The Locker Room(60)
Chapter Twenty-Two
EMORY
If dry-humping were a sport, Knox and I would be Olympic gold medalists.
The last three nights, we’ve shamelessly been grinding on each other like randy teenagers, huffing and puffing, rubbing and smashing our pelvises together until we both come with such sheer force that we pass out after. Twice at the loft, once in the dorm.
I want to say I’m embarrassed from having zero inhibition while boisterously voicing my pleasure while humping my boyfriend’s lap, but I’m not.
I’m loud, it’s true, but oh my GOD, Knox’s penis is the best thing I’ve ever slid along my clit. So thick, so hard, so long.
Just . . . flawless.
The last time, I was completely naked, the only thing between us was Knox’s Under Armour boxer briefs. They’re made of a slick fabric, so there’s no chafing, just pure, hard cock beneath me.
I shot off so fast, I twisted our rules a little and gave Knox a hand job to get him off. I don’t think he minded, given the way his hands dug into the blankets below us.
I was so tempted to put my mouth on his cock, to bring it deep into my throat, but I held strong despite the burning need inside me to make his eyes roll in the back of his head with a light flick of my tongue along the underside of his length. I honestly don’t know how I’m holding off, waiting, because every time I see him, a burning wave of need rips through my bones, practically bringing me to my knees.
Finals are over for me. I leave for California today, and I have about two hours until I have to be to the airport, and that’s pushing it.
I glance at my phone, checking the time. Where the hell is he?
Suitcase stuffed to the side, I shift on my feet and try to ease the nerves fluttering in my stomach. He wanted to take me to the airport, and I wasn’t going to fight about that, because I wanted him to take me too. Lindsay and Dottie left on Monday but since I had one more exam to take, I couldn’t take the same flight as them, which means, I have the dorm to myself.
The door to our dorm opens—I gave him Dottie’s key so he could get into the building—and I pose at the edge of my bed.
“Babe, you here?” his deep voice calls out.
“In my room.”
I hear the sound of his backpack hitting the couch and then the door pops open. He walks in looking like a GQ model in his dark-wash jeans and light-blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is styled, and his eyes are popping against the blue fabric spanning across his chest.
He looks so freaking good. I’m going to miss this. Him. Us.
And when his eyes connect with my outfit, and I see the way his face shifts into pure lust, I can’t help but get excited for what’s to come next.
Decked out in a yellow lace demi bra and matching thong, I don’t move while he slowly rakes over me with a heated gaze. His perusal sends tingles up my spine, especially when he kicks off his shoes, tears his sweater over his head, and makes his way toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.
His beefy arm wraps around my waist first before he runs the other up the back of my neck and brings my mouth mere inches from his.
“What’s this?” he asks, his hand falling to my bare ass.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, looping my arms behind me and undoing my bra.
He growls when the fabric hits the floor and my already hard nipples skim across his bare chest.
Knox’s chest is thick. It’s the only way I can think to describe it, as if three chests were stacked on top of each other. His shoulders and arms are carved like stone, every indentation and perfectly sculpted muscle visible. And then his stomach. Despite the intake of food I’ve watched him consume in one meal, his abs are tight and chiseled, and the V at his waist is deep. I’m tempted to run my tongue over the rooted divots.
“Are you my Christmas present?” he asks, sliding his hand lower down my backside, dragging my thong with him until it falls down my legs. His lips taste my neck, slowly, methodically igniting goosebumps over my skin.
“I am.”
“What does this Christmas present entail? Breaking a bet?” he asks, his voice sounding almost desperate and strained. It’s exactly how I feel.
“No, of course not.”
He breathes out heavily and laughs. “You’re going to fucking kill me, Em.”
“I’m holding out. I really want that steak dinner.”
“I’ll get you a steak dinner anytime you want.” His lips move up my neck to my jaw. “Just name when and where.”
“It’s not the same. It wouldn’t be a steak dinner won from my sheer ability to resist you.”
“You’re not resisting me now,” he says as he lowers me to my bed. Staring at my bare body, he undoes his jeans and takes them off along with his socks. Standing in his briefs, his erection pressing against the fabric, he positions himself between my legs and my heart skips a beat.
Oh my God, is he going to go down on me?
He licks his lips, a heady look in his eyes as he lifts one of my legs to his mouth. Starting at my ankle, he presses long, languid kisses up my calf to my knee—my breath catches—to my inner thigh—my heart hammers—to my bikini line when I gasp out loud when he parts his lips from my skin.
A wave of arousal pools at my center as he picks up my other leg and continues his tortuous, yet consuming kisses up my limb, repeating the little pecks he gave to my right leg, pausing at the inside of my knee, scraping his jawline along my inner thigh until he hits my bikini line.