23. Colton #2
I groan against his mouth, my hands catching his hoodie, needing something to hold onto before I fall apart. He tastes faintly of lime Gatorade, and it’s so Micah, my knees nearly give out.
He fists my shirt, dragging me off the wall and into him. Our chests collide, and the single queen bed creaks when the back o f my legs hit it. He doesn’t stop kissing me, trying to erase me and claim me all at once.
I gasp for air, and he bites my bottom lip, just hard enough to make me hiss.
“This…” he mutters against my mouth, our foreheads crashing together. “This doesn’t make it better.”
“I know,” I pant, my hands already in his shirt, dragging up heat and muscle I’ve dreamed about and hated myself for. “I know.”
He kisses me again, harder this time, shoving me backward until I collapse onto the bed. He follows, a knee on either side of my hips, and I can feel just how much he wants this, too, pressed hard against me through our clothing.
Two years of silence, of betrayal, of pretending we were strangers—boiling down to this moment where we’re clawing at each other like enemies and addicts all at once.
Micah’s mouth crashes into mine, done holding back. This isn’t the stolen, angry kisses from before; this one is hungry. Starved. Two years of silence and fury condensed into a single moment where his tongue tangles with mine and my spine bows to meet him.
I barely get a breath in before he grabs the back of my neck, tilting my head, taking what he wants. My body betrays me instantly. I whimper into him, fingers clawing at his hoodie, holding on as if I might drown without him.
He shifts, pressing me down into the mattress with his weight, his thigh sliding between mine. My hips jerk up on instinct. A sharp, pleased sound rumbles in his chest, vibrating against my mouth.
“Third time,” he mutters against my lips, rough and mocking, “and you still melt like this for me. Pathetic.”
I should be mad at him for insulting me, but the way he says i t makes heat coil low in my stomach. My nails dig into his sides as he drags his teeth along my jaw, down to the soft spot under my ear. I shiver, body arching without my permission, every cell in me begging for more.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you want me.”
I choke on a sound that’s part groan, part surrender. “Micah…”
“Yeah. Like that,” he says, hips grinding down. His weight, his heat, his sheer presence has me pinned and helpless. Two years of guilt and want spiral together until all I can do is give in.
Micah’s mouth claims mine again, hot and unrelenting, and I swear I can feel two years of tension snapping like rubber bands between us. His day-old scruff scrapes my skin as he drags his mouth along my jaw and down my throat, and I gasp at the sharp, electric sting.
It’s not the same as kissing Jasmine. Not the same as any girl I’ve ever kissed. This is rougher, hungrier—real. Every scrape of his stubble makes my skin light up like a live wire. My fingers fist in his hoodie, desperate for something to hold on to while my hips jerk up without permission.
“Fuck—” I hiss through clenched teeth as my hard-on presses against him, straining against the thin fabric of my shorts.
I can feel the solid muscle of his thigh between my legs, the heat of him, and I can’t stop the involuntary grind.
My brain is screaming, Don’t , but my body’s already betraying me, rubbing against him as if I’ve been waiting for this since the day he walked back into my life.
He growls—a low, dark sound—and shifts his leg higher, pressing up into me. “Yeah,” he mutters against my ear, voice rough enough to make me shiver. “Go on, Colton. Show me how bad you want it. ”
A choked sound leaves my throat as I rut against his thigh, the friction dizzying. Every move drags the rough mesh of my practice shorts over my aching cock, and I can feel the heat pooling low in my gut, winding me tight. My balls tightening and ready for release. Pre-cum making my boxers damp.
He grips my hip, guiding the motion, controlling the pace. Dominant. Certain. I’ve never let anyone have me like this—not really—but my body is already his, bending under the weight of his anger and want.
Micah nips at my earlobe, the scrape of his teeth and scruff sending sparks all the way down my spine. “So fucking needy,” he murmurs, and it’s both a taunt and a reward. “I could make you come like this…grinding on my thigh like the desperate little Golden boy quarterback you are.”
I moan into his shoulder, humiliated and burning and so, so close to falling apart under him.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough and filthy. “Grind on me, pretty boy. Show me how bad you’ve been craving this.”
A helpless whimper escapes me as I rut against his leg, friction sparking every nerve in my body. My shorts are damp, clinging to me, and every move drags me closer to the edge.
“Fuck, look at you,” Micah says, sitting back just enough to watch me move for him. His hand grips my hip, guiding me. “Star quarterback, hometown hero…and right now you’re just a desperate little bottom, huh? My perfect fuck-toy.”
Heat flares in my cheeks, shame and arousal tangling until I can barely breathe. My fingers curl in his shirt like I’m drowning. “M-Mica h?—”
“Say it,” he orders, eyes dark and commanding. “Tell me who’s got you all worked up. Who you dream about when you’re stroking that pretty cock.”
“You—” My voice breaks on a moan as he grinds down against me. “You, Micah. It’s always been you.”
His answering groan vibrates through my chest. He drops his mouth to my neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin, and I swear I’m seconds from coming apart, every thrust of my hips a plea I can’t put into words.
Micah’s weight pins me to the mattress, his thigh perfectly wedged against me. I can’t stop moving, can’t stop chasing the friction as if I’m starving for it. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and every drag of my cock against my shorts feels like fire.
“That’s it,” Micah growls, voice low and rough in my ear. “Grind for me. Let me see how desperate you are.”
I whimper, the sound humiliating and perfect, and Micah likes it—his fingers digging bruises into my hips as he guides me faster.
His scruff scrapes against my jaw and throat as he nips and licks, and the sharp burn of it sets me off.
It’s more. Raw. Real. As if he’s erasing every lie I ever told myself about what I wanted.
“God, Colton,” he mutters, voice full of lust. “Two years I dreamed about this. About having you like this. Squirming under me. Begging without even knowing you’re doing it.”
I arch, thighs shaking, a helpless noise tearing out of me. “Micah, I—I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can. You’re gonna come for me like the perfect little slut you are. Rub that pretty cock against me. Make a mess for me, Colton. Show me you belong to me.”
The words shatter something in me. My hands fist in his shirt, and I rut shamelessly against his thigh, the fabric of my shorts way past damp and fully into the soaked category, clinging even before my release. My whole body tightens, heat coiling low and fast.
“Micah—fuuuccck?—”
He bites my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “Come. Now.”
The command rips through me, and I break. Pleasure detonates in my gut, ripping a raw groan from my throat as I jerk against him, spilling hot and wet into my shorts. My body trembles with the force of it, every nerve singing, every inch of me exposed.
Micah doesn’t let up. He rides me through it, watching my face with a dark, satisfied hunger that makes my chest ache. His thigh is damp with the evidence of what he’s done to me, and my cock twitches helplessly against the mess in my shorts.
When I finally sag against the bed, boneless and satiated, he leans down, his lips ghosting over my ear.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, smug and possessive. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
Micah shifts above me, one knee on either side of my ribs, caging me in.
I sink back into the mattress, every nerve alive and screaming for him.
My shorts are still damp from where I’d already made a mess, but nothing compares to the sight of him popping the button on his jeans, and pushing them down.
Then he sheds his hoodie and shirt, his whole chest on display.
My breath catches.
The heavy, thick length of him springs free, and my eyes go wide—not just from the size, but the gleam of silver at the head. A barbell piercing flashes in the low hotel light, a tiny, devastating detail that shoots straight to my cock. It's so much larger in person and up close.
“Like what you see?” he purrs. He wraps a hand around himself, giving a slow stroke, the piercing catching my attention with every movement. “Bet you’ve never had one like this before.”
I shake my head, throat tight. I can’t look away. He knows I haven't.
“Then get ready to suck it,” he says, leaning down until his cock brushes my lips, leaving a streak of pre-cum across them. My hips twitch helplessly as the blood starts to rush back to my own shaft.
Micah’s fingers curl in my hair, tilting my head just right. “Open up, pretty boy. Let me fuck that mouth while you lie there and take it.”
I obey without thinking, lips parting, and he presses forward. The piercing is the first thing I feel—cool metal against my tongue—before the heat and weight of him fills my mouth. My eyes flutter closed, but Micah’s sharp voice cuts through.
“Uh-uh. Eyes on me. I want you to watch while I ruin you.”
I force them open, looking up at him, at the flex of his abs and the dark focus in his gaze. He starts to move his hips, the piercing dragging over my tongue in a way that makes me groan around him.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he grits out, voice breaking into a low growl. “Look at you—flat on your back, letting me use you like this. You love it, don’t you? You love my cock in your mouth.”