17. Avery #2
I lay there, eyes wide open in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep wasn’t coming, not with all this static buzzing in my head.
I could tell from the way Creed’s breathing hitched and caught that he wasn’t sleeping either.
It was like there was a thread stretched taut between us, vibrating with everything we weren’t saying.
The weight of his body, just a few inches away, was impossible to ignore.
Without thinking, I shifted, turning to face him, and in the darkness, I sensed him doing the same. The shadows blurred his features, but I could see the outline of his lips, slightly parted, as if he was waiting for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for.
My hand moved on its own, reaching out, brushing against the bare skin of his arm.
His breath stuttered. For a moment, neither of us moved, suspended in this strange, charged silence.
Then, almost like a reflex, Creed’s hand found my shoulder, his touch hesitant but warm.
He pulled me closer, and I went, folding myself into his space, letting the distance between us disappear.
Our lips met in the dark, tentative at first, like we were testing the waters, like earlier in the hot spring.
But it didn’t stay that way for long. There was this heat between us, something that ignited the second our mouths connected, and I lost myself in it, in him.
His fingers curled into my hair, and a shiver ran through me.
It was like we slipped out of the real world and into this place where nothing else matters—no trips, no fears, no confusion. Just this.
I pressed him back into the mattress, my body moving over his, and he melted beneath me, soft and pliant in a way I didn’t expect.
I thought he’d push back, that I’d have to coax him into this, but instead, he arched up, meeting me halfway.
A soft, needy sound escaped him, muffled against my lips, and it made my chest tighten, a desperate kind of longing twisting inside me.
God, I wanted to take care of him. I wanted to make him feel good, to make him forget whatever ghosts were haunting him right now.
My hands moved down, tracing the curve of his body, memorizing the way he felt under my touch.
He shivered when I slid my fingers lower, and I took my time, teasing him until he was gasping, clinging to me, his hips twitching as he chased the pressure he so clearly needed.
The air in the room was thick with the sound of our breathing, of quiet whimpers and muffled moans.
I slipped my fingers inside him, slow and careful, feeling him open up around me, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever felt.
His head fell back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as he fell apart in my hands.
I watched every moment of it, transfixed, memorizing the way his eyes fluttered, the way his lips trembled, the way his body shook with each wave of pleasure.
I couldn’t help myself—I wanted more. I shifted lower, kissing a line down his body until I was between his legs, and he made this broken, desperate sound that went straight to my core.
He was trembling, so responsive, and when I took him into my mouth, he let out a choked cry, his fingers tangling in my hair.
It was messy and raw, the heat of him against my tongue, the way he bucked up into my mouth, barely able to hold himself together.
He came undone beneath me, with a sob that he tried to swallow down, and I savored every second of it, feeling a fierce kind of pride bloom in my chest. I pulled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, but before I could even think about finishing myself off, Creed shifted, moving down to press his mouth to mine in a kiss that was almost desperate.
Then he was pushing me back against the bed, his hands fumbling but eager as he reached for me.
“I want to,” he murmured against my skin, and there was this hesitation in his voice, like he was afraid of getting it wrong.
But then his mouth was on me, hot and eager, and every thought in my head shattered like glass.
His lips wrapped around me, and I couldn’t hold back the groan that ripped free.
He started slow, a little clumsy but with this earnestness that made my pulse race.
And God, he was so into it, making these low, hungry noises, like he was finding something he didn’t know he was searching for.
It wasn’t long before my control slipped, my hands moving to cradle his head, guiding him, and he didn’t pull away, didn’t even hesitate.
If anything, he leaned into it, letting me take the lead, letting me use his mouth in a way that sent a thrill straight down my spine.
The heat between us built, intense and overwhelming, like a wave that kept cresting higher and higher until I couldn’t take it anymore.
My hips jerked, my hand fisting in his hair as I lost myself in the rhythm of it, the wet slide of his mouth, the way he let me push deeper, taking everything I gave him.
It was too much, too good, and before I knew it, I was coming with a groan that echoed through the room.
When it was over, I pulled him up into my arms, both of us breathing hard, and he collapsed against me, his face buried in my neck.
We lay there, tangled up in each other, the heat of our bodies mingling, and for a while, we didn’t say anything.
But the silence was different, softer somehow, like we’d smoothed out some of the rough edges.
Eventually, the words bubbled up in my chest, and I couldn’t keep them in any longer. I brushed my thumb over his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Creed,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper in the dark. “Come spend Christmas with me. After I get back.”
He went still for a moment, like he was considering it, and then he lifted his head, his lips brushing mine in a slow, gentle kiss that made my chest ache. “Yeah,” he whispered, the word like a promise against my mouth. “I’d like that.”