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 thatsofucking 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’shereand 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.
