Chapter 14: The Loud Claim
He stepped out of the shower, water sluicing off them both, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the tile floor. He carried her into the bedroom, to the rumpled sheets of the bed they'd already christened, and she expected him to toss her there.
Instead, he set her down with the kind of reverence a man gives something he intends to keep. Her back hit the rumpled sheets, and the mattress groaned, but his hands were still there, cradling her hips, guiding her to the center of the bed like he was planting a flag in the middle of his own kingdom.
"Stay right there," he murmured, his voice low and rough with need. He loomed over her, water droplets still clinging to his chest, his eyes dark and hungry as they swept down her body. "This bed's been mine for three years. Time it started earning its keep."
Mia's breath hitched. She'd felt him hard against her in the shower, pressing against her folds, teasing her with the promise of what was coming. But here, in the broad light of the room with the storm no longer raging outside, that promise felt like a threat. The best kind of threat.
He climbed onto the bed, his knees settling on either side of her thighs, and she felt his cock brush against her clit, slick with the lingering wetness of the shower and her own want. He didn't push in yet. He just sat there, staring down at her like he was memorizing the sight.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "All those years of pretending. All those years of wondering what it would feel like to have you under me. And now..."
"Now," she whispered, reaching up to hook her fingers behind his neck, pulling him down until his lips hovered over hers,
"...now you're mine."
He captured her mouth before she could finish, and this kiss was nothing like the slow, tender ones from before. This was a claiming. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting her, taking her, and she moaned into him as his hips settled between her thighs. The thick head of his cock pressed against her entrance, not pushing in, just resting there, hot and heavy and impossibly ready.
"Jake," she breathed against his mouth, her hands sliding down his back, fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. "Please. Don't tease. I've been thinking about this for so long."
A low, humorless laugh rumbled from his chest. "You think you've been thinking about it for a long time? Baby, I've got you beat by years."
His hips shifted, and she felt the thick crown of him nudge against her opening, spreading her just slightly before he pulled back. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Every time you sat next to me at lunch. Every time you hugged me after a game. Every time you texted me about some fuckboy who didn't deserve a second of your time..." He dropped his forehead to hers, his voice cracking with raw confession. "I've been dreaming about this, Mia. About burying myself so deep inside you that you'd forget where I ended and you began."
Then he pushed.
He pushed, and for a heartbeat Mia braced herself for the frantic, driving force she'd been expecting. She'd pictured him slamming into her, the bed slamming against the wall, her scream caught in her throat as he took her with that raw, hungry energy he'd promised in the shower.
Instead, she felt him stretch her. Inch by agonizing inch, the thick crown of his cock parted her slick folds and sank into her waiting heat with a slowness that made her entire body shudder. Her eyes flew wide, her breath catching in her throat as she felt every ridge, every vein, every pulsing inch of him as he worked his way inside her.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her back arching off the mattress.
He didn't speed up. He didn't react to her gasp with anything but a low, throaty groan that vibrated through his chest where it pressed against hers. His hands slid beneath her hips, tilting her up, giving himself a better angle, and he kept pushing. Deeper. Fuller. She felt herself clench around him helplessly, her inner walls flexing against the impossible stretch of him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of him.
"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice wrecked. "Tell me you feel that."
She couldn't speak. She was too busy feeling. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulders as he bottomed out, his pelvis flush against hers, his balls resting against her ass. She was so full she couldn't breathe. So full she thought she might come apart at the seams.
He gave her a moment. Just a moment. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes squeezed shut like he was barely holding onto his control. Then he pulled out, just as slowly, just as deliberately, dragging that thick ridge along every sensitive nerve inside her, and she whimpered.
"That's it," he murmured, pushing back in, just as slow. "I've got you. Just like this."
She'd expected fury. She'd expected heat and violence and the bed slamming against the wall.
He gave her a moment. Just a moment. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes squeezed shut like he was barely holding onto his control. Then he pulled out, just as slowly, just as deliberately, dragging that thick ridge along every sensitive nerve inside her, and she whimpered.
"That's it," he murmured, pushing back in, just as slow. "I've got you. Just like this."
She'd expected fury. She'd expected heat and violence and the bed slamming against the wall. She'd wanted that. She'd wanted him to fuck her like he'd promised, raw and loud and out of her mind with it. But the slow thrusts weren't anything to complain about. Not even close. Every inch of him was a revelation, a slow-burning fire that coiled low in her belly, making her toes curl against his hips.
But she was impatient, and god if She wasn't greedy.
She shifted beneath him, wordless and demanding. Her legs slid higher, hooking around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back. Her hips tilted up, changing the angle, pulling him deeper, and she heard his breath catch.
He pulled out a quarter of the way and thrust back in, just a touch faster. The change was subtle, almost imperceptible, but she felt it. That slow drag of him against her walls, the deliberate friction that made her gasp.
"More," she breathed, her fingers raking down his back. "Jake, more."
He obeyed. He pulled out halfway, and this time when he thrust back in, there was a snap to it. His pelvis met hers with a soft clap that made her moan, her head falling back against the pillows.
"Like that?" he asked, his voice rough and strained.
She couldn't answer. She could only feel. But she was still greedy, still hungry, still wanting more.
He pulled out three quarters of the way, and when he thrust back in, it was an appreciable speed. The bed creaked beneath them, a rhythmic groan that matched the slap of skin against skin. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, his back, anything.
He pulled out further than before, so far that she felt the crown of him drag across her slick, swollen flesh, catching on her clit with a jolt that made her whole body seize. The thick ridge of him scraped over that hypersensitive bundle of nerves, and the sound that tore from her throat was not a moan, not a gasp, but a grunt. A raw, unladylike, animalistic grunt, like a deer struck with an arrow, her eyes flying wide and her back bowing off the mattress.
Jake froze. His breath hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. The bed creaked beneath him, a low groan from the frame as he held himself there, just the head of his cock catching on her clit, pressing down with that thick, blunt pressure that made her see stars.
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and wild, the muscles in his shoulders standing out in stark relief. He'd heard that sound. He'd felt her shudder around nothing, her cunt clenching desperately around the emptiness he'd left. And something in him snapped.
When he thrust back in, it wasn't slow. It wasn't gentle. It was a controlled, quick pace, his hips snapping forward with an athletic precision that sent a shockwave through her entire body. His pelvis slammed against hers, and the bed frame cracked against the wall with a loud, rhythmic thud that echoed through the freezing dorm.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her hands scrambling for purchase on his back.
And he kept going. That same controlled, quick pace, each thrust driving him all the way in, all the way out, the thick ridge of him dragging along every sensitive nerve inside her before slamming back home. The bed slammed against the wall with every stroke, a percussive beat that matched the frantic drum of her heart.
"That's it," he growled, his voice low and raw. "That's my girl. Taking all of it. Taking all of me."
Her answer was a broken sob of pleasure. She was lost. Completely, utterly lost. He wasn't making love to her anymore. He wasn't being gentle. He was fucking her. Properly, thoroughly, with the kind of focused intensity he brought to a fourth-quarter drive. His hips pistoned against hers, never faltering, never slowing, each thrust precise and punishing.
The noise was obscene. The slap of his pelvis against hers, the wet squelch of him driving into her slick heat, the thud of the bed frame against the wall. She could hear the springs creaking in protest, and she didn't care. She didn't care if the entire floor heard them. She didn't care if the entire building heard them. She just wanted more.
Her legs slid higher, hooking over his shoulders now, her ankles crossed behind his neck. The angle change made her gasp, made her feel every inch of him driving deeper, and he rewarded her with a grunt of approval, his pace picking up, the controlled quickness becoming something faster, harder, more desperate.
"Jake," she breathed, his name a prayer on her lips.
His answer was to drive into her so hard that her head bounced against the pillow. He reached down, one hand sliding between their bodies, and his thumb found her clit, rubbing in tight circles that made her vision whiten. He was everywhere. Inside her, around her, above her. His body was a cage of muscle and heat, and she was trapped in the best possible way.
"There," she gasped, her nails raking down his back. "Right there, don't stop, don't you dare stop—"
He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. The sight of her beneath him, her blonde hair spread across his pillow, her blue eyes glazed with pleasure, her mouth open in that perfect little 'o' of ecstasy, it was too much. He'd waited years for this. Years of friendship, years of pretending, years of aching for her when she hadn't even known he existed as anything more than her goofy best friend.
And now she was here. Beneath him. Taking everything he had to give.
"You're mine," he growled against her throat, his pace turning relentless. "Say it. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," she sobbed, her legs tightening around him. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours—"
Her voice broke into a scream as he drove into her, hitting that spot deep inside her that made her see fireworks. The bed slammed against the wall so hard she thought the frame might splinter. She didn't care. She clung to him, her nails leaving welts on his back, her heels digging into the small of his back, urging him on.
"You're never leaving this bed," he panted, his voice wrecked. "Never leaving me."
"Never," she promised, her hips bucking against his.
The sound of their coupling filled the room. The slap of skin, the wet heat of him driving into her, the creak of the springs, the thud of the frame against the wall. It was filthy and loud and absolutely perfect. She could hear herself moaning, keening, babbling nonsense, and she couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop.
He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, his grip unbreakable, and he fucked her with a new urgency. His hips moved in short, sharp strokes, grinding against her, and the change in angle made her see white. She gasped, arching beneath him, her fingers clenching uselessly above her head.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a growl.
She forced her eyes open, meeting his. His gaze was dark and burning, a raw intensity that made her breath catch. He pulled back, nearly all the way out, and drove into her so hard she screamed his name, her voice shattering into a million pieces.
"I love you," she gasped. "Jake, I love you—"
He kissed her, swallowing the rest of her words. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her, and his hips never stopped moving. He was everywhere, and she was drowning, and she didn't want to be saved.
The pressure built inside her, coiling low in her belly, spreading through her thighs like liquid fire. She felt the familiar tension gathering, the prelude to a storm, and she broke the kiss to cry out.
"I'm close," she panted. "Jake, I'm going to—"
"Not yet," he growled, and she felt the shift in him. Every muscle in his body went taut, coiling like a spring wound too tight. His grip on her wrists tightened, his hips pulling back, and she felt the thick head of him drag along her slick walls, catching on every sensitive ridge.
Then he drove forward.
It wasn't a thrust. It was an impact. A single, brutal, perfectly aimed slam that buried him to the hilt in one devastating motion. The bed frame cracked against the wall so hard she heard the plaster groan. His pelvis ground against hers, his balls pressing flat against her ass, and he held himself there, buried so deep she felt him in her throat.
The pressure that had been building inside her detonated.
Her back arched off the mattress, a scream tearing from her throat that she had no control over. Her inner walls clamped down around him like a fist, convulsing in wave after wave of pleasure so intense she saw white. He didn't move. He held himself perfectly still, every inch of him buried inside her, letting her come around him, letting her body milk him for everything he had.
Her vision went black at the edges. She felt his hands on her wrists, grounding her. She felt the heavy press of his chest against her breasts. She felt his breath hot against her ear, ragged and strained as he held his own climax at bay.
"That's it," he rasped. "Let go. I've got you."
The words sent another wave crashing through her, her hips bucking against his, trying to take him deeper even though he was already as far as he could go. Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She was coming apart, shattering into a thousand pieces, and he was there holding every single one of them together.
Finally, the tremors began to subside. Her grip on his back loosened, her legs falling from his shoulders to wrap loosely around his waist. She was boneless, breathless, a puddle of pleasure in the center of his bed.
She thought it was over.
She was wrong.
He pulled out, just enough to make her whimper at the emptiness, and then he looked down at her. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, the muscles in his neck straining. He was still hard, still thick, still pulsing inside her, and the look on his face promised retribution.
"You didn't think I was done with you, did you?"
Before she could answer, he pulled out fully and slammed back in. All of him. All at once. And then he didn't stop.
That controlled precision was gone. That careful pacing was a distant memory. He fucked her with everything he had, every ounce of strength in that powerful frame of his, his hips driving into her with a speed and force that stole her breath entirely. The bed slammed against the wall in a frantic, relentless rhythm, the headboard cracking so loud she heard wood splinter. The springs screamed. The frame groaned. The neighbors would hear. The entire building would hear. She didn't care.
She didn't just take it. She gave it back.
Her hips surged up to meet his, matching him stroke for stroke, her thighs locking around his waist to pull him deeper with every violent thrust. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, a wet, frantic slap that echoed off the walls and mixed with the splintering groan of the headboard. She was trying to be louder. She was trying to make every stroke count, to paint the walls with the sound of them, to make sure the entire building knew exactly who she belonged to.
Her nails found his back again, raking down the hard ridges of his spine with enough force to draw blood. She felt the welts rise beneath her fingertips, the skin splitting under the pressure, and she dug in harder. He'd feel those marks tomorrow. He'd walk into the locker room and his teammates would whistle and smirk and ask which lucky girl got ahold of him. And he'd think of her. He'd think of this moment.
"Fuck," he hissed, the sting of her nails making his hips falter for just a heartbeat before he drove back in with renewed ferocity. "You're gonna mark me up."
"Good," she panted, raking him again, her own pleasure spiraling into something frantic and wild. "I want everyone to know you're mine."
That growl rumbled through his chest and into hers, and she felt the shift before she understood what was happening. His hands slid down her thighs, gripping the backs of her knees, and he straightened.
The motion was fluid, effortless. One moment she was pinned beneath him, and the next she was rising, her back leaving the mattress, her weight suspended entirely in his grip. Her legs wrapped around his waist on pure instinct, her arms locking around his neck, and she gasped at the sudden change in gravity.
His cock never left her.
If anything, the angle had shifted deeper. The new position dragged that thick ridge along her inner wall in a way that made her see stars, the sheer weight of him pressing against her cervix in a dizzying, overwhelming fullness. She felt stuffed. She felt split open. She felt completely, impossibly full.
"Holy shit," she breathed, her voice a wrecked whisper.
His feet planted on the floor beside the bed. He held her there, suspended, her back against the cold air, her legs wrapped around his hips, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. The muscles in his arms and shoulders stood out in stark relief, but he wasn't straining. He was holding her like she weighed nothing, like she was made of air and starlight.
The room tilted. He took a step. Then another. The motion made him shift inside her, a slow, grinding rotation that had her digging her nails into his shoulders.
"Jake," she gasped. "What are you—"
He didn't answer. He was searching. His hips adjusted, tilting her just so, and she felt him settle into a spot she hadn't even known existed. A place so deep and so perfect that her entire body seized, her inner walls clenching around him in a desperate, helpless rhythm.
"There," he rasped, his voice raw and triumphant. "There it is."
He fucked her standing.
His hips drove up into her with that same relentless force, his thighs flexing with each powerful thrust, and she cried out, her head falling back. The motion was different standing. Gravity worked against her, pulling her down onto him with every stroke, and he met that pull with equal and opposite force, burying himself so deep she felt him in her throat.
The bed frame still creaked from the momentum of their earlier violence. The headboard still groaned against the wall. But this was something else. This was Jake, holding her against the doorframe, his cock splitting her open, his breath hot against her throat.
"This is how I want you," he growled, his voice guttural. "Always. Everywhere. Fuck the bed. Fuck the floor. I want you in every corner of this goddamn room."
She couldn't answer. She could only cling.
He drove up into her, and she arched into him, feeling the thick ridge of his cock scrape against her sweet spot on the upstroke, that impossibly deep press of him against her cervix on the way back down. It was too much. It wasn't enough. She was drowning, and he was her only air.
Her mouth found his neck before her mind caught up with her body. It was pure instinct, the same primal drive that had her nails digging into his shoulders, her hips grinding down onto his cock with reckless abandon. She latched onto the corded column of his throat, just below his jaw, and sucked.
Hard.
The wet, obscene sound of her mouth on his skin echoed in the narrow space between them. She worked her lips and tongue against the sensitive flesh, drawing blood to the surface, marking him with purpose. She felt the heat of the bruise forming beneath her lips, felt his pulse hammering against her tongue like a trapped bird, and she sucked harder. Deeper. Possessive. She was planting her flag on his neck just as surely as he'd planted his flag inside her.
Jake's thrusts stuttered.
It was barely a fraction of a second, that hitch in his rhythm, that falter in the relentless drive of his hips. But she felt it. She felt it in the way his cock jumped inside her, in the way his breath caught and his grip tightened on her thighs. The big, unstoppable quarterback, the man who had been splitting her open for what felt like hours, was momentarily undone by the simple press of her lips to his skin.
She pulled back just enough to admire her work. A deep, angry mark bloomed against the tanned skin of his neck, red and raw and absolutely unmistakable. It would darken in an hour. It would be a badge of honor. It would be visible to every single person he encountered for the next week.
"There," she breathed, her voice wrecked and raw. "Now everyone's going to know."
Jake's eyes found hers. The wildness in them had shifted, darkened into something new. Something hungry. His gaze lingered on the mark she'd left, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed.
He knew what the guys would say. He could already hear the catcalls, the wolf-whistles, the endless ribbing in the locker room. They'd see the scratches on his back, the welts she'd raked into his skin, and they'd know exactly what he'd been up to. And now they'd see that mark on his neck, painted there like a trophy, and they'd know it wasn't just some casual hookup. It was a claiming.
"You have no idea what you've just done," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Before she could respond, he moved.
His hands shifted on her thighs, gripping her harder, angling her just so. And then he was driving up into her with a force that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs. All the frantic urgency from before was nothing compared to this. This was pure retribution, his hips slamming into her with the kind of single-minded determination he brought to a goal-line stand. He was trying to split her in half with his cock, and if the dizzying stretch of him was any indication, he just might succeed.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but cling to him and take it. Her legs were locked around his waist, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she was utterly weightless in his grip. He held her like she was nothing, like she was a toy, a Fleshlight, a vessel for his pleasure. And the thought made her clench around him so hard she saw stars.
He was punishing her. Grinding her against the doorframe, the wood groaning behind her back, his cock pounding into her slick, swollen heat with merciless precision. But the thing was, it didn't feel like punishment. It felt like worship. It felt like he was pouring every ounce of his strength, his desire, his love into this one act, trying to fuse them together so completely that they'd never come apart.
And whatever fantasy he'd been chasing, whatever imagined corner of her he'd been trying to find, it was washing away in the sheer brilliance of this moment. This was better than any dream. This was real.
Her mouth found his neck again. The other side this time. A perfect mirror of the first mark she'd left, her teeth scraping over the same spot, her lips sealing over the sensitive skin. She sucked with the same intensity, the same possessive hunger, drawing blood to the surface until a second bruise bloomed against his flesh.
He shuddered. His thrusts never stopped, but she felt that tremor run through him, that crack in his armor. She pulled back, admiring her work. Two marks, perfectly symmetrical, framing his throat like jewelry. Like a collar. Like a ring.
She pressed her lips to his ear, her voice a breathless, filthy laugh that vibrated against his skin. "Imagine all the whores who'll see my handiwork," she whispered, her tongue tracing the shell of his ear. "They'll all guess at which whore got lucky enough to wrap herself around the big, bad quarterback."
His hips stuttered. The motion sent a violent shudder through his entire body, and she felt the muscles in his thighs tremble beneath her. The exertion was finally getting to him. His breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, his grip on her thighs tightening and loosening in a rhythm that betrayed his straining arms. He'd carried her across the room, held her suspended in mid-air like she was weightless. But even the star quarterback had limits.
"You," he growled, the word torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "They'll guess it was you."
He took two steps, his legs shaking with the effort, and lowered them both onto the bed. The mattress groaned beneath their combined weight, the frame creaking in protest. But he didn't stop moving. He couldn't stop moving.
His hips kept driving into her, slower now, but still no less devastating. Each stroke was a deliberate, grinding push that bottomed out with a wet, deep clap that echoed off the walls. Mia's head lolled on the pillow, her breath coming in ragged, wrecked gasps, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure. She felt the sweat cooling on her skin, the sticky heat of their bodies where they were fused together, the raw, aching throb of her cunt wrapped around his thick cock.
She felt her lips curl into a lazy, drunk smile, the thought surfacing through the haze of her exhaustion like a bubble rising to the top of a swamp. "They won't guess me," she murmured, her voice a breathless, teasing drawl. She traced a lazy finger down the center of his chest, following the trail of sweat that ran between his pecs. "They'll maybe figure Lucy."
Jake's hips stuttered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Lucy?" he grunted, his voice strained.
"Mmhmm." Mia's smile widened, her index finger stopping to circle his nipple. "She's an unhinged whore. She's got a reputation. If anyone's gonna have scratches and hickeys, it'd be her. They'd all think you got tangled up with the crazy one."
Jake's eyes darkened, a possessive flash cutting through the exhaustion. "They'd be wrong." He drove in deeper, grinding his pelvis against her clit, and she moaned, her back arching off the mattress. "You're mine. Not her. Not anyone."
Mia's fingers slid up the back of his neck, tangling in his damp hair. She pulled his face down to hers, her lips brushing against his in a whisper that was all honey and filth.
"You're god damn right," she whispered, the words a hot, triumphant brand against his lips.
The kiss that followed was a collision. He swallowed her words, her breath, the filthy promise in her voice, and he poured everything he had left into the motion of his hips. The slow, grinding rhythm that had been coaxing her back from the edge of the abyss quickened into something frantic, something desperate. He was chasing his own peak now, she could feel it in the frantic pulse of his cock inside her, in the way his breath sawed in and out of his lungs, in the trembling strength of the arms that bracketed her.
"I'm close," he gritted out, the words torn from between clenched teeth. He pulled back, just enough to look at her, his eyes wild and dark and searching. "Where do you want it?"
Her answer came without thought, ripped from somewhere primal and instinctive. "On me."
The words hung in the air, and even she didn't fully understand them. She'd felt him buried inside her, that thick, pulsing heat filling her completely, and the rational part of her brain knew that was where he belonged. That was where his release should go, deep inside her, marking her from within.
But something else clawed at her. Something hungry and possessive that wanted to see it. Wanted to watch him come apart because of her, wanted to wear the evidence of his loss of control like a trophy painted across her skin.
"On me," she repeated, her voice gaining heated conviction. "I want to feel it. I want to see it."
His eyes flared, the question dying on his lips. He didn't argue. He didn't ask why. He just moved.
He pulled out of her in one long, slick drag that made them both gasp, the sudden emptiness leaving her clenching around nothing. The cool air hit her wet, swollen flesh, and she shivered, her thighs falling open of their own accord.
He knelt between them, his chest heaving, his abs flexing with every labored breath. His cock stood proud and glistening, slick with her juices, throbbing with the force of his restrained climax. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, pearly and thick, and she watched it drip down the veined length of him.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice wrecked. "I want to watch you."
Her hand slid down her body on its own. Her fingers found her clit, slick and swollen, and she circled it slowly, her hips bucking against her own touch. The stimulation was almost too much after everything he'd done to her, every nerve ending singing with oversensitivity.
"That's it," he growled, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. He stroked himself slowly, deliberately, his eyes fixed on where her fingers worked between her thighs. "Make yourself come for me. Right as I'm about to paint you."
The image shattered something in her. Her fingers moved faster, desperate, her hips grinding against her palm. She watched him jerk himself, watched the thick crown of his cock swell and purple, watched the muscles in his forearm flex with each stroke.
"Jake," she gasped, the pressure building again, hot and urgent. "I'm close. I'm so close."
"Let go," he rasped, his strokes quickening. "Come for me, Mia. Scream my name and let me cover you."
She did.
Her back arched off the mattress, a guttural cry tearing from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her. Her fingers worked frantically over her clit as the waves crashed over her, her inner walls clenching around nothing, her thighs trembling violently.
And then she felt it.
The first rope hit her collarbone.
Hot and thick and impossibly copious, it splashed against her skin in a heavy, wet ribbon that made her gasp. Her eyes flew open just in time to see him stroking himself again, his fist pumping from root to tip, and then the second rope followed. It landed on the swell of her left breast, painting a track across the taut flesh. Her nipple pebbled instantly, the heat of it startling against the cooling air of the room.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed, watching him.
The third rope crossed her other breast, thicker than the rest, and she watched it pool in the valley between them before sliding down her ribs. Jake's jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and fixed on her body, his fist working fast and urgent. The fourth rope painted a stripe down the center of her belly, bisecting the pale skin with a glistening line that made her stomach clench involuntarily.
"Keep going," she urged, her voice wrecked and greedy. "Don't stop."
He didn't.
The fifth rope splashed across her navel, pooling in the shallow dip of her belly button before overflowing down her abdomen. The sixth landed lower, streaking across the soft skin just below her ribs. He was painting her in broad, deliberate strokes, covering her inch by inch, and she was drowning in it. In the heat. In the sight. In the sheer overwhelming evidence of his desire.
Her fingers moved on their own, dipping into the pool on her belly and smearing it upward, spreading it across her skin like lotion. She watched herself do it, watched the thick white fluid coat her fingers, and she brought them to her mouth.
The taste was salty and warm and unmistakably him.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she sucked her fingers clean, and she felt the seventh rope land on her stomach, just above her mound. The eighth hit her hip, splashing across the jut of bone in a messy, thick rope that she felt slide down her thigh. The ninth landed directly on her swollen, aching clit.
That one made her scream.
The heat of it was shocking, pulsing against the hypersensitive bud, and her hips bucked off the mattress. Her inner walls clenched around nothing, a desperate, fluttering ache that begged to be filled. She watched the cum slide down her slit, mixing with her own slick, and she felt it pool against her entrance.
"Holy shit," she gasped. "Jake, that's so much."
His only answer was a wordless groan, his fist working the last desperate strokes. The tenth rope landed across her chest again, a thick, glistening ribbon that connected with the others, creating a web of white across the entire landscape of her body. The eleventh spurted weakly, landing on her lower belly, and then he collapsed.
He collapsed onto the bed like a starfish, his arms and legs splayed out, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath. The bedframe groaned under his sudden weight, and Mia felt the mattress dip beneath them, tilting her toward him. She could feel the heat radiating off his body in waves, the sweat cooling on his skin, the frantic flutter of his heart against his ribs where he'd parked his head on her shoulder.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The only sound in the room was the ragged rhythm of their breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant howl of the wind outside. The storm had broken hours ago, but the cold air still seeped through the single-pane windows, raising goosebumps along Mia's arms. The cum cooling on her skin was beginning to dry, a tacky, sticky second skin that she should have found unpleasant. Instead, she felt a deep, bone-melting satisfaction, like she'd been branded.
Jake's breath was hot against her shoulder. "You still alive?"
Barely, she thought. She managed a laugh, the sound weak and breathy. "I'm checking."
He laughed too, a deep rumble that vibrated through her. His hand found hers weakly, his fingers interlacing with hers. His palm was clammy, the skin slick with sweat, but she held on tight.
"Never in my life," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "Never in my entire goddamn life have I felt anything like that."
"Me neither." She turned her head, pressing her lips to his temple, tasting salt and sweat. "That was... you were..."
Words escaped her. What could she possibly say to encapsulate the last hour? The slow burn of his initial thrusts, the building frenzy, the way he'd lifted her like she was made of air and fucked her standing, the raw, desperate urgency that had culminated in him painting her like a canvas. It had been transcendent. It had been filthy. It had been everything.
She felt him shift, heard the creak of his joints as he pushed himself up just enough to look at her. His hazel eyes were hazy with post-coital fog, a lazy, sated smile curving his lips. And then his gaze dropped, tracing down her body, over the sticky white ribbons that adorned her skin like jewelry.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word reverent. "Look at you."
She tilted her head, watching him watch her. "You did that."
"I did, didn't I." His smile widened, smug and utterly delighted. "You're a mess."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Yours. For making me want you so goddamn bad."
She laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. She lifted her free hand, the one he wasn't holding, and traced a lazy pattern through the cooling cum on her stomach, drawing a little swirl into the mess. "I look like a Jackson Pollock painting."
He reaches over, his finger tracing the same spiraling path she'd drawn, smearing the cooling white into a new shape. "Correction," he murmurs, his voice sleepy but possessive. "MY Jackson Pollock painting. I'm the artist here."
Her breath catches at the casual claim in his voice, at the way his finger lingers over her skin, painting invisible designs in his own release. "Is that right?" she manages, her voice teasing even as her body hums with satisfaction.
"Damn right it is." He pats her stomach gently, leaving a handprint of sticky residue against her skin. "I've been dying for years to work with this canvas. Finally got my chance."
She snorts, the sound undignified and honest. "That's the worst pickup line I've ever heard."
"Didn't need a pickup line. Already got you in my bed."
"Fair point."
They lie there in the quiet, the storm outside having faded to a distant whisper. The heating unit rattles on, struggling to warm the small room, and Mia realizes she can feel the cold air seeping in around the window frame. But she doesn't move. She's pinned under the weight of his arm, his leg thrown possessively over hers, and she doesn't want to move.
The cum on her skin is drying now, growing tacky against her flesh. She should get up. She should shower again, scrub the evidence of their passion from her body, change into something clean. But the idea of moving feels like a betrayal of this moment, of the quiet intimacy that has settled over them like a blanket.
"Jake?" she whispers, testing the silence.
"Mm?"
"When did you know?"
He shifts, his stubble scraping against her shoulder. "Know what?"
"That you wanted me. Not just... you know. Wanted me like this. Wanted all of me."
He's quiet for a long moment. She watches the ceiling, counting the water stains, feeling the slow rhythm of his breathing against her side. She almost thinks he's fallen asleep when he finally speaks.
"Sophomore year. The spring formal."
She frowns, trying to remember. "The one where you got wasted and tried to fight the DJ?"
"That was the afterparty." His voice is muffled against her skin. "The actual formal, we were standing in the corner, making fun of people's outfits. Remember that guy from the swim team who showed up in board shorts?"
"Like it was yesterday."
"And you laughed at something I said. Like really laughed, not the polite fake laugh girls do when they're humoring you. Your whole face lit up and you grabbed my arm and I thought... I thought if I could make you laugh like that every day for the rest of my life, I'd be the happiest man on earth."
She feels something loosen in her chest. "Jake..."
"I knew then that I was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. Because you were my best friend and I had no shot and I knew it. But I couldn't stop. I just kept falling for you, harder every year, and I thought I'd just have to live with it. Watch you date somebody else, get married, have kids, all that shit. And I'd be the goofy best friend who shows up at your wedding and makes a toast about the time we got drunk and tried to steal a stop sign."
Her hand finds his, their fingers intertwined. "I don't want to marry anybody else."
"I know." His voice is thick. "I know. That's the part I still can't believe. That I get to have this. That I get to have you."
She doesn't know what to say. The enormity of it swells in her chest, a balloon that might burst if she lets it. She squeezes his hand instead, hoping he understands.
The ceiling holds their secrets, the water stains and cracks a silent witness to their confessions.
"Do you think we would've gotten here without the snowstorm?" she asks finally.
His laugh is low and tired. "God, I don't know. Maybe? I'd like to think I would've gotten the courage eventually. But you were so... you. And I was so terrified of ruining us that I just kept my mouth shut."
"I'm glad for the snow." She tilts her head to look at him. "In a weird way. I mean, I'm glad we got stuck, glad we ran out of things to do, glad we got drunk enough to be honest. But I'm mostly glad it was you. That it was always you, and I was just too oblivious to see it."
"Oblivious is a nice way to put it."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
She rolls over to face him, the cum on her belly almost smearing against the sheets. His eyes are heavy but alert, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. In the low light filtering through the snow-frosted window, he looks softer somehow, younger, like the boy she met freshman year instead of the man who'd just claimed her so thoroughly.
"I love you," she says. Simple. Honest. No armor.
His hand cups her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes."
"Good. You should be scared. I'm terrifying."
"You're the most terrifying thing I've ever faced on or off the field."
"And yet you keep coming back for more."
"Some men never learn."
She kisses him softly, tasting salt and sex and something sweet underneath. He returns it languidly, their bodies too exhausted for urgency. It's a kiss like a promise, like a seal on everything they've said, everything they've done, everything they will become.
When they finally break apart, his eyes are already fluttering closed. She watches the tension drain from his face, the lines around his eyes smoothing out, his breathing deepening into the slow rhythm of sleep. Within minutes, he's out, his hand still loosely curled around hers, his head pillowed on her shoulder like it belongs there.
She lies awake a while longer, listening to the wind and his breathing, feeling the sticky remnants of their passion cooling on her skin. The room is a disaster. Clothes scattered, sheets twisted, the headboard cracked from the force of their coupling. The neighbors are probably furious. The RA will probably have something to say about the noise complaint.
She can't bring herself to care.
She reaches for her phone on the nightstand, her movements careful not to disturb him. The afternoon sun shone through the window, making her squint.
Her fingers found the phone before her eyes fully adjusted to the brightness, the screen blazing against the dim familiarity of the room. She angled it away from Jake's sleeping form, tilting the device down toward her body, and the camera app captured the full expanse of her wrecked state.
The cum had dried along the highway of her torso, but the lighting caught it perfectly. Pearlescent streaks arcing across her collarbone, pooling in the hollow of her throat, branching over both breasts in thick, overlapping ribbons. The valley between them was a sticky white lake. The long stripe down her belly had cracked slightly as it dried, creating a delicate web of fissures that glittered in the afternoon light.
She stretched out her legs slightly, angling the phone lower, and the camera caught the glistening smear that had spread across her mound and upper thighs, the evidence of their wild coupling still slick enough to shine.
She snapped the photo.
The preview loaded, and she bit her lip. It was obscene. It was a testament. Every inch of exposed skin was painted with his claim, the dried remnants of his climax catching the sunlight like a treasure map of their passion.
She opened her texts to Lucy and hit send.
Mia: [image]
Mia: girl.
The message sat there for a heartbeat. And then Lucy exploded.
Lucy: OH MY GOD
Lucy: MIA
Lucy: WHAT THE FUCK
Lucy: IS THAT
Lucy: IS THAT ALL OVER YOUR TITS
Lucy: THATS HIS CUM THATS DEFINITELY HIS CUM
Lucy: I CANT
Lucy: IM SCREAMING
Lucy: Did Jake paint you like a FUCKING WALL?
Lucy: My jaw is on the FLOOR
Lucy: Mia I can see it I can literally see EVERY single DROP
Lucy: Your collarbone? YOUR STOMACH?? WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR THIGH
Lucy: WAIT IS THAT ON YOUR CLIT
Lucy: MIA ANSWER ME
Lucy: ITS ON YOUR CLIT ISNT IT
Lucy: HE CAME ON YOUR CLIT
Lucy: HE MARKED YOUR CLIT MIA
Lucy: like a territorial animal
Lucy: I'm so proud of you holy shit
Lucy: Who knew the quarterback had that in him
Lucy: Wait no I know exactly who knew. You did. YOU knew. You've been getting DESTROYED by him for 24 hours and you didn't TELL me the full details?
Lucy: I'm calling the police. This is a crime. Withholding critical information from your best friend is a crime.
Lucy: Mia.
Lucy: MIA.
Lucy: I'm still looking at the picture.
Lucy: It's like a JACKSON POLLOCK painting.
Lucy: But made of SEX.
Lucy: THAT IS SO HOT
Lucy: I need details.
Lucy: NOW.
Lucy: I'm not moving from this bed until I know EVERYTHING.
Lucy: Was it loud? Did the neighbors hear? Did you scream?
Lucy: I NEED TO KNOW IF YOU SCREAMED.
Lucy: The headboard must be destroyed.
Lucy: Tell me the headboard is destroyed.
Lucy: We need to establish a noise complaint count. This is a metric I need tracked.
Lucy: HOW DID HE GET IT ON YOUR CLIT THATS SO SPECIFIC
Lucy: Was he aiming??
Lucy: HE WAS AIMING WASNT HE
Lucy: He was aiming at your clit and he HIT IT
Lucy: Long range precision shooting
Lucy: The quarterback accuracy paid off
Lucy: I'm on the floor Mia. I'm literally on the floor.
Lucy: Okay okay okay I need to stop texting and just BREATHE
Lucy: Are you okay? Like are you actually okay? Functioning? Can you walk?
Lucy: You probably can't walk.
Lucy: I bet you can't walk.
Lucy: I bet you're lying there in a pile of your own destruction while he sleeps like a puppy who ran 10 miles.
Lucy: IS HE THERE RN
Lucy: Is the big guy napping next to you
Lucy: Covered in sweat and glory
Lucy: With YOUR marks on him
Lucy: Did you mark him? I know you did. The Mia I know from biology class would absolutely mark her territory.
Lucy: TELL ME YOU LEFT MARKS
Lucy: I'm seeing hickeys in my mind right now and I'm so happy
Lucy: This is the most exciting text exchange I've ever been a part of and I'm not even in the room
Lucy: I need a cigarette. I don't even smoke.
Lucy: MIA. Mia, I'm going to start being worried if you don't respond. That's 25 texts. That's a lot, even for me. That's like a statutory number of texts.
Lucy: Whatever, fine, text me when you can. I'll be here. Dramatically staring at this picture on my phone and crying a little bit because my best friend got the most incredible dick of her life.
Lucy: Wait it IS the best dick of her life right
Lucy: It has to be
Lucy: I can SEE evidence of the best dick of her life in this photo
Lucy: It's literally SMOTHERED in evidence
Lucy: Okay I'll stop. For real. For now. TEXT ME.
Mia's phone vibrated so many times in her hand that the device felt like it might disintegrate. She watched the messages scroll past in a blur of caps lock and pure unhinged energy, a smile spreading across her face that she couldn't contain, threatening to break her face in half.
She wanted to respond. God, she wanted to respond. But her fingers were lazy and uncoordinated, weighed down by the sheer physical bonelessness that had claimed her body. Instead, she let the phone rest on her chest, tilting her head to watch the sunlight play across her own stomach.
Her finger found the dried trail on her collarbone. She traced it slowly, following the thickest rope where it curved over the jut of bone, feeling the tacky texture against her fingertips. The dried cum had a slightly sticky quality that caught her skin, pulling it taut as she dragged her finger along its length.
She followed it down, across the slope of her breast, tracing the path he'd painted over her nipple. The skin there was still sensitive, and the light touch sent a shiver through her. She continued past it, into the valley of her chest, where the pooled liquid had dried into a smooth, rubbery film.
Her fingers played in it, pressing into the dried texture, feeling its springy resistance against her skin.
The sensation was strange and intimate all at once. A tangible memory of what they'd done. Physical proof that Jake had lost control completely, driven past all his careful restraint until he'd painted her like a canvas.
Her hand wandered lower, skimming over the bridge of her belly, dipping into the thicker pool around her navel. She scooped some of it up, the partially dried fluid clinging to her fingertips in a thick, viscous thread. She pressed her thumb and forefinger together, watching the string stretch and break, glistening in the afternoon light.
A low hum escaped her throat.
Jake's hand tightened around hers in his sleep, a reflexive squeeze that made her heart flutter. She held her breath, watching his face for signs of waking, but he just shifted, nuzzling deeper into her shoulder, his breath warm and steady against her skin.
She turned her eyes back to the phone, scrolling up through Lucy's wall of unhinged messages. A laugh bubbled up in her chest, quiet and breathless.
Her finger found the trail again, sliding down to where the cum had pooled on her mound. The skin was sensitive there, still swollen and pink from his attentions, and she pressed her fingertips against the slick residue, feeling the moisture that hadn't quite dried.
She traced a slow, lazy spiral around her clit, her touch light and teasing. She could still feel the ghost of his cum on the swollen bud, the phantom heat of it, the way he'd painted her most sensitive place as a final claim.
Her hips gave a small, involuntary roll.
The phone buzzed in her other hand.
Lucy: I SEE YOU WITH YOUR HAND SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN YOUR DAMN PHONE
Lucy: THE GREEN BUBBLES STOPPED
Lucy: YOU'RE TYPING BUT NOT SENDING
Lucy: OH MY GOD YOU'RE PLAYING WITH IT AREN'T YOU
Lucy: YOU ARE. I KNOW YOU ARE. YOU'RE IN A PUDDLE OF HIS CUM PLAYING WITH YOURSELF WHILE HE SLEEPS
Lucy: MIA YOU ARE A FERAL ANIMAL
Lucy: I RESPECT IT.
Lucy: I RESPECT YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW. GO OFF QUEEN. PLAY WITH THAT LOAD.
Lucy: But also TEXT ME WHEN YOU'RE DONE I NEED THE FULL DEETS
Mia laughed, the sound barely a whisper against her lips. She typed back with one sticky finger.
Mia: He's asleep. I'm playing with his cum like it's my job.
Lucy: SCREAMING
Lucy: GO BEST FRIEND
Lucy: PLAY IN IT
Lucy: MARINATE IN IT
Lucy: YOU EARNED IT
Lucy: YOU'VE BEEN STUCK IN A SNOWED IN DORM ROOM WITH THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE AND YOU FUCKED HIM SO HARD HE EXPLODED ALL OVER YOU
Lucy: THATS THE DREAM MIA THATS THE LITERAL DREAM
Lucy: I'm so proud of you I could cry
Lucy: I'M DECEASED
Lucy: Bless him. Bless this beautiful quarterback. Bless this entire snowstorm. Bless the broken heating unit. Bless everything.
Lucy: I'm going to need to meet him again. As your boyfriend now. I'm going to need to shake his hand and look him in the eyes and silently convey that I know exactly what he did to my best friend and I'm grateful for his service.
Mia: His service?
Lucy: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
Lucy: He PMed your entire body
Lucy: Okay okay okay I'll stop with the crude humor and be a good best friend for a second
Lucy: Are you actually okay? Like truly? Not just orgasm brain okay but actually okay?
Mia paused. Her finger traced the edge of the handprint on her belly, following the curve of a finger, the pad of a thumb. The sticky residue stuck to her skin, and she smeared it slightly, turning the crisp outline into a softer smear.
Mia: I've never been better. I'm in love with him.
Lucy: Oh my god.
Lucy: OH MY GOD.
Lucy: Mia. MIA. You just dropped the L bomb in a text about cum on your clit.
Lucy: I'm crying. I'm actually crying. This is the most Mia and Jake thing that has ever happened.
Lucy: You're in love with him. You're in LOVE with him. The goofy guy next door. The one who played COD for six hours straight and told you the entire plot of Lord of the Rings.
Lucy: I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT.
Lucy: Do NOT I repeat DO NOT let him get away.
Lucy: Tell him. Please. Tell that big beautiful quarterback you love him and make it stick.
Lucy: And then text me. With details. ALL THE DETAILS.
Mia smiled at the screen, warmth blooming in her chest that had nothing to do with the heat of the encounter. She looked down at Jake's sleeping form, his face peaceful, his hand still loosely wrapped around hers.
Her finger found a fresh patch of cum on her inner thigh, still slightly tacky. She traced it slowly, watching the way the light caught the glossy surface. She played in it, pressing her fingertip into the film and drawing a little heart in the mess.
The phone buzzed again.
Lucy: Girl. I just realized something. If you're in love with him AND the sex is that good AND he's that loyal AND he makes you laugh AND he cooks for you AND he calls you his good girl...
Lucy: You're going to marry him someday, right? Like, I'm planning the bachelorette party now.
Lucy: I have a whole pinterest board. It's called "Mia's Big Dick Wedding" and it has 47 pins.
Mia snorted, covering her mouth with her sticky hand. The taste of his skin, of his sweat, of the remains of their encounter, flooded her senses. She licked her finger clean.
Mia: I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.
Lucy: You heard it. And you loved it. I'll see you at the wedding, bestie. Bring tissues.
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.