Chapter Twelve
Declan
I can’t look at him for too long without feeling that ache low in my gut all over again.
The one I’ve been trying to ignore all night.
The one that’s burning through my chest now that he’s here, at my school, in my space, and for once, I get to have this.
Him.
The way he looked at me at the party, the way he moved against me like he meant it, like he wanted it, wearing my hockey jersey... Yeah, that did me in.
I’m walking too fast, tugging a little too hard, but I don’t want to stop.
Frost crunches under our boots, but I don’t feel the cold.
All I feel is the weight of his palm in mine, his fingers tightening every few steps.
I just need to get him back to my room, back to somewhere I can press him against the door and taste his mouth the way I’ve been dying to all night.
Because for once, I’m not trying to get over him. I’m not trying to fill the hollow space with something or someone that would ultimately leave disappointment. I’m not in my head, not trying to play it cool. I’m letting myself enjoy this.
It’s pathetic, really, how deep he’s carved himself into me. How no one else has ever stood a chance. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried; hookups that lasted no more than a night. Dates that went nowhere. Guys I’ve hoped would help me forget how badly I’ve wanted this.
And it never worked. Because they were never him.
But tonight? Seeing him with my teammates, like he belonged there, like he’s always been part of it? Watching him trade jokes with Levi, tease Shields, charm the pants off Carli without even trying? He fit. Easily. Slid into my world like maybe he could really belong in it.
I don’t want this night to end. Don’t want to go back to pretending tomorrow.
And this might be why I barely drink when I’m with Cooper.
Lower inhibitions make me a dumb man. But I love that he’s the one in control now. Something in me snaps, and I stop walking, spinning to face him, on him the second I see that mischief in his eyes.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all fucking night,” I say, more of a warning than confession, before I’m kissing him hard.
He stumbles a little, but I’m there, fisting his jacket and dragging him closer like I’m starving, pulling him until I’m pressed to every lean line of him. My tongue licks past his lips, loving the way he sinks into me, groaning low and wrecked and, fuck, I feel it everywhere.
He tastes like temptation, like everything I can’t get over and everything I’ll never be able to leave behind.
His hands are on me now, sliding up my chest, fingers curling around the back of my neck, holding me there like he’s just as gone as I am, moaning, whimpering into my mouth, and I swear I could come from that alone.
I pull back, panting against his lips, breaths shared in shallow gasps.
“Upstairs. Now,” I rasp, the command crawling out of me.
Grinning, he lets me drag him inside without another word. I don’t even give him a second to look around when we get to my room, just shove him up against the door, both hands braced beside his head, boxing him in.
His pulse flutters at the base of his throat, his tongue peeking out to flick along his lower lip.
“Is this one of the college experiences I would have missed out on?” he murmurs, voice raspy, that same tone he uses when he’s singing, all sex and seduction. “Hooking up with the star hockey player in his dorm?”
I don’t answer, just stare at him, drink him in. Flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, that look in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Like he wants to watch me fall apart. That tight coil of restraint I usually have such a firm grasp of shatters into pieces.
I kiss him greedily, all teeth and tongue and years of wanting finally unhinged. He gasps, not surprised but just as hungry. Hands tug at jackets, tearing until they fall to the floor. His cold fingers burn as they slide under my shirt, nails biting into my sides.
He crowds into me, mouth dragging along my jaw, tongue gliding over that tiny scar beneath—the one he gave me when we were kids.
He’s traced that spot before, fingers brushing it like he can’t help himself, but when he does this…
it’s something else entirely. The groan he releases against my skin rockets straight to my balls, each slow flick possessive in a way that makes me need more.
Nudging him back to my lips, his mouth opens for me, tongues clashing, messy and wet and fucking filthy.
I rut against him, the thick outline of his cock through his jeans grinding right into mine.
It’s like lightning, electricity cracking through every vein the second he bucks, our hips meeting with a desperate roll that makes me groan into his mouth.
It’s obscene. Still fully clothed, already on the edge, Cooper trapped between me and the door.
My hands find the hem of his jersey, yanking it up.
It snags under his chin, but I don’t care, shoving it over his head, our mouths barely wanting to part as we scramble through it.
He laughs into the kiss, breathless, until I catch his lower lip between my teeth and bite.
Not hard. Just enough to hear the sexy-as-sin sound it pulls from his throat.
Cooper grabs at my shirt, frantically tugging the buttons like he can’t stand to have anything between us.
I lose track of whose hands are on what, whose fingers are slipping under which layer, fumbling with belts, trying to undress each other in bursts, panting and kissing and gasping between every piece we manage to remove.
“Jesus, Dec,” he pants, head knocking against my door as I latch onto his throat. “Who knew you could get so desperate for me?”
“I’m always desperate for you,” I rasp, nipping the soft skin at the base of his neck. “I want you in the worst way. Every fucking day. Always have.”
“You’ve got me, Dec.”
But not in the way I want, I almost say, thankful that there’s still one part of self-preservation left.
“Show me,” he breathes. “Show me all the dirty, filthy, desperate ways you want me.”
His hips jerk up against mine, cock stiff and hot through the thick denim of his jeans.
I’m feral, working open them with rough and impatient fingers, eager to get my mouth on him.
Shoving them down, they catch around his ankles, his boxer briefs next, revealing smooth, creamy skin bared just for me.
He sucks in a breath as his cock springs free, pre-cum leaking from the flushed tip.
I spin him around, one palm on his hip, the other splayed across the small of his back as I press him into the door.
His forearms catch the frame, legs braced as wide as his denim restraints will allow, groaning like the sound’s been buried in his chest all night.
I don’t think, just move, dropping to my knees, driven by that gnawing ache that lives inside me. Always him, always this, always mine.
At least for tonight.
I press my forehead into the curve of his ass, my thumbs massaging the muscle, needing a second. When I look up, his head’s bowed, hands curled around the doorframe. He’s beautiful like this, wanting, waiting. It undoes me more than anything else ever could.
Digging into his skin, I spread him apart, his furrowed hole so mouthwateringly pretty. I drag him closer, breath ghosting over heated skin, my tongue flicking out, tasting sweat and sin.
I don’t tease. I fucking devour.
He shudders, hips jolting backward, hand coming around to hold the back of my head as I lick and suck his hole.
His forehead thunks against the door, my name a throaty moan that makes my cock twitch.
My finger joins my tongue, massaging his tight little muscle until he lets me inside, breaking him open, inch by inch, until he’s falling apart above me.