Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(36)

“OhholyJesusfuckingGod,” he moans in a single breath. One I’m quick to cut off, stealing oxygen straight from his lungs. It only makes him groan into my mouth again, and I swallow it whole.

His tongue spears between my lips, warring with mine as I take us higher and higher. Edging our way toward impending release.

I twist my palm around the heads on the upstroke, gathering the precum leaking from the tips and smearing it down our lengths. His hips move on reflex, fucking into my palm as I jack us from root to tip and back again. Rutting and chasing his own release as I lose myself in the sensation of his cock gliding against mine.

I roll and rock my pelvis into his, meeting him thrust for thrust as he pants against my lips.

“I’m so…I’m so close,” he utters. “I’m gonna come.”

I am too, lingering right on the edge of peaceful oblivion as I dip down and lick my way up the column of this throat.

“Then come,” I whisper into his ear before nipping at the lobe.

I feel his dick pulse in my palm and against my own, and without warning, his teeth clamp down on my shoulder. He lets out a low groan, and they sink deeper into my flesh. Hard enough to probably draw blood, but for sure enough to brand me yet again.

But I don’t care, because the sounds he makes when he comes is worth it. Those filthy, erotic moans are sure to live rent-free in my head for all the days between these hook-ups.

His release spreads down my fingers, mixing with the lube on our cocks as I keep shuttling my fist over the both of us, bringing myself close to climax. It doesn’t take long before I’m right there behind him, the pain radiating from his bite catapulting me off a damn cliff. I spiral and flail on the way down as my orgasm takes hold, coming harder than I ever have in my life.

Releasing my shoulder from his grip, he sinks back against the mattress in a sated, exhausted heap. My head burrows into the crook of his shoulder, and I follow, my body slumping down against his until we’re connected from head to toe with the mess of sticky cum caught between us.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” I murmur. The question is more to be polite than anything, because I doubt I could move right now even if I was.

“Nope,” he pants. A breathy, airless laugh comes out of him. “Fuck, and that wasn’t even real sex, but you’re already—without a doubt—the hottest lay of my life.”

Yeah, I’d have to agree with him. Which is problematic. As much as I enjoyed what just happened, I know there’s a good chance the whole reason we’re messing around—for a damn superstition—isn’t gonna last.

Meaning I don’t wanna take the chance of getting too used to it.

I clear my throat, the sudden constriction on my airway making it hard to come up with a response. Simply responding with you too should be easy enough—especially because he was spot-on about the chemistry we have—but the words won’t come out of my mouth.

Instead, I say something else.

Something worse.

“I gotta go.”

I bolt up after saying it, immediately moving to redress. But I’m halted when Quinton’s expression snags my attention. The brief flash of hurt crossing his face is enough to make my regret instant. But I just keep digging my hole, driving the knife in deeper as I do.

“We, uh…fulfilled the superstition or whatever. At least, I think that should’ve covered it. So I’m gonna go home. Sleep. Big game tomorrow, you know?” I trip and stumble over the words, wanting to kick myself as each one comes out with a bitter taste. Even more when I watch as the post-orgasmic haze leaves his face and a mask of indifference takes its place.

God, I’m such a jackass.

The worst part of this entire situation is I’m still butt-ass naked and covered in our cum, only adding to the vulnerability I’m feeling. So I grab my underwear from where they’d been discarded on the floor, slipping them on before finding the rest of my clothes.

“Yeah,” Quinton says slowly, and I hear a mix of irritation and disappointment in his tone. His eyes burn with them as I toss my shirt on over my head and slide into my jeans, watching with a silence capable of making me feel like I’m still stark naked before him.

“Okay, great.” I pause, searching for my shoes...only to realize they’re in the obvious location. Out by the door. Where I took them off when I got here.

For the love of God, just hold it together for another five seconds.

Get your shoes and get out the door.

“Oakley,” he says, cutting into my thoughts.

My spine stiffens, but I ignore him, moving for his bedroom door instead. I’ve got my fingers wrapped around the knob when a hand lands on my shoulder, causing me to freeze. The grip I’ve got on the handle tightens enough to rip the damn thing off, but I’m powerless to move. To breathe. To do fucking anything other than sit and wait for him to speak.

His hand releases me a moment later, and the cool air licking at my skin where his touch is no longer present causes me to look at him.

Instantly, I wish I didn’t.

Because instead of the anger I was expecting, I find the pain of rejection lingering on his face.

He must know it’s there too, because he looks away when I meet his gaze.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he whispers before stepping away from me. “Not that you’ll need it.”