jeans.
I’m half-hard already, aching, and the thought doesn’t scare me the way it should.
It just… settles. Heavy and right and terrifying all at once.
“What, uh… what should we do?” I ask, voice rougher than I mean it to be. My mouth feels dry despite the nearly empty drink in my hand.
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays on my lips for a long second, then flicks up to meet my eyes. “We could go inside,” he whispers, the words barely carrying over the distant party noise.
“No, not inside,” I say immediately. The idea of going back into that crowd where others might demand his attention makes my stomach twist. Right now I don’t want to share him.
I want him to myself.
I track the movement of his throat as it dips in a thick swallow, picturing what it might feel like to drag my tongue up the line of it. Imagining tasting salt and skin and him.
“Or we, um…” He trails off, sliding the tip of his tongue across his lower lip again.
“Hmm?” I hum, leaning closer as I fixate on the shimmer of gloss left behind on his mouth. The limits of my fraying inhibition are tested when he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t even flinch, just sits frozen, breath shallow and eyes fixed on mine.
Gathering every scrap of liquid courage churning through my veins, I push to my feet. The world tilts for a second as vodka and adrenaline make everything unsteady. His gaze drops, catching on the obvious bulge straining against my jeans, and a quiet, involuntary groan slips out of him.
“Fuck,” he mutters, climbing to his feet. He sways hard enough that I instinctively grip his arms to steady him, fingers digging into solid muscle through his hoodie. He’s close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his eyes.
“You really don’t drink that often, do you?” I tease.
He shakes his head with a sheepish grin, dimple carving deep in his cheek. My attention snags on it, the same way it always does, except this time I want to press my mouth there, taste it, then make him smile wider just so I can see it again.
“Now,” I say, voice low, “what were you going to say?”
He closes his eyes for a second, tilting his face skyward like he’s gathering strength from the stars.
When he looks back down at me, his gaze is steady despite the flush riding high on his cheeks.
“Or we could go to the dorms?” he says quietly, like he’s testing the question.
“I’m not sure if my roommate is home or not. ”
“I have a private room,” I whisper, never quite so thankful for that turn of events than I am in this moment. “Luck of the draw, really.”
His eyes flare, surprise shifting into something far more potent. “What building do you live in?”
“Stratton Tower.” He gives me a small, crooked smile as we head that direction. “You’ve never asked me before.”
“I haven’t,” he agrees.
“Why not?”
He stares at me for a long moment, then his shoulders sag with a heavy exhale. “All those sleepless nights you texted me at 2 a.m., I wanted to run to you. If I didn’t know where you lived, I couldn’t do that and ruin everything.”
I take a deep breath and nod, wondering how this would’ve played out if he’d come pounding at my door in the middle of the night. I probably wouldn’t have been ready, and I probably would’ve run.
“Do you still think it will ruin everything?” I ask.
“It might,” he whispers.
We stare at each other for a long moment, both of us weighing the decision and the potential fallout for acting on these complicated feelings. After a moment, I turn toward the dorms decisively, and he falls in step beside me.
The night air feels colder now, cutting through the vodka haze and making every brush of fabric against my skin electric. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips as my hand brushes his.
It’s accidental at first, then deliberate.
I let my fingers linger against his, testing his reaction. He doesn’t pull away. Instead he turns his hand palm-up, inviting me to slide mine into it as our fingers lace together. The contact sends a rush through my body, almost dizzying with its intensity.
He squeezes once, like he’s telling me he’s right here with me.
We don’t speak the rest of the way. We don’t need to. The silence between us is thick with everything we’ve been circling for months—every lingering touch, every late-night text, every almost-moment we’ve pretended wasn’t there.
We reach Stratton Tower, and I’m sure my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I fumble the keycard at the building entrance because my hands are shaking from nerves and alcohol and want. Dmitri’s thumb strokes over my knuckles once, steadying me without a word.
We make it up the stairs, stumbling a little on the climb to the third floor, then we’re at my room and the door is unlocked. Before I can push it open, Dmitri’s hand closes over mine on the knob.
“Eric,” he whispers, eyes wild around the edges as they search mine. “Are you… are you sure?”
My hand wraps around the nape of his neck, and I drag him down until we’re so close I can taste the punch of alcohol on his breath.
“I’m positive,” I whisper back.
He closes the distance between us, and the moment his lips land on mine, heat floods my entire body in a rush. I can’t even breathe as my heart slams against my sternum. The kiss is nothing more than his lips pressed against mine, but already, everything is so different.
Stubble scratching against my face.
The strength of his arm as it bands around my middle.
His size as he scoops me closer, handling me like I weigh nothing and tucking me against his giant body.
I’m surrounded by his woody body wash and the leftover bleed of the alcohol on his breath, and my fingers weave into his hair like I’m feeling it for the first time. Dmitri shudders and steps closer, pinning me against the doorframe as his lips finally start to move.
He’s soft at first, like he’s afraid he’ll break me, but I have no such restraint. I claw at his hair and fist his shirt, and kiss him like this is my only chance to have him
God, I hope this isn’t my only chance.
“Eric,” he murmurs as he tries to back away, but I hold on tighter, terrified he’s already changed his mind. He backs up enough for his eyes to meet mine, and they soften with whatever he finds on my face. “Baby, we’re in the hallway.”
My haze clears long enough to register his words, and I glance around at the abandoned corridor. Dmitri chuckles as he leans in and presses his lips to mine once more, then I gasp as he lifts me right off the ground.
“Dmitri!” I hiss as he steps into my room and kicks the door shut behind him, and I groan at what the display of dominance does to me. Every step shifts his leg against my cock, and the heat that had died down in my uncertainty flares back to life in a heartbeat.
He steps into the double room, where twin beds flank the space. One is mine, covered in notebooks from my earlier study session. The other only has an assortment of clothes tossed over the edge, evidence of where I was frantically trying to decide what to wear tonight.
He carries me to the empty bed, stumbling a little as he drops me onto it rougher than he intends. My back hits the mattress with a bounce, and he mutters a curse and freezes with his wide eyes on mine.
I choke on a quiet laugh, and the tension dissolves.
He flashes me a gorgeous dimpled grin before his mouth drops back to mine.
In the privacy of the room the kiss loses every trace of hesitation.
His tongue slides against mine, tasting of vodka and getting me drunk on another sort of drug.
I open for him desperately, hands twisting in the front of his hoodie to pull him down on top of me.
He follows without resistance, settling between my thighs.
A broken sound rips out of my throat as his weight presses against my aching cock, and I rock my hips to chase the sensation.
Fabric scrapes over my sensitive skin, and the friction is almost too much.
I arch up into him, grinding hard in my search for more.
“Fuck—Dmitri—” My voice cracks on his name, and the words come out ragged. “Please—”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I’m going to take such good care of you,” he says, eyes hooded as he slowly grinds against me. “Gonna make sure you never forget what I do to you.”