Page 25 of Tyler (Bummerset Shore University #2)

“Yes, I’m going to use it as a nightlight and when people drive past our bus at night, I can wave at them. It’ll keep me company during those long, lonely hours I’m away from you.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Ty snickers, the tone of his voice all loving as he grabs his discarded duffle from the corner of the room. “If we ever get separated, it can show me the way right back to you.”

Not me fucking swooning over here.

I nudge him with my shoulder and smack his ass before grabbing the dildos and throwing them on the bed. “On the outside, you’re this big scary football player, but on the inside you’re secretly just a big sap, aren’t you?”

He smiles, all soft and stupid and gorgeous, and lets his fingers from his free hand trail down my spine as he drops the duffle next to the Clone-a-Willy’s. “Not much of a secret, you know I am. Wish we had more than just a couple hours before I have to go, though.”

I lean into his touch. “You’ll miss me that much, huh?”

“Always.”

The corner of my mouth lifts, mirroring his when our eyes meet.

His gaze is heavy—full of love, longing, and so much fucking heartbreak.

He looks at me like he’s trying to memorize every angle, every curve, like he’s imprinting me onto his brain to hold on to during the long weeks we’ll be apart. I know I’m doing the same.

When his cell buzzes near his hip with an incoming text, the moment is gone.

He tears his eyes from mine, checks whatever it was he received and snickers.

“I swear, Lamar needs supervision twenty-four-seven,” he mumbles before dropping the device on the bed and hauling discarded clothing from the room.

“He just sent me a video… I guess he stole a guinea pig.”

“He did what ?”

“Stole a guinea pig,” he repeats, gesturing to the phone. “Like, from the petting zoo we were supposed to go to? He was bitching this entire week to go back to buy the damn rodent. Apparently, he made eye contact with it and it felt right.”

I grab the phone, check the message, and snort.

Sure enough, the video shows a shaky close-up of a way too fucking smug-looking Lamar whispering, “Operation Smuggle-the-Pig complete. No one saw me, I think. Probably.” There’s a squeaky wheek wheek off-camera, and then a tiny furry potato pops its head out of his hoodie.

Ty shakes his head. “Guess we got another roommate this year besides the two new freshmen. He named it Meatball.”

Of course he did.

“Jason and Mason helped him. They’re the getaway drivers,” he says, naming his brothers and gesturing to his phone again. I swipe to the next file and yup, there they are, in the front of the car, waving at the camera.

As I start to scroll through the hilarious messages from last week about Meatball’s escape-plan, a text comes in from Mason, the most responsible of the King brothers. Well, the second-most. Tyler holds the first spot by far.

“Mason says he paid for Meatball. But it’s more fun to let Lam think he stole it,” I tell Tyler as I lock the screen and set it on the dresser. He lets out an amused chuckle.

My stomach sinks as he stuffs folded clothes and his toiletry bag into his duffle, packing like he’s on autopilot. The fuller it gets, the more it hits me that he’s really leaving. I have to swallow hard against the sudden tightness in my damn throat.

“Whatcha doing?” I croak when he folds a shirt that’s definitely not his. It’s mine.

“It’s for the duckies. That way, they’ll have something with your scent again. They love to cuddle in the clothing you left behind. Especially Patrick.”

Yeah. Swooning again.

“You need that one for our duckies as well?” I nod toward the second shirt—the one I wore today and ditched before we took a shower. He puts both in his bag before zipping it up.

“Nope. That one is just for me. To sleep in.”

Jesus , this guy… “You always sleep without a shirt.”

He stares at his duffle, cocks his head. “That’s true…” He drops his gaze to my crotch before opening the bag again and throwing the second shirt out. “Get it off.”

“What?”

“Gimme your boxers.”

I groan, long and deep. “Why is that so fucking hot?”

“Fuck me if I know, but it is.”

“Look at you discovering all kinds of new fun stuff this week,” I muse, slowly pulling the cord of my sweat shorts.

“Shut your mouth, off with it,” he repeats, sitting down next to his bag, legs spread wide, leaning back on his hands.

I do what he says—strip down until I’m in all my naked glory, then swing my boxers at his head. “You know I want yours as well now, right?”

“Hmm. I figured. Maybe you can help me then.” He lifts his butt off the sheets, and I can’t get there fast enough, dropping between his knees and getting his shorts and boxers off in one go.

I toss them behind me and look up, again fucking mesmerized by the hard lines of his body. Jesus Christ, he really is a fucking work of art; all heat and muscle and that stupid cute birthmark above his hip I can’t stop looking at as he keeps himself elevated, flexing those gorgeous arms and abs.

“Don’t go showing off now,” I mumble before pressing a kiss just inside of his thigh near his groin, which earns me a little shiver.

“We all know you have excellent stamina. Fuck if I haven’t learned that firsthand this week.

” I emphasize my point by licking one straight path from his balls right up to the tip of his rigid dick before crawling into his lap and throwing my arms around his shoulders, reveling in the way his hard chest feels against mine. “But think you can go one more round?”

Hell, we already flip-fucked when we got back from our run, but we’re running out of time, I know I’ve been fucking insatiable, but shit, he’s here and I’m trying to make every second count before he walks out that door.

“Always,” he repeats his earlier remark, before he’s on me, pulling me in like he’s starving. Our mouths crash, all teeth, tongue, and need, his hands already fumbling behind him for the near-empty lube we left on the nightstand.

“Quick, Jace,” he pants against my lips, thrusting it into my hands before pushing himself back on the bed. I scramble off his lap. “No teasing. We don’t have that much time left. Just fucking do it.”

I squeeze the bottle, which makes these horrible farting noises since it’s basically empty.

I almost laugh—almost—but then I see him.

He’s sprawled back against the headboard, legs wide, gaze dark and hooded, his chest rising fast with every breath, and fuck yeah.

I’m back on him in a hot second, kissing and touching him every-fucking-where.

I grunt when my lubed fingers trace his rim, slipping two of them inside the place I’ve missed so fucking much these last months, quickly checking if he’s still loose enough for me.

I’m not the only one that can’t get enough—he’s just as desperate, just as wrecked—and if the way he grabs at my back is any indication, he wants me inside him now.

Of course I fucking comply.

I line myself up and inch inside, swallowing his gasps and grunts with my mouth—sucking on his tongue, his lips, the stubble along his jaw, every inch of his neck I can reach. His fingers dig into my shoulders, knees bracketing my sides, holding me there like he’s never fucking letting go.

He’s fumbling behind me, out of my line of sight, grabbing something and shifting his weight, but I don’t think much of it. I’m too busy losing my damn mind over how ridiculously good he feels. Always so fucking tight, so perfect, hot and needy, like he’s made for me, and only fucking me.

I push in harder, deeper, and he takes all of me—but when I bottom out, I feel his lubed hand at my ass, pushing two fingers inside me in one go.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask for the second time that day, groaning against his mouth when I feel something cold press against me—and instantly understand exactly what the fuck he’s doing.

He’s using the damn dildo.

The weight of it shifts, nudging inside with firm pressure, and my brain shorts out for a second as I gasp—because yeah, that’s definitely silicone, and it’s definitely fucking hot.

I give a couple of experimental thrusts inside him and—holy fucking shit—this is unreal, way too fucking much.

We find a rhythm. Every time I surge forward, the dildo nearly slips free, and when I pull back…

Christ. It sinks back in so fucking good, pushing all the right buttons and lights me the fuck on fire.

Something drops to the floor with a clack next to the bed as we really start to get into it.

My gaze snaps down over the side of the bed, to the neon pink dildo now lying on the floor.

“Tyler, baby?” I grit out through my teeth, my fingers clenching on his thighs as I bottom out again, barely able to hold on.

“Oh, fuck yeah. Right there. Fill me deeper, harder.”

A stuttered chuckle escapes my lips as he pegs my prostate with the dildo, his other hand firmly lodged on my right butt-cheek. Dude is so out of it, he doesn’t even notice…

“Ty,” I try again, and this time, his heavy-lidded gaze locks on mine. “Are you by any chance fucking me with my own dick?”

“Wha?” He gives the Clone-a-Willy in question a jiggle, sending all kinds of shivers up my spine.

“I think, hng , you grabbed the wrong… ah… dildo.” A moan rips from my throat when he turns on the vibration.

It’s the first time I’m stuffed while stuffing him, and it’s kinda awesome, even if it is a silicone model of my own damn cock.

Not that I give a single shit right now, because holy fucking hell.

It’s so awesome it takes exactly three more thrusts before I let my forehead drop to his, gasping, falling apart, filling him up, which triggers his own orgasm.

He moans deep, broken, against the corner of my mouth, his entire body going taut before shuddering and groaning beneath me, warmth spills between our stomachs as he comes hard, and I feel the dildo slipping free as he lets it go and wraps his arms around me instead, clinging to me like he never wants to let go.

A feeling that’s entirely fucking mutual.

I drop my head in his sweaty neck with a chuckle. “Shit. Guess we can do quickies, huh?”

He’s still shuddering beneath me, laughing hoarsely, reaching out to my cloned cock that’s still vibrating beside us to shut it off before hugging me close again.

We stay there for a moment, tangled and breathless, clinging to the last seconds we’ve got before we have to go to the venue. The sweat and cum cooling on our skin doesn’t matter. The clock ticking doesn’t matter. Just this. Him. Us.

I trace his jaw, then the little lines around his eyes, smoothing them out with my fingertips.

I think my fuck-Ty-into-a-pliable-pile offensive has worked, because some of his softness seems to have returned since he got here.

Every muscle in his body feels loose, all his limbs relaxed, a hint of a soft smile curling his lips.

“Nine more weeks, Ty.” I kiss his cheek and drop my forehead against his sweaty temple.

“Nine more weeks,” he breathes against my cheek, nudging his nose to mine.

I hold on to him, hold him so fucking tight. “Nine. Only nine. You can do this. I can do this. Fuck it, we can do this.” I tilt back a bit, cup his face, lock our gazes. “Tell me you can do it.”

He smiles. But it’s a watery one. A sad one.

“I can do it. And you as well,” he says—and some of the conviction comes back into his voice.

“I’ll be busy with camp and the season starting, so that’ll take my mind off things.

And you’re going to get so swamped with all the hype around the album.

” He smiles again, which reaches his eyes this time.

“I’m so fucking proud of you. Everyone’s so excited about the song.

The album. You need to enjoy it, share the joy with your friends. ”

The rest of the band is ecstatic, out of their minds with excitement, because besides the fact that my sanity is hanging in the balance here, our song and album fucking flew up the charts.

I can’t blame them. I should be happy as well, and I am .

Shit, everything we dreamed about… I dreamed about since I was a kid and Julita took me to my first guitar lesson—it’s all coming true, has come true.

But how the fuck can I be happy when there is a very real chance I’m getting yeeted out of the country?

Shit, even the situation with Mick feels redundant at this point.

There is no situation with Mick if I have to go back to Europe, anyway, so what’s the point of worrying about drama when I might not even be here?

“It’ll be okay,” Ty says softly. “Tom said it was an easy fix, right?” He uses my dad’s first name, like somehow always knowing exactly where my head is at. “He said the label mixed up your work and student visa? Is that even possible?”

I nod. Slow, heavy. “Yeah. It’s possible. Sloppy as hell, but possible. They forgot to file something when I switched from student to professional status. It’s dumb, and it’s fucking small. But it’s the kind of small that can fuck up everything.”

“But it’ll be okay… right?”

I swallow hard, staring into those endlessly deep eyes. I want to voice my fears, want to ask the what-ifs. What if it all ends here? What if they send me back? What if that’s it—no more shows, no more Ty, no more… us?

But I can’t say that out loud. I can’t put it into the air. I need to stay sane. Positive. For his sake. For my fucking own. Because if we go down that road—if we give those doubts power… Yeah, no… Not going to happen.

“It has to be,” I say, determined. “If there was ever a time to trust my dad, it’s now, right? He says it’ll be okay. So it’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my jaw before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Then let’s stop spiraling for a sec. Gimme something else, tell me something new.”

“Better yet,” I say, brushing my fingers through his hair, “I’m gonna write you something new. I have this melody stuck in my head because of you... could be perfect for the second album.”

“Second?” He raises his brows as his fingers trace my happy trail to my happy place. “Your first one just went live yesterday.”

My grin spreads wide. “Gotta keep living the dream, right?”

“You are, Jacie baby. You are living the dream, and I’m dreaming it right alongside you. Always.”

“Always,” I vow, letting my forehead rest against his, letting the promise sink deep into my bones.

Always.

Even if everything falls apart… I will find my way back to him.

Always and fucking forever.