Page 24 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

“More,” he begged, and I gave it to him, another finger, stretching him slowly while I went back to work on his cock with my mouth.

The combination of sensations had him writhing beneath me, torn between pushing down onto my fingers and up into my mouth. He was gorgeous like this, completely undone, chasing pleasure with abandon.

“I need you,” he gasped. “Need you inside me. Now.”

I released his cock with a wet pop and kissed my way up his body, pausing to bite gently at his nipple. He cried out, his cock jerking against my stomach and leaving a streak of pre-cum on my skin.

“You’re staring,” Lennox murmured as I settled between his thighs.

“I’ll stop when I’ve memorized all of you.”

He let out a soft breath, but it wasn’t a laugh this time. It was a desperate, devastating need. Pure and present and pulsing just beneath the surface. His hands moved, one slipping behind my neck to pull me down, the other tracing along the hem of my shirt.

I met his mouth like I was starving for it.

And I was.

The kiss deepened instantly, no warm-up needed. Tongues tangling, teeth grazing. His hand slipped under my shirt and dragged nails down my spine, and I groaned into him, pressing harder.

He was fire and want and everything I’d been aching for.

I peeled my shirt off, tossed it somewhere—I didn’t care where—and settled over him fully. Our chests met, bare skin to bare skin, and he let out the smallest sound at the contact. Like I’d knocked the breath out of him in the best possible way.

My sweatpants and boxer briefs followed quickly, kicked off in a tangle of limbs and urgent need. When my cock finally brushed against his, we both moaned at the contact. He was so hard, so ready, and I could feel the slick heat of him against my skin.

“Condom,” I panted against his mouth.

“Bedside table.” His voice was wrecked already.

I reached over blindly, fumbling in the drawer until I found what I needed. My hands shook as I tore open the package, whether from nerves or anticipation, I couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

Lennox took it from me, his touch gentle as he rolled it down my length. The simple contact made me hiss through my teeth.

“You okay?” he asked, searching my face.

“Perfect.” And I meant it. “You?”

Instead of answering, he reached for the lube, slicking me up with slow, deliberate strokes that had me seeing stars. When he guided my cock to his hole, pressing the head against that tight ring of muscle, I had to close my eyes and count to ten.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

I opened my eyes to find his gaze locked on mine, dark, trusting, full of something that made my chest tight.

I pushed forward slowly, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. He was so tight, so perfect, and when I was finally seated fully inside him, we both exhaled shakily.

“Fuck me,” he breathed. “Please.”

I started slow, shallow thrusts that had him gripping my shoulders. But it wasn’t enough—not for either of us. He wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I let myself go.

I fucked him the way I’d been dreaming about for days, hard, deep, and claiming. The bed frame creaked with our rhythm, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. He was so responsive, meeting every thrust, his cock trapped between our bellies and leaking steadily.

“Harder,” he gasped. “God, yes, just like that.”

I angled my hips, hitting that spot inside him that made him arch off the bed with a sharp cry. His nails raked down my back, and I knew I’d have marks tomorrow. The thought thrilled me.

“You feel so good,” I panted against his neck. “So perfect. Like you were made for me.”

“Was,” he choked out. “Was made for you. Only you.”

The admission broke something loose in my chest. I captured his mouth in a bruising kiss, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the connection between us. He kissed back just as desperately, like I was air and he was drowning.

I could feel him getting close, the way his breathing hitched, how he clenched around me with every thrust. I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his cock and stroking in time with my movements.

“Come for me,” I whispered against his ear. “Want to feel you fall apart.”

It only took a few more strokes before he was crying out my name, his body going rigid as he came hard between us. The feeling of him clenching around my cock, the sight of his face twisted in ecstasy, was enough to push me over the edge.

I buried myself deep inside him and let go, my orgasm hitting me like a train. Stars exploded behind my eyelids as I filled the condom, my whole body shaking with the force of it.

We stayed like that for long moments, both of us trying to catch our breath. Finally, I pulled out carefully and disposed of the condom, then collapsed beside him on the bed.

Lennox immediately curled against me, still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. I pulled him close, pressing kisses to his temple as we both came down from the high.

“That was…” he started, then trailed off.

“Yeah,” I agreed, understanding perfectly.

We didn’t speak after that. We didn’t have to.

Everything that mattered had already been said with touch and sweat and the quiet that followed.

And when sleep finally took us both, I felt more at peace than I had in months.

But peace, I would learn, was fragile.

Sleep took me for a while.

It dragged me under gently, and I didn’t remember the moment I gave in, only that the world faded with the warmth of him wrapped around me.

But then, something shifted.

My eyelids fluttered open to darkness and stillness, and the first sensation was panic.

A weight on my chest. Thick. Crushing. Cold.

For one dizzying moment, I thought I was drowning.

Water filled my nose, my throat, the sound of my heartbeat echoing like I was submerged. It was instinctive, primal, my hands twitched toward the surface that wasn’t there, the surface that I couldn’t reach…

And then I gasped.

Air rushed back in.

Sheets tangled around my waist. Sweat cooling across my back. The rhythmic thrum of Chicago night filtering through the cracked window.

I was awake.

Not drowning. Not underwater.

Just…suffocating from something else entirely.

I turned my head.

Lennox lay beside me, sound asleep. One hand under the pillow, lashes resting against his cheeks, chest rising and falling with the slow, unconscious rhythm of safety and peace.

And I was anything but.

He looked so heartbreakingly serene in sleep. Like nothing could touch him. Like he trusted this bed and this moment enough to let go.

I stared at him in the dim light, my heart cracked wide open.

Because he had no idea what was happening inside me. No idea that my mind was dragging me back to the words my coach had said hours earlier, echoing like thunder in a sealed room.

The dates moved. Second week of June. Nationals. You’re in.

The words hadn’t registered at first. They hadn’t needed to. Nationals was always moving. But always in July or August.

Except not this time.

Not this year.

June. The second week.

I had told him I’d be there, that we’d go. That he mattered more than pressure or legacy or finishing what I’d started.

I meant it.

But now…

Could I miss Nationals? After last year? After the wreckage of that performance, after the hole it carved in my confidence, my career, my soul?

Could I afford to miss the one chance I had to fix it?

But if I went…

If I left him behind…

Would that crack something between us I couldn’t fix?

Would I be choosing myself over him, and if I did, could I really expect him to wait?

My fingers twitched in the space between us. I wanted to reach out. To wake him. To confess it all and let him help me shoulder it.

But I didn’t.

Because that wasn’t fair either.

This wasn’t his decision. It was mine.

My nightmare hadn’t been about drowning in a pool. Not really.

It was about drowning in the choice.

And for now, all I could do was lie there, heart aching, lungs tight, future blurred, and watch the boy I couldn’t bear to lose sleep like I hadn’t already shattered something just by hesitating.