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I kiss him back because I don’t want to think about anything but this.

Jaxon’s weight settles over me, solid and warm, and my legs part instinctively to make room for him. The cross chains tangle between us as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me arch up against him.

“God, Cam,” he breathes against my mouth, his hand sliding under my shirt, spanning my ribs. His touch leaves fire in its wake. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night.”

I want to ask him what he means. What any of this means, but I don’t, and thinking becomes impossible. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, under my shirt, gripping my hip. Each touch feels like he’s writing something on my skin, marking me as his even though I’m not, even though we're just...

“Stop thinking so much,” he murmurs against my throat, and I can feel his smile. “Let me make you feel good.”

I laugh, but it turns into a moan when he rocks his hips against mine and his dick. He lifts his head to look at me, and even in the dark, I can see how blown his pupils are. His hair’s a mess from my hands, his lips swollen from our kisses. He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

He sighs, giving me all his weight. I trace my fingertips over his jaw, to his neck, his chest. It feels romantic. Like I shouldn’t be touching him like this if this is just sex between us.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but his breath catches right before he kisses me, his lips welding to mine. He opens his mouth and lets me sweep my tongue inside, then grips the sides of my face, deepening the kiss. Slipping his hand behind my back, he unclasps my bra and takes it off.

“You’re actually taking my clothes off this time?” I tease.

“Yup.” Despite the tenderness in his movements, his words are playful.

“If this is your way of trying to get your hoodie back, it’s not gonna work. I’m taking it with me.”

“Don’t you have enough of my clothes by now?”

“Nope.”

When my chest is bare to him, his mouth sweeps over my collarbone, then lower to the tops of my breasts, but he doesn’t suck on my nipples yet. His breathing changes—unstable, hardly controlled through gasps.

His touch, his kiss—he doesn’t relent, and before I know it, he’s moving lower and his mouth is between my legs. Um, okay. This is good. We haven’t done this in a long time, but I’m here for it.

“Oh my God.” I grip his hair, beg for more, and he provides.

“Come for me, baby.” His words vibrate through me as he bites down on my clit.

I yelp, not expecting him to bite me, or for it to feel good. “Hey now, easy.”

He laughs. “Stop talking, more moaning.” With one hand on my thigh, the other working inside me, he spreads me wider.

His teeth ease up, his tongue taking over.

He sucks, licks, tortures me in the most perfect way.

Staring up at the darkness of his ceiling, light flickers in through the small cracks in the curtains.

It’s enough for me to see his hips shift on the mattress, a groan slipping from his lips as he reaches below and strokes his dick a few times. “I need to make up for earlier.”

And he does. My fucking God, does he.

I can’t think of anything but Jaxon between my legs. The sight of him unable to control himself sends me over the edge. Breathless, I’m brought back by Jaxon lifting his head. “I can’t take it anymore. I need inside you.”

Moving back up my body, he doesn’t say anything but positions himself at my entrance. Our eyes meet for a moment, but he quickly looks down at my tits. When he enters me, I gasp, and he lets out a groan that borders on a cry, his entire frame shaking.

Burying his face in my neck, he grunts, pressing his hips forward again, slamming into me. “Holy shit,” he says, his words breathed against the shell of my ear. “Feels so good inside your tight pussy.”

Oh damn. I get dirty talking too? Win.

The swell of him, the tightness of his hold—it’s everything I’ve wanted from him in the last week and more.

His touch, his movements—it’s completely different from any other time I’ve been with him like this, and I never want it to end. I kiss him, over and over again, our bodies connected in every possible way, but I can’t help wondering what this means. Has he changed his mind? Does he want more?

Seriously. Stop fucking thinking.

He moves slowly, almost like he’s afraid of hurting me, and while I urge him to go faster, he shakes his head. “I’ll come if I go any faster and I want this feeling to last,” he admits, his lips at my ear.

I touch his hot cheek. “Then don’t stop.”

He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed. It takes him a moment to reply, but then he says, between pants, “I won’t.”

And though he doesn’t want to come, holding off has never been Jaxon’s strong suit.

“ Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” he pants, driving into me harder. “Oh baby, I’m gonna come.” His entire body shakes as he gasps for air.

His hips buck wildly, then he stops, rigid as he spills inside me. Somewhere in the rush of him coming so quickly, his hold on me becomes too much and I cry out in pain. I don’t think he realized how hard he’d been clinging to me until I tense and shove at his chest.

“I’m sorry.” His frantic eyes snap to mine, his hands on my hips. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

I blink, grabbing my arm that’s pulsing with pain. “No, no, it’s fine.” I shake him off. He’s on his knees, hands on his thighs in front of me. My eyes shift to stare at his dick, cum dripping from the tip.

Jaxon scrolls through Netflix while I try not to focus on how his other hand is tracing patterns on my hip, right where my—okay, his —hoodie has ridden up. His touch is absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, which somehow makes it worse.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks, but his eyes are on me, not the screen.

“Anything but baseball or softball.” Because I can’t handle watching baseball right now when I’m trying so hard not to think about how he looked on that field tonight.

When I’m trying not to think about Inez recording his grand slam.

When I’m trying not to think about that text on his phone he didn’t check, probably from her.

“You don’t wanna watch my highlights?” He smirks, and Mookie lifts his head like he can sense the shift in energy.

“Pretty sure I watched those live, thanks.” I poke his ribs, right where I know he’s ticklish. “Some of us had great seats.”

His eyes darken slightly. “Yeah? How’d you get those seats, anyway?”

“From a boy.”

He winks. “The only boy.”

Mookie chooses this moment to stretch between us, his paw landing directly on Jaxon’s face. The timing is so perfect I can’t help but laugh.

“Bro,” Jaxon mutters, gently moving the paw. “Gimme some personal space.”

The cat blinks at him slowly, like, yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?

“He wants attention,” I say, scratching under Mookie’s chin. He immediately starts purring, a sound like a tiny motor. “Don't you, sweet boy?”

“Sweet boy, my ass. He knocked my protein shake off the desk before I left for the game. Bitch stared at me while he did it, too.”

I bite my lip to hold back a laugh.

Jaxon picks a zombie movie, but I’m barely paying attention. How can I when he’s this close? When Mookie’s purring is the only sound breaking the tension? When his hand has slipped under the hoodie again, thumb brushing against my bare skin?

“You’re not watching,” he murmurs after a few minutes.

“Neither are you.”

He’s not. He’s been staring at me, at the way his hoodie drowns me, at how Mookie has somehow managed to wrap himself around both our legs like a furry pretzel.

“Can’t help it.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “Keep thinking about how good you looked in those seats tonight. Wearing my hoodie.”

My heart stutters. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand slides higher under the hoodie. “Almost missed a sign from Jameson because I couldn’t stop sneaking looks at you."

Mookie suddenly sits up between us, stretches dramatically, and lets out the loudest meow I’ve ever heard from a cat his size.

“Dude,” Jaxon says to him. “Read the room.”

The cat stares at him, then deliberately lays across his chest, blue eyes fixed on me like, he’s mine now.

I can’t help but laugh. “Looks like you’ve been claimed.”

“Story of my life lately,” Jaxon mutters, and something in his tone makes my stomach flip.

What does that mean? Is he talking about me? About Inez? About this cat who’s clearly appointed himself a Jaxon lover?

But I don’t ask. Because asking means talking, and talking means facing whatever this is between us. And right now, with his hand on my skin and his cat giving me the stink eye and his game ball sitting on his desk like a trophy... I’m not ready for that conversation.

So instead I curl closer, careful not to disturb His Majesty King Mookie, and pretend to watch the movie. Even if all I’m watching is the way Jaxon’s fingers draw baseball diamonds on my skin.

Let’s end the night with a rule: Never tell him you want more.

Even if the cuddles feel real.